Enough is Enough
by byrhthelm
Summary: A life threatening situation makes Harm re-evaluate some choices and reveals a surprising side to one of his colleagues.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This is not a MacRabb story.

**Enough is Enough**

**1**

**Monday, 29 January 2001, 0900hrs Local (Zulu -5), JAG Conference Room, Falls Church, VA**

"Attention on deck!" Yeoman Second Class Tiner called out as the conference room door opened to admit the JAG.

Admiral Chegwidden took his accustomed seat at the head of the long table, growling as he did so, "As you were, people, as you were." Then casting a jaundiced eye around at the faces turned expectantly towards him, he said in exasperated tones, "Where is Mr Rabb, this morning?"

The answer was a blank silence. "Does anyone know the whereabouts of Commander Rabb?"

This time his answer was in the form of a chorus of mumbled denials and disclaimers. "Tiner!"

"Sir?"

"Tiner, _where_ is Commander Rabb?"

"Sir, I don't know, sir!"

"Goddamwell _find_ him Tiner!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Tiner left the room as quickly as decorum would allow. Thanks Commander, he thought bitterly, now you've put the Old Man into a foul mood, and because you're not here to take the flak, I'm going to get it in the neck all morning - if I'm lucky, or more likely all day!

The admiral glowered at his staff at the conference table. "DUI, Seaman Marian Gates; Commander Brumby you'll prosecute, Lieutenant Singer, you'll defend. Lieutenant Roberts, no... Colonel MacKenzie, you and Mr Roberts... Pack your bags. I'm sending you to Naples on a JAGMAN investigation. A collision at sea between the _USS Monroe Smith_ and a Turkish destroyer - see Tiner, for your orders and movement instructions. Commander Imes, Lieutenant Barlow how's your Article 32 going?"

"We expect to wrap it up by midday tomorrow at the very latest, sir, right Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am. Either way sir, it's going to a court martial. Either PO Williams on the original charge, or Seaman Mathews for filing false charges, sir."

"Commander?"

"I agree, sir. The navy has a zero-tolerance policy on sexual harassment; and equally strict regarding false allegations of that conduct. I'm certain that Captain Sebring will order one or the other of them to a court martial."

"Very well, let me know the outcome. ASAP!"

"Yes, sir!"

The admiral leaned back in his chair as his Yeoman re-entered the room, "Well, Tiner?

"Sir, the Commander's cell is going direct to voicemail - I've left a message that he is to call back ASAP, sir - and his land line isn't picking up sir!"

"I didn't ask you to run a comms check on the Commander, Tiner! I told you to _find him_!" The Admiral replied, his voice rising to a roar on the last two syllables.

"Aye, aye sir!" Tiner replied, once again fleeing the conference room.

The Admiral gave an exasperated grunt, "Colonel MacKenzie, as soon as we've finished here, get over to Rabb's apartment and find..."

"Sir, Naples, sir?"

"Dammit!" Once again the Admiral surveyed his assembled officers as he mentally ran down the list of their assignments, "Lieutenant Singer! As soon as we've done here, get over to Commander Rabb's apartment and find out just what the hell he's playing at!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Damn! Why did she have to play nursemaid when duds like Roberts get JAGMAN investigations. She was a damn sight better lawyer than that clown, but she was not about to start arguing with the Admiral, well, not in front of witnesses who could possibly use any sign of dissent against her. That was not part of her plan; all she could do for the moment was suck it up!

**Monday, 29 January 2001, 1020hrs Local (Zulu -5), Cul de Sac off 4****th**** Street NE, Washington, DC**

Loren Singer froze, and guiltily looked around to ensure that no-one had seen her indulge in such childish behaviour. She couldn't believe she had actually just stamped her foot! She knew he was in there, she could hear music and it's not that loud, he must have heard her at the door!

She knocked again, this time harder so that it stung her knuckles. Still no answer, dammit! Right, buster, you asked for it.

Her hands went to the bun of hair gathered below the rim of her cover, and extracted two hair grips, carefully straightening one, she gently inserted them in the door lock. Let's see if I've lost my touch, there... no... there! Yes! That's it! Now, if only he hasn't put a chain on the door, no, it's opening!

Cautiously she pushed the door open and entered the apartment. She looked around curiously; it was the first time she'd ever been here. She'd never been invited to share a cosy dinner with the Commander, not like some she could mention, like that Bitch-Colonel Sarah Bloody MacKenzie! Not that she'd ever wanted an invitation, she wasn't about to become another clandestine notch on Harmon Rabb's bedpost - unlike some she could mention. According to report, there had been his best friend's widow, the one with the kid, then there had been that shrink from Bethesda, then that TV film maker, oh, yes, Singer remembered her alright, Renée Peterson, and now if scuttlebutt was to be believed he was sleeping with the Bitch-Colonel behind her fiancé's back! If she could only just find some evidence of that sort of misconduct, it would not only pay MacKenzie back for the stream of insults and constant put-downs thrown her way, but the removal of two senior JAGs would move her two steps closer to achieving her ambition.

Ah, there was the source of the music, the AM/FM selector on a music centre on a wall-mounted shelf. Tuned to a blues station too, that was Lightnin' Hopkins, or she'd never heard him before, she thought as she pressed the power off switch. And there was a guitar propped on its stand by the couch. And that was a Dress Blues jacket just thrown on the couch; it must be meant for the cleaners, it would take cleaning and professional pressing to restore that to the required standard of presentation. And a shirt on the floor! Tutting with impatience, she picked it up and draped it over a chair. Men were such slobs! What was that smell? sort of sharp and metallic, and like ammonia, like in a badly cleaned public bathroom! That just went to confirm her opinion!

OK, so, living space, no TV, she noted; kitchen area, complete with unwashed plates on the work bench; two doorways, no doors, that she could see, at the far end of the room on the raised portion of the floor. They were the only other access points to the apartment, unless you counted the large window which, she saw as she peered through it, led to the external fire escape. So those two doors must lead to the bathroom and bedroom. Interesting use of glass bricks to divide one or the other of those two rooms from the rest of the apartment.

As she stepped up to the raised floor she could hear a muttering coming through the doorway to her right. Oh, God! She felt her face burn, please, she begged silently; don't tell me he's got a woman in there with him!

"Commander?" She raised her voice so that he might be in no doubt that he, they, were not alone. Hearing no reaction, she tried again, louder this time.

"Commander. It's me, Lieutenant Singer!" That was a reply of some sort she told herself. And then a thought struck her, How was she going to explain her presence in his apartment on a Monday mid-morning! Stop being such a pussy she told herself. The Admiral had ordered her to investigate why the Commander wasn't at work, and why he wasn't answering 'phone calls; she was only obeying... she winced at the thought she'd very nearly completed. She was only doing what she had been told.

She sniffed, whatever that smell was, it was getting really ripe! "Commander?" she called again, that wasn't a mumble she heard, more like a croak. Well, if he was in bed with a hangover, she might not have to find charges to file against him; he had just run his career aground. Stepping through the doorway, she stopped and almost gagged. The smell, no, the stink was even more powerful in here, but with the drapes closed, it was difficult to see what was going on here. Almost tripping over a discarded shoe in the middle of the space between the foot of the bed and the wall, she made her way to the window, and pulled back the heavy material to flood the room with the cold light of the morning. Then turning impatiently, she was about to goad the Commander back to life when her heart missed a beat.

Commander Rabb was in bed, but he was almost buried under a pile of blankets, but even so she could see that despite the sweat pouring down his face and soaking his pillow, he was shivering, no, he wasn't shivering, he was shuddering violently. Seriously alarmed at the sight, she crossed to the bed and sitting on the edge, she stretched her hand out to feel his forehead. She was neither physician nor nurse, but she could tell that he was running a high fever. And that smell! It was coming from him. It was the bedding she realised. God knew how long he'd been lying here in his own sweat! Investigating the closets she found spare blankets and a sleeping bag neatly folded and ready for use, and yes, clean sheets as well. She looked doubtfully at the bedding and then back at the sick man lying in his own sweat and then sighing, she shrugged off her raincoat and wrinkling her nose in distaste, she set to work stripping the soiled bedclothes off him.

Two minutes later she gasped in shock; at some time during his illness he had lost control of his bladder and had soaked his bed, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the contents of his bladder had been a dark crimson, almost black colour. Whatever was ailing her superior officer it was no hangover, and neither was it a bad case of the 'flu. Although she had thought that looking after the Commander was way above and beyond the call of duty, she had resigned herself to doing just that, but whatever was ailing him was way above and beyond her abilities to deal with. Picking up her purse from where she'd left it with her raincoat, she fumbled inside it for her cell 'phone and scrolled down through stored numbers, Fortunately Bethesda Naval Hospital was the fourth number stored, so in a very few seconds she was able to press the call button and waited impatiently for her call to be picked up. Giving the Commander's address, she urged upon them that she needed immediate medical help, and described what she had found, and that an ambulance was needed ASAP if not even faster.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a clammy, moist hand gripped her wrist and a weak strangled voice said, "Meg... You've come back...! Don't go!"

Recovering from the surprise she turned and looked at the Commander, but seeing his tear-filled deep blue eyes fixed on her own and the look of misery in his face, she fought back her first instinct to wrench her hand free and to reprimand him, and instead, said soothingly, "No, it's alright, I'm not going anywhere."

"I still love you, Meg... never told you, but... never stopped loving you..." he gasped.

"Yes, I know, I know," she answered him soothingly. She had thought at first he had called her 'Mac', and that she reasoned would have been understandable, but the second time, he had undoubtedly called her 'Meg', so she tried to ease his agitation and told him that she knew he loved her, and now, unaccountably, she felt the tears rising to her own eyes and her throat closing. There was, she felt, suddenly something unutterably sad about this tall, strong man confessing his love for what? For whom? A ghost from his past? A high school sweetheart? For some reason or other she immediately squashed the idea that he was talking about some casual conquest.

"Not since Diane..." he muttered before his eyes closed and his head rolled back on the pillow.

Diane? Meg? Who were they? she wondered. But there would be time enough for that sort of speculation later. In the meantime... she picked up her cell 'phone again and pressed the '1' on the speed dial menu.

"Tiner? The Admiral, please." She waited, keeping an anxious eye on the man in bed and an ear open for the sound of an approaching ambulance. "Admiral, sir, it's Singer. I'm at the Commander's apartment, sir. He sick, very sick. I've called Bethesda for an ambulance and they should be hear shortly, sir." She listened to the Admiral's grunt of surprise, and waited for his response.

"Yes, sir... Got it... I had intended to go with him, anyway, sir... Yes, sir, as soon as I hear anything, sir... I'll get straight back to you sir... Yes sir, I'm on it, sir. Sir, there's someone at the door sir." Crossing the living room she opened the door to find two Petty Officer Corpsmen waiting with a gurney. "Sir, the EMTs have arrived, sir. I'll call as soon as I know anything. Goodbye sir!"

**Monday, 29 January 2001, 1300hrs Local (Zulu -5), Intensive Care Unit, Medical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD**

** "**Lieutenant Singer?" The speaker was a tired-looking Doctor in khakis and a white coat.

"Yes, sir" She acknowledged getting to her feet.

"You did well," he assured her with a smile. "I think, that thanks to you, the Commander might still pull through."

"Might pull through, sir?" Loren was shocked. Rabb could have died? He might still die? No, that was impossible; he was as strong as an ox, probably one of the strongest, fittest men she had ever met.

Commander Matthews observed the colour draining from the young woman's already pale face. She was obviously close to the man she'd said was just a senior officer in her department, but he was more a doctor than a naval officer, and he didn't particularly care about fraternisation regulations. Hell, half the doctors and nurses here were involved with each other and it was accepted as a normal part of working in a hospital. Still, he needed to both set this woman's mind at rest, and to explain the gravity of the situation.

"Commander Rabb is very seriously ill," he explained, "Did you know that he was subject to malaria?"

She shook her head numbly.

"Well, he has a strain of malaria that shouldn't normally be such a great a threat as cerebral malaria, that's the real killer; but the Commander's illness has been compounded into what used to be commonly called Blackwater fever; that would explain the blood in his urine. The Commander was on the verge of kidney failure when you called for help. You did the right thing, but why wait so long?"

"Uh... he was fine when I saw him on Friday, it was only when he didn't turn to for duty this morning that I went to his apartment, and found him like he was."

"Aah, I see." Commander Matthews, suspecting a lovers' spat, didn't see at all, "Well, I suspect that the Commander has been self-medicating for a while, probably using quinine as a prophylaxis, and sometimes the malaria parasite develops an immunity to quinine and then the body's auto-immune system fails."

"So, what's going to happen now?"

"We'll keep him here while we treat him with antimalarial chemo-therapy. We'll rehydrate him, and we'll monitor his progress, and if necessary we'll put him through a course of dialysis. A few days should see him on the road to recovery, but he'll need to take it easy for a while, and he'll need looking after, Lieutenant."

Yeah, fine, she thought. But why tell me? And why is he looking at me like that? She asked herself, and then the answer came: Oh God, he thinks we're a couple! I'll have to tell him... I can't, it's all too complicated, and the way he's looking at me he won't believe me, especially now that.. Oh crap! I _am _blushing! She was furious with herself, which didn't help matters - it only made her scarlet face deepen to a shade of crimson. Mom! Why did I have to have your colouring? Mom! I hate you! The trouble is she thought as she turned away from the doctor and rapidly fanned herself with her open hand that as soon as I know I'm blushing, it gets worse!

Commander Matthews smiled, not unkindly, to himself. The Lieutenant had shown remarkable presence of mind and had demonstrated an equally remarkable level of self-control. Many people, men as well as women, would have lost it when told that their partners could still die even when surrounded with the best treatment, facilities and staff that modern medicine could provide.

**Monday, 29 January 2001, 1500hrs Local (Zulu -5), JAG bull-pen, Falls Church, VA**

Since her return from Bethesda, nearly half-an-hour ago, Loren Singer had been closeted with the admiral, and although the bull-pen was alive with speculation, even Tiner, renowned as he was as HQ Scuttlebutt Control, hadn't yet been able to shed any light on the Lieutenant's absence for most of the day, nor on the non-appearance of Commander Rabb, although Seaman Liz Hawkins had smiled significantly and tapped the side of her nose when she had been asked if she, as one of Tiner's favoured confidants, knew what was going on.

"Lieutenant, do you have a moment, please?" Harriett Sims looked up from her computer screen in surprise. What was going on? Lieutenant Witch was being polite, almost pleasant, it was unheard of.

"Yes..." Harriett replied cautiously, "How may I help you?"

"I need to ask you a couple of questions, about things that maybe happened before I was assigned here, but we could do with a little privacy," and Loren raised an inviting eyebrow as she gestured towards her office.

Intrigued by the Bulldog's manner, Harriett followed her into the office and in response to Singer's suggestion she shut the door behind her and sat down.

A shiver of anticipation ran around the entire office. Harriett's reputation as a source of intel was second only to Tiner's and the denizens of the bull-pen now looked forward to gleaning a juicy tid-bit or two. Had they been privy to the conversation between the two Lieutenants they would have been disappointed. Loren Singer came straight to the point. "With reference to Commander Rabb, do you know who Meg and Diane are, or were?" she asked.

Harriett thought rapidly and then reluctance to talk about a friend warring with intense curiosity and her compulsion to gossip, said slowly, "If this is in connection with Commander Rabb... then I think Meg was his partner before Colonel MacKenzie arrived at JAG... It was before my time here, but I think the Colonel actually replaced her. I heard somewhere that, if we're talking about the same person, she was snapped up by the NSA, or DSD or some other super-secret spook agency."

"Uh-huh. What about a Diane?"

"No, I don't think I've ever heard that name?" The inflection of her voice clearly showed that she wanted more information.

Loren Singer, however, was not one to share what she knew. To her mind, knowledge was power, and she intended to become as powerful as she could. Her sights were firmly set on becoming the first female JAG. She knew in formulating her ambition that she faced a long, rough, rocky road and intended to use all the knowledge and power she could muster to smooth out some of those bumps.

Keeping those aims in mind, she ignored Harriet's implied question and replied coolly, "Thank you, Lieutenant. If you'll excuse me, I do have work to catch up on today, and I'm sure you must be equally busy." The smile she gave Harriett was strictly professional and had nothing to do with either warmth or friendship.

Seething with frustration at her inability to wring any information out of the annoying Ice Queen and with anger at was what after all no more than a peremptory dismissal, Harriett Sims stalked back to her desk, and sitting down if front of her computer she started typing furiously. There was, she was sure, one certain source of information about the Commander's past. If there was anything worth knowing about Harmon Rabb, then Sarah MacKenzie was the person who would have all the answers! She couldn't however approach the Colonel directly, but Lieutenant Witch wasn't the only female officer in the building who could be devious. The e-mail to Bud finished, she proof-read it before hitting the 'send' button:

"_Bud, re Cmdr Rabb, who is/was Diane? If you don't know, ask Col Mac. Urgent. Love you, H."_

That should bring a result she thought with satisfaction.

**Monday, 29 January 2001, 1800hrs Local (Zulu -5), JAG building, Falls Church, VA**

"Hold the door, there!" Admiral Chegwidden's roar was just in time to stop Lieutenant Singer from pressing the 'L1' button on the elevator control panel, and as her CO stepped into the elevator car she stood back, allowing him to operate the control.

The Admiral looked at his Lieutenant speculatively. She had a pretty good record of court wins over her contemporaries, but despite her ambitions, of which he had some idea, she was nowhere, yet, near as good as she thought she was. Certainly not ready to lock horns on a regular basis with either Rabb or MacKenzie, although she had won one case against each of them and had also beaten Mattoni and Imes; not many times in the overall scheme of things, but still enough to show that she had real potential. He just wished that she would relax a little bit, let people get to know her, and... and... stop being so damned... unapproachable! The seed of a plan started to sprout in his mind; maybe...

"Lieutenant, all secured for the day?"

"Yes, sir!" Loren Singer looked, and was, surprised at the question. She would hardly be leaving the office with briefcase, raincoat and cover if she hadn't been certain that she could no more for the moment.

"Humph. Any plans for the evening Lieutenant?"

Her eyes widened, _that_ question was normally the precursor to an invitation to dinner, to the theatre or a movie. And that implied an acceptance of a certain degree of friendship, or companionship, or... or... even intimacy... or romance! And that was definitely out of the question! Ambitious she certainly was, ruthless, well maybe, but she was never going to be accused of sleeping her way to the top! Loren Singer was no innocent she admitted to herself. She'd had lovers in the past, but they had been _lovers_, men with whom she had been romantically and emotionally involved, certainly not one-night stands or a means to achieving a professional end. The admiral's question therefore merited only one possible answer.

"Yes, sir. I'm washing my hair!" she replied emphatically and in arctic accents.

It was the admiral's turn to be surprised. The lieutenant's reply was the oldest excuse in the book when a woman was turning down an unwelcome proposition. His mind raced, what on earth had he said to provoke such a reaction? Then his memory's tumblers clicked into place. Uncharacteristically he felt himself becoming red-faced and heated.

"Ah, no Lieutenant, that wasn't a pick up line, nor was it an invitation... well, yes it was, I suppose, in a way... But not perhaps the way in which you understood it! I was merely going to suggest that you might like to accompany me to Bethesda. I was going to look in on Commander Rabb before I went home!"

Loren Singer gritted her teeth in dismay and went bright scarlet. Oh hell! Talk about putting my foot in it! Damn, there's only one thing I _can_ say now!

"Sir, yes, I was thinking of doing the same myself. I'll be glad to follow you there." Well, it wasn't really a lie, she admonished herself, I had been thinking about going, there's no need to tell him, she thought, that she'd decided against visiting the Commander.

**Monday 29 January 2001, 2140hrs Local (Zulu -5), Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC**

It had certainly been a day of days, Loren thought as she slumped into an armchair and kicked off her shoes. Not your everyday, run of the mill office routine, she smiled grimly to herself. Strange tropical diseases and emergency dashes to hospitals, not to mention insulting her Commanding Officer and having to redeem herself by visiting an unconscious, well semi-conscious, Commander Rabb, who had stared at her with half-seeing eyes and had called her 'Meg' - again! Fortunately the admiral had been talking to a doctor just then and hadn't noticed the Commander's mistake, or maybe_ he'd_ thought that the Commander had called her 'Mac'.

Not only that, she had been talked into, well, ordered, really by the admiral to go back to the Commander's apartment, collect his toilet gear and a set of clothes, and to make sure the apartment was secured. And to be quite honest with herself, she knew that she'd closed the door, but she wasn't sure that she'd made sure it was locked!

She had been startled now that the adrenalin of getting help for the Commander had dissipated, how_ ill_ he looked propped against his pillows in that ICU bed. Some sort of pump had stood ready in the corner of his room, and two IV's had been set up. He had been barely conscious at the best of times and had obviously been rambling, she could have sworn she heard him call the admiral 'Keeter', so if he was confusing the admiral with somebody else, then maybe he was just confusing her with this 'Meg' woman.

**Tuesday 30 January 2001, 0300hrs Local (Zulu +2), Wardroom, **_**USS Monroe Smith**_**, Naples Naval Dockyard**

"Colonel?"

"Yes, Bud?"

"Ma'am, do you know of anyone in the Commander's life called Diane?"

When Bud said 'the Commander' he could only mean one person, and then the mention of 'Diane' was enough fully to divert Mac's attention from the mishap report and direct it towards Bud.

"Why? Where did that come from, Bud?"

"Oh, I got an e-mail from Harriett, asking about her," Bud squirmed uncomfortably, damn Harriett for always putting him on the spot like this, "She said it was urgent, ma'am."

"Did she say why she was asking, Bud?"

"No... I I-M'd her back, but all she would say was that Lieutenant Singer was asking about this Diane and about Lieutenant Austin..." Bud's voice trailed into silence as he saw two vertical creases appear between Mac's eyebrows.

"I wonder what Lieutenant Witch is up to now..." and then becoming aware that Bud's eyes were fixed on her in surprise, she asked, "Er... did I just say that out loud?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh... well, let's just pretend I didn't, OK, Bud? And let's get back to work Whatever Lieutenant Singer is concerned with, needn't concern us!"

"Yes, ma'am!" A relieved Bud Roberts replied. These days he hated getting mixed up in anything that might put Mac and Harm's names together in the same sentence. For almost three years he had thought that there was something between them, that they could make a match of it, if the Commander could ever get over the sudden disappearance of Meg Austin. There had definitely been sparks between those two, especially after... Of course! Diane! Diane Schonke, the Lieutenant from the... he couldn't remember the name of the ship, but she had been the Commander's girlfriend from their academy days! What a numbnuts he was, he should have remembered that! But that didn't alter the changed circumstances between the Commander and the Colonel. He liked the Colonel and had once thoroughly respected her, not just as an officer and a lawyer but as a person, but something had gone wrong somewhere along the line. The way she had treated the Commander ever since he'd returned to JAG from his flying tour, and then getting engaged to Brumby of all people; the one man Bud had ever seen the Commander so implacably hostile towards. He rubbed his jaw in pained memory of the accidental punches he had received from them. Could it have been that investigation in Australia that had started the rot? No, the Colonel has started climbing all over the Commander's back before that. But something had happened down there in Sydney he was certain of it.

"Bud? Bud!" The Colonel was regarding him impatiently. "If you've quite finished wool-gathering, Lieutenant, we do have a mishap report to finish analysing."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry ma'am!"

**Tuesday 30 January 2001, 0700hrs Local (Zulu -5), Cul de Sac off 4****th**** Street NE, Washington, DC**

Loren Singer looked around the empty apartment. She had collected the Commander's toilet bag from his shower room, and had found clean Boxers, T-shirts and sweat shirts together with jogging pants, socks and sneakers in his various drawers and closets, and had packed them in a small valise she had found, also in the closet, but she had also found a shoe box in the closet, and unable to resist her curiosity, she had opened it to find it stuffed nearly full of photographs and giving in to impulse she had opened a couple of the photo-lab wallets to look at the contents. Among the many photographs of ships and planes - particularly F-14s, she had found several of a beautiful blonde officer, one shot in particular had struck her. The woman had been bareheaded, obviously on board a ship somewhere. She had been leaning forward, her hands gripping a rail, her shoulders braced back and her laughing face turned to the camera. Her stance was provocative, pushing her breasts against the material of her shirt and she was obviously enjoying teasing the photographer.

Another, older, wallet had no negatives inside and only two prints, these were of Colonel MacKenzie, no surprises there! Hey, hold up, that wasn't the Colonel, but she could have been her twin sister! The woman in the pictures was wearing an academy midshipman's uniform in one picture, and summer whites with lieutenant's bars in the second against a sunlit Mediterranean looking background. But otherwise the similarity between the woman in the photograph and the Bitch-Colonel was astounding. Turning the photographs over she found that on the one of the subject as a Lieutenant was written,

"_To my dearest love, Harm. Look forward to seeing you at Norfolk. All my love for ever, Diane."_

Feeling uncomfortable, Loren made haste to close the shoe box and put it back where she had found it. She felt almost... unclean... as if she'd been indulging in some shameful act, a despicable act of voyeurism. And she had been doing just that she was compelled to admit. She would have been livid if anyone had pried into her private life the way she had just pried into the Commander's! She had absolutely no excuse for poking into another person's private affairs. Yes, knowledge was power, but this... she gave herself a shake, determined to forget what she had just discovered, or if she wasn't able to forget it, at least resolved never to mention it to anyone. Ever.

Picking up the valise, she looked around for a last time, and then ensuring that she locked the door behind her, she left the building and started the commute to Falls Church.

**Tuesday 6 February 2001, 0900hrs Local, (Zulu -5),** **JAG Conference Room, Falls Church, VA**

"As you were, everybody," Admiral Chegwidden rumbled as his staff leapt to their feet when he made his unheralded arrival in the Conference Room. "Welcome back Colonel, Lieutenant. A good job in Naples. Sometimes I think we'd be better off without our so-called allies!" He paused and looked up over the top of his spectacles. "That needn't go any further than this room, people!"

A chorus of "No, sir" and "Of course not, Admiral," reassured him

"Moving right on then. Commander Imes, is your sexual harassment case ready to go to trial?"

"Yes, sir, Petty Officer Williams is to stand trial on the original charges, sir. Trial to start on Monday"

"H'mm, very well, you'll prosecute. Colonel, you'll defend. Commander Brumby, tough luck on the DUI! That was some very creative thinking and argument on that Lieutenant Singer, but don't bank on that ever happening again! But well done!"

"Oh... thank you, Sir!"

"Yes, well don't let it go to your head! You can change sides of the aisle for this one, FC 2 Grainger, DDO, Lieutenant Barlow, you'll sit second chair; Lieutenant Roberts you'll defend."

"Aye, aye sir!"

"Right, you'll all be relieved to know that Commander Rabb is being moved out of intensive care and will be allowed to receive visitors according to the hospital's schedule. I know he'll be looking forward to seeing you very soon Colonel."

"Yes, sir. I'll try my best to see him very soon".

The admiral raised an eyebrow. He didn't know what had gone wrong between his two top attorneys, but their estrangement was causing more disruption that any fraternisation. It was that damn Australian's fault, he was sure of it, but what the hell could he do. Technically the visiting officer was just that, he wasn't even in the JAG chain of command he was only attached to it!

The Australian officer in question sat stony faced. Like hell Sarah was going to see that bastard Rabb. She'd been away for over a week, and then when she'd got back last night she'd been 'too tired', well she wasn't going to be too tired tonight, or 'too busy'!

**Saturday 10 February 2001 1018hrs Local (Zulu -5), Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC**

Loren had woken early, and unable to get back to sleep, she had been seized by an attack of housewifely zeal and scrambling into a sweat-shirt and jeans had attacked her already neat and clean apartment with gusto. That had been nearly four hours ago, and despite, or more likely because of, her breakfast ration of two mugs of marine coffee, she had been unable to settle.

She had in the last ten days got into the habit of visiting Commander Rabb each evening after work. She didn't quite know why. She supposed vaguely that it had something to do with the old Chinese superstition that if you saved someone's life you became responsible for them. But whatever the reason, she had come to value those quiet hours she spent with the Commander, or Harm, as he had told her to call him, even though she was never quite comfortable doing so. But that interlude was coming to an end. Four days after being admitted to ICU the doctors had agreed that he was out of danger and had moved him to a regular room, it was Saturday today and provided that he maintained his rate of recovery, it had been agreed that he would be allowed home on hospital leave on Monday. Provided that he took that leave, they had warned him. One hint of him appearing at his desk and they would bust his ass straight back into hospital, and then when he was fully fit they would sling his ass into the brig for disobedience to orders! And you, Lieutenant, you make sure he does as he's told, or it's your a... er... your butt too!

Their joint protests that his behaviour had nothing to do with her had made little or no impression on the either the medical or nursing staff, who had just regarded the two of them, him in bed, and her chair so close that she was practically in bed with him, with cynical amusement, and one Nurse Lieutenant Commander, who in Loren's opinion should have known better had smirked, "Yeah... riiight!"

The helpless look they had shared with each other had only served to intensify the nurse's amusement.

She could now smile, at least in private, at that nurse's conviction. Hell, they weren't a couple, they weren't even friends, really... but maybe she would like them to be. She'd never heard him use any of the insulting nicknames the others in the office called her, but he'd never really called her Loren either, well, not until this week. But thinking about it, he'd never really been hostile to her either, neutral, yes, hostile, no. He'd even complimented her on a couple of occasions, not as a woman of course - not that she would have welcomed that - but as a lawyer, and those were the compliments she valued. She'd won a difficult case against him, much to everybody's surprise, her own included, and after Admiral Morris had adjourned the court-martial, he had crossed the aisle and held his hand out to her and had said, "Good job, Lieutenant! Well argued."

He'd repeated that compliment, and congratulated her, the first, and only time, she had beaten Bitch-Colonel Sarah Bloody MacKenzie, too; not that that had gone down well with the hard-assed marine cow.

So, maybe they could be friends after all... No, he might be friendly in private, but to expect him to keep acting friendly in front of all his old friends at JAG was asking too much. The most she could hope for was a continuation of non-hostilities. But they could still be friends for what was left of the weekend. And while she had the energy...

Flitting into her bedroom, she chose a simple blue denim skirt, and black V-neck sweater and a white blouse together with a pair of plain black low-heeled pumps, and assembling the chosen outfit, placed it all on a hangar before she packed her toilet bag and wrapped it in a large towel, and then almost emptied the contents of her under-the-kitchen-sink-cupboard into a large cardboard box.

Struggling slightly under her load, she made it down to street level where she thankfully dumped everything on the passenger seat of her Miata MX5 and headed across town on the twenty minute drive to 4th Street North East, to the old red-brick converted warehouse.

**Saturday 10 February 2001, 1110hrs Local (Zulu -5), Cul de Sac off 4****th**** Street NE, Washington, DC**

Letting herself in to Harm's apartment - just _why_, she asked herself had she kept that key? And determined not to do any snooping this time, she tackled the worst job first. Gathering the soiled sheets and pillow slips from the bed - God they really stunk now - she bundled them into the washing machine in the shower room and added a generous amount of her own detergent and fabric conditioner and set the machine to its longest cycle. She wasn't too happy about having electrical appliances in the shower room, she'd always been told that electricity and water are not a good mix, but it wasn't her apartment, so provided she was careful, what did she care? The blankets, once she had inspected them, she decided would have to go to a professional cleaners, or maybe in the end have to be thrown out. But she wouldn't do that without asking the Commander, asking Harm first, so they were folded and left by the door to remind her to take them with her when she left.

The mattress, as she'd thought it would be, was stained, but turning it over showed that the wetting it had received hadn't soaked right through. It would do for now, but again she'd have to find some tactful way of suggesting that he might want to replace it. Fresh bed linen and blankets were where she recalled seeing them and it was only the work of five minutes for the bed to look pristine, and if she couldn't quite bounce a dime off the top blanket, it wasn't so bad that she'd have been gigged for it by her NROTC Gunny.

Tidying away the shoes and other bits and pieces of uniform that had been dropped on the floor, she picked up the wallet that had fallen from his Dress Blues pants and went to place it in the drawer in his nightstand, and froze in shock. She had not expected to see a pistol lying unattended around the apartment. Cautiously, remembering her weapons training, she picked it up and checked the safety, then after examining the unfamiliar model, she pressed what she'd guessed to be the magazine release button and caught the clip as it slid out of the pistol's butt. Working the slide, she ejected the round that had been in the chamber into her hand, and carefully pressed it back into the clip.

What sort of lawyer was it she wondered, who'd keep a loaded and cocked sidearm in his nightstand? But then she remembered some of the stories she had overheard. Stories about him being involved with that CIA creep who always seemed to be hanging around JAG, what was his name? Oh, yes, that was it, Webb, and hadn't he nearly got both Harm and the Bitch-Colonel killed with some crack-pot scheme in Russia? That had been before her time at JAG, of course, but she had heard the stories.

Still, with the weapon unloaded, she felt easier, but wished there was somewhere more secure she could stow it away. There was a wall safe, but without either key or combination it might as well be on the moon rather than set into the living room wall, so reluctantly placing the weapon back in the drawer she left the bedroom and turned her attention to the kitchen area.

Apart from the very interesting, and revolting species of mould growing on the dirty plate on the work-top, and the remains of what seemed to be a furry variation on a vegetable lasagne in an oven-proof dish, the work of cleaning up the kitchen area didn't take all that long. For a man's kitchen it was surprisingly neat and well ordered, Loren considered. It was probably something to do with shipboard living where everything is so cramped that there must be a place for everything and everything in its place. So dish and plate washed, dried, and their respective stowage discovered, all that remained now was to run a duster over the surfaces, wipe down and give the place a shot of air freshener. Then all she'd need to do is to freshen herself up and put the laundered bed-linen into the dryer. Harm could then sort out anything else he needed when he came home on Monday!

It wasn't long before she'd showered - a bit cheeky maybe, using his shower without his say-so, but she had cleaned the place up for him as payment - and changed into the spare outfit she'd brought with her. She'd have time to grab a coffee and sandwich at the Hospital commissary, if she wasn't delayed too much by traffic.

**Saturday, 10 February 2001, 1400hrs Local (Zulu -5), Male Medical Ward, Medical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD**

Harmon Rabb was disappointed that he hadn't had a visit from Mac, he knew she was back; Harriett had told him she'd been back at Falls Church since Tuesday, but maybe she'd show this afternoon or this evening. He could hear heels approaching along the along the hallway now, but the sound didn't have the quite same resonance as Mac's impatient tap-tap-tapping. But the time for disappointment was past; he smiled as Loren, not Lieutenant Singer, but just Loren appeared in the room's doorway and smiled at him. He wasn't quite sure when, or how the changes had come about. Lieutenant Singer had become Loren, and the Ice-Queen scowl had left her face, and it had somehow become softer and rounder when she was with him. He had seen, when Harriett or Carolyn Imes had visited, and this week when Bud had come with Harriett, how quickly she had reverted to her office persona, how quickly her face had resumed its rather sharp, sour expression and how she had quickly excused herself and left him to the company of his other friends.

Hold hard there, Rabb. He backtracked over what he'd just said; 'his other friends'. Other, in the sense that he now counted her as one of his friends as well? This was going to take some figuring out. It appeared, so the doctors said, that by breaking into his apartment she had saved his life. Hell, he'd had malaria before, maybe five or six times over the years since he'd picked it up in Columbia, and before a handful of quinine tablets over a week or so had fixed the problem. This time though, it appeared that the quinine had damned nearly killed him! So, maybe he owed her. Maybe, hell! He did owe her! But friends? With Loren Singer? Was a friend someone with whom you talk about books, food, music, the theatre, cars, motor-cycles and even football? Yes, that's exactly what a friend was, but the football had been a surprise! Loren Singer was a devoted, dyed-in-the-wool Bears fan! She had been attracted to the NFL by the advent of William 'The Fridge' Perry and by Walter 'Sweetness' Payton and other Bears' stars of the Mike Ditka years. Rabb, in turn, was a die-hard Chargers' fan and each had discovered within the other a fine contempt for the washed-out has-beens of the Washington Redskins. Putting aside their own tribal differences they had spent hours dissecting the capital's own team's faults and failings. The motor-cycles had been a surprise too, but after her revelations about football, it hadn't somehow been such a shock. An old college boyfriend had owned a 1974 British-built Triumph 650cc Bonneville, and she had been bitten by the bug. She in turn had been startled to hear that he had an even older Indian 1200 V-twin Chief in his garage, and the two of them had made nebulous plans to take it for an airing once the weather improved, but nothing firm had been settled. Neither had she accepted nor refused an equally vague invitation to go flying with him one weekend, again once winter had turned the corner into spring. And she knew her jazz and blues too; her depth and breadth of knowledge, although she claimed not to play an instrument, was almost encyclopaedic and left him struggling to keep up with her. But in addition to keeping him entertained, Loren had also sensed when he was too tired to talk and she had been content to sit in the visitor's chair and read silently to herself, but always ready to resume a conversation whenever he was.

And she had been surprisingly forthcoming about her personal history, losing some of her habitual reticence as she told him something of her background. She had been born and had grown up in a small community in rural Ohio, one of seven children of a deeply religious family, but had cut loose from them when she was seventeen and had put herself through college with the help of an NROTC programme and had then gone to NJS. She had been remarkably frank about her reasons and her goal. She hadn't become a naval attorney to make a difference or to save the world, but simply because JAG Corps was a small pond, and she could potentially become the biggest fish in that pond; she stood more chance of realising her ambition by taking that route to the top than joining say the surface warfare branch or the navy's intelligence community.

He smiled to himself, remembering that after one long evening's desultory conversation while he was still in ICU he had drifted off to sleep, only to waken during the small silent, early hours of the morning, to find that Loren had fallen asleep while waiting to see if he was going to re-surface, and while she had slept, one of the nurses had covered her with a blanket. Obviously their denials of a discreet involvement with each other were still meeting with disbelief from the ICU nurses!

His smile equally obviously hadn't been discreet either, as a slight, deliberate cough made him aware. Loren was still standing in the doorway of his room with one delicate blonde eyebrow arched in a question.

"Hey, there, Loren, don't just stand there come on in!"

"I will, but only if you'll tell me what you were smiling at," she teased him.

His eyes met her's and he thought, what if they could have heard that at the office. Who could imagine Loren Singer bantering as if to the manner born!

What I have just said? She thought frantically, why is he smiling like that? Doesn't he know what effect that has... Oh... of course he does that's why he does it! It's what the Lieutenant-Bitch-Colonel calls his flyboy smile! Oh... no! She could feel the blood rush to her face. Oh, Mom, no! She gave a mental wail of despair.

What the hell's got into her? I didn't say anything, why the hell is she blushing like that!

It took time, but eventually their newly acquired habits of easy conversation overcame the awkwardness and by the time Bud and Harriett Roberts arrived for the evening watch as Bud put it with heavy-handed humour, they had resumed their easy-going ways and had arranged that Loren would pick him up at thirteen hundred hours on Monday and drive him home. The arrival of the new visitors placed its usual constraint on Loren, and after making their plans known to Bud and Harriet, and gathering that A J was in the custody of Carolyn Imes and that they were in no hurry to leave, Loren soon made her farewells, leaving the three long time friends behind.

Harriett, who was firmly convinced that Harm and Mac were destined for each other had become disturbed by what appeared to her to be Harm's unnecessarily close acquaintance with Lieutenant Pit-Bull, exchanged a worried glance with her husband as the petite blonde officer left, and then turned to Harm and said, "Sir, what is the Lieutenant doing here, so often? It's not as if you are friends, after all, and what would the Colonel think?"

Bud winced. He had seen if his wife had not, the manner in which the Colonel had treated the Commander since his return to JAG. To his immense relief, however, Harm did not blow up. He merely replied, "Not friends with Lieutenant Singer, Harriett? At least _Loren _has cared enough to come to visit me while I'm here!"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **_To Lynnp, MATT29man, Saissa, jpstar57, VisIDZ_ and _marye904_ for their enthusiastic reception and the reviews on this story. Thank you!

**Enough is Enough**

**2**

**Saturday, 10 February 2001, 1800hrs Local (Zulu -5), Male Medical Ward, Medical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD**

Harm looked in exasperation at Harriett. Why couldn't she at least recognise what he himself had accepted? Mac had moved on. She had pulled away from him, or she had pushed him away from her, he wasn't too sure any longer which way round, and it really didn't matter anymore, and she had gotten herself engaged to Bugme. It was time for him to move on too. He would be thirty-eight years old next birthday, and if he was to have a wife and a family then now that he was over Mac he needed to get back out there and find the right woman for himself. But still, there was a quiet little voice whispering in his ear that he would have liked it if Mac had come to visit him… Be that as it may, he couldn't complain about being left alone, Bud or Harriett had dropped by to see him at least half a dozen times while he'd been here, Carolyn Imes had called to see him a few times, and Loren had visited every day. She had done more than just visited, she had brought him his personal mail, from the office, and had stopped by his apartment to empty the mail-box there too, the forest of 'get well soon' cards from friends both ashore and afloat were testimony of that; she had gone back to his apartment at his request to find his wallet for him, and she had also delivered him a handful of dry-cleaning tickets, for his Dress Blues which he'd apparently thrown, or dropped, on the floor, and for some of his blankets, which had needed cleaning after being sweat-soaked.

Harriett Sims paused to think before she replied to Harm, It wasn't just what he had said that made her hesitate; it was also the bitterness in Harm's voice. Well, that and a gentle kick from Bud.

Harriett heaved a mental sigh. Here were two of the people whom she loved most in the world and they had seemed so right together! Now it seemed that Mac couldn't find the time for a hospital visit to the man who loved her (and Harriett was still convinced that Harm did), while he was being eaten up by bitterness at her failure to do so. Instead that… that… bitch-witch Singer was smarming all over him and had somehow insinuated herself into his good graces. Yes, well, OK, she had summoned the ambulance for him and got him to hospital, but she wouldn't have done that if the admiral hadn't ordered her to go to the Commander's apartment and find out why he hadn't turned to for duty that morning, so the smug little madam needn't preen herself on being a Good Samaritan. Oooh, what she'd like to do to that harpy! Harriett's fingers curled into claws as various violent, but pleasingly satisfying, scenes played on her mental screen.

Not that she begrudged either colonel or commander the chance of finding happiness wherever they could. She knew through her own bitter experience how some unexpected event could turn laughter into tears, the loss of their baby daughter had nearly destroyed her and Bud's marriage. However, they had stuck together, and although little Sarah's loss would never be forgotten; they had moved forward and had forgiven each other. But if the commander couldn't or wouldn't patch up his quarrel with the colonel, why couldn't he find someone a bit more human, a bit less… Singer-ish? Although she was very happy married to Bud, well most of the time, she wasn't dead, after all and she could still appreciate good looks without necessarily wanting to do anything about them. There were hundreds of women out there who would give almost anything to be the commander's significant other; he was tall, good looking, with gorgeous deep blue eyes and a smile that could make a woman go weak at the knees at a hundred yards. Harriett made herself a promise. Once the commander was out of here and if he couldn't resolve his problems with the colonel, she would do everything she could to introduce him to any of the many nice young women she knew.

But she couldn't understand Mac either, what was the Colonel doing getting engaged to that Australian? Harriett had tried to be friendly with him, he was the Colonel's fiancé after all, and she had to try and maintain some sort of social as well as working relationship with him, but he still made her feel a little uncomfortable.

Wouldn't life be simpler all round, she mused, if Commander Brumby could somehow be induced to switch his attentions to Lieutenant Singer and take her back to Australia with him, and let decent folks get on with their lives the way they were supposed to happen?

Bud watched the play of emotions on his wife's face. She was fun, loving, kind - well never intentionally unkind, but she could be, and had just been incredibly tactless. The trouble was she was a romantic all the way to the bottom of her heart, and still saw a great deal of the world through rose-tinted spectacles, including, unfortunately, the relationship between the Commander and the Colonel; a relationship that had soured, and it looked to Bud like it had soured beyond repair, and the last thing he wanted, especially considering their own still psychologically vulnerable condition, was for he and Harriett to be caught in some sort of emotional shit-storm between two senior officers. The tension between them at work now was bad enough, but God help the Commonwealth of Virginia if it ever came to an open Rabb-MacKenzie feud. It would make the Hatfield-McCoy fuss look like a teddy bears' picnic! The real tragedy between Colonel and Commander was that if either of them could have made a move towards the other, and admitted how they felt, even as recently as last year before the Commander had changed his designator, then they probably could have settled down in married bliss, or whatever passed for it in their minds. Sometimes Bud really felt like grabbing the pair of them by the scruff of the necks and banging their heads together to try and knock a little bit of sense into them. Of course, he reflected, any such attempt on his part would inevitably end in tears - his, most definitely!

**Sunday 11 February 2001, 1100hrs Local (Zulu -5), Bud and Harriett Roberts' Apartment, 1603 Corcoran St, NW, Washington DC**

This nonsense has gone for far too long, Harriett told herself. It's about time somebody told those two to get back in synch and iron out whatever bugs they've got in their relationship. And if no-one else was prepared to take on the responsibility then she, Harriett Sims Roberts was not afraid to take on the task. But, it would have to be done subtly; she couldn't think of two more unreasonable, pig-headed, stubborn as mules, idiots! Now, what had she done with the Colonel's number...?

"Sarah MacKenzie."

"Hello, Colonel, it's me, Harriett."

"Good morning Harriett, is everything alright?"

"Yes... good morning to you too, ma'am."

"Do you need something Harriett?"

" No, ma'am, no, nothing, I'm fine, thank you... Ma'am, Bud and I have been visiting the commander pretty regularly over the last ten days, and it seems that every time we visit, Lieutenant Singer is there before us, ma'am. And it seems that they're getting pretty tight ma'am."

"Why would I need to know that, Harriett?"

"Well, ma'am you and the commander, you've been friends for a long time, and I thought you maybe could have a quiet word with him, stop him making a complete fool of himself?"

"Harriett, why don't you just have a quiet word with him?"

"Ma'am, he's a Commander, I'm a Lieutenant. But you're a Lieutenant Colonel, ma'am; he'll listen to you! Please, ma'am?"

"Alright, Harriett, I'll think about it; no promises, though."

"No, ma'am, of course not, thank you ma'am"

Harriett replaced the 'phone in its wall socket with a small, satisfied smile. She knew that Colonel Mac wouldn't be able to resist going to the hospital to see what was going for herself, and when she had and she'd put Lieutenant Witch in her place, then she and the commander could get back together and she could stop all this nonsense with Brumby. When that happens, she might even be able to engineer a better understanding between Singer and Brumby after all. Those two really did deserve each other, and if they were together it would prevent them making another two poor innocent bystanders unhappy too!

"Who was that, honey?" Bud asked as he walked through from the living room, his arms full of a squirming Little A J.

"Oh, just one of the girls from work," Harriett replied, "we're thinking of having a girls' night in somewhere, maybe here, depending on numbers, and if we can fit them all in somehow." It wasn't really a lie, she told herself, Colonel Mac is one of the girls from work, and they had been talking about a girls' night in, just not at that particular moment.

Bud, careful that Harriett shouldn't see, pulled a face of dismay. He'd have to check if there were any upcoming trekkie conventions within travelling distance and suggest that 'the girls' have their get together on one of those dates while he was safely out of town. He still writhed with embarrassment when he recalled how Harriett had insisted he attended her baby shower! Harriett sometimes ribbed him about his strange hobbies, but he had never put her through one tenth of the mortification he had suffered that evening. He had been the only guy in an apartment that had been infested with giggling, squealing women, which had been bad enough, but once they'd opened the wine...! He still shuddered when he remembered some the jokes they'd told, and some of the very pointed comments they'd made about his role in the creation of the new life nestling under Harriett's heart. No, if she was going to host a girls' night in, Bud was definitely going to have a guy's night out - out of town!

Harriett, reading from his facial expression his nearly every thought, turned towards the oven, ostensibly to check on the round of beef that was slow cooking, but in fact to hide her own grin. Her tactics had worked almost beyond her expectations; she had successfully diverted Bud's sometimes all consuming curiosity away from the subject of her 'phone call, and given him something else to worry about. Dear Bud, he wasn't really happy unless he was worrying about something!

**Sunday 11 February 2001, 1330hrs Local (Zulu -5), Male Medical Ward, Medical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD**

"Not hungry Commander?"

Harm opened his eyes. What was it about these nurses that made them so damn cheerful all the time? And so damn noisy? He had been trying to sleep just to forget how damn hungry he was! Lunch had been totally inedible and his stomach had started to think that his throat had been cut. So he had taken refuge in sleep, well he had tried to. But along comes nurse, whichever this one was, oh yes, Cartwright, Rose Cartwright. She was a decent enough person he supposed, once she was off duty, but like the rest of them with their damn positive mental attitude, she could be tiring. And tiresome.

Harm could _feel_ her waiting for a reply, and sighed. Lifting a fork-full of whatever the hell it was supposed to have been, he let the mess that was on the fork slide back onto the plate with a faint plopping sound. He said nothing, but looked Nurse Cartwright straight in the eye.

She had the grace to look abashed and even more so when he spoke, "The only things on that tray that were even remotely edible were the bread roll," he told her, "and the lime jello!"

Even then she recovered quickly and smiled, a bright, professional and dammit, cheerful smile! "Never mind Commander, I'm sure dinner will be much better, and then you're scheduled to go home tomorrow, aren't you? Not even one more day, just a wake-up and a breakfast to go. You're so short; you won't even be able to see over the grass!"

That's just great; he thought bitterly, period Army slang dating back to a time before this girl was even born. It was all Hollywood's fault! Why couldn't she just check and record his damn vitals and get on with making some other poor SOB miserable!

Oh, thank God! Rescue! A visitor! And not just any visitor, his favourite visitor.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Loren, come in and pull up a pew." He smiled purely from the pleasure he gained from seeing her, "You have no idea how good it is to see you today!"

Nurse Cartwright smiled benignly on them both. They were such a good-looking couple, and they weren't fooling anyone with this act of just being colleagues! The pretty blonde lieutenant hadn't missed a day while the commander had been on this ward, and Jill Montgomery, her friend on ICU had told her that when the commander first came in, and they weren't sure he was going to pull through, there had been a couple of nights when she had stayed by his bedside all night! Not that she blamed the lieutenant, apart from his being absolutely gorgeous, there was something indefinably _good_ about his guy. Something that said, subtly, that he was one of the good guys, a definite keeper! "I'll leave you two alone, now," she said conspiratorially, and then pulled the curtain across the window and closing the door smiled brightly once again and left them grinning resignedly at each other.

"They still don't believe us, do they Commander?"

"No, I don't think they do! Loren, you have no idea how good it is to see you today!"

"That bored, sir?" she asked raising an eyebrow. That trick of hers fascinated him. How the hell did she managed to pull or push or... anyway, just raise the centre of her eyebrow to such an incredible height on her forehead!

"No, not bored," well, not now anyway, "And for the eleventy-first time, Loren my name is Harm, it's not a difficult name, try it sometime!"

"Aye, aye, si... Yes, Harm!"

"That's what I like to hear," he said with a smile.

"What's that?" she asked looking at him quizzically.

"You, saying my name!" he replied, and then as he saw her start to withdraw, he frantically added "instead of you always saying 'sir' or 'commander'." What the hell was that? He asked himself. He did prefer it when she used his name, but he hadn't meant it to sound like the cheesy compliment it had. For heaven's sake man, watch what the hell you're saying!

Where the hell did _that_ come from? Loren had stiffened, and she had even felt the beginnings of her poker face develop, but the rush with which the comm... with which Harm had corrected himself and the look of panic that she thought she'd seen on his face for an instant, convinced her that she was reading way, way too much into what had obviously been no more than a slight slip of the tongue. There was no way that he would have intentionally left himself open to a 'yellow light' call!

Loren tried to see what, if any, effect a smile would have on the situation. For some reason she had become more inclined to smile during this last two weeks than she had for a long time previously, even at work, and had been surprised by some the results those smiles had brought about.

Harm looked at her, relieved that she had decided to smile at his faux pas rather than make a fuss over it. He was getting quite used to her smiles too, and he rather liked the way they changed her. Looking at her critically, he saw that she had, as was her habit, dressed conservatively in a dark skirt, the hemline of which was just an inch or two above the knee, and pale blue blouse, just the right shade to emphasise the blue of her eyes, not too snug-fitting, with just the top button undone, a single slim gold chain around her neck, and over her arm a cream-coloured wind-cheater type jacket, and on her feet low-heeled shoes, the type his mother called sensible. On many other women, such an outfit would have looked dowdy, but Loren had the poise, the carriage... yes, dammit, the elegance, and the figure to carry it off. Her hair too, released from its rather severe on duty bun was longer than he'd have thought, was brushed until it shone, hanging down her back to a good third of the way her shoulder blades, and made its contribution to her relaxed, informal air.

"Here," she said, rummaging in the depths of her purse, "I stopped by your place on the way here, and emptied your mail box again. It looks like more cards from your legions of admirers." She grinned at him, a decided twinkle in her eyes suggesting that a full-blown smirk was lurking there somewhere, and not too far below the surface. "You have quite a fan club out there, Harm, and" she made a great show of smelling one of the envelopes, "quite a few of them have expensive tastes in perfume!"

"Hey, give me that!" he yelped as she made a pretence of opening the envelope she had just waved under her nose. "Interfering with the mail is a Federal offence!"

With an assumed show of reluctance she handed over the three envelopes, which he immediately opened without the slightest sign of embarrassment, but letting fall from one of the cards a photograph which slid off the bed and onto the floor. Leaning over to pick it up she found it was a picture of a young, attractive woman in a flight suit and helmet, half-way up the side of an airplane, and grinning into the lens. She passed the photograph back to him and smiled again at the undisguised look of pleasure that crossed his face. "Hey," he exclaimed, "good old Skates!"

He saw the look of bemusement on her face and explained, "Skates, Liz Hawkes, my GIBS - my RIO from the Patrick Henry - and one of the best people you'll ever meet. You'll like her. Sent from...Jebel Ali. There you are Loren, my fans still love me!"

"Yuh think?" she replied straight faced, but with her smile evident in her eyes. That could have been thought to be a touch arrogant, his casual assumption that she'd like his friends, or even that she'd want to meet his them, but the genuine pleasure he'd shown in receiving just a card from someone he liked was infectious, and she found herself thinking that she would like to meet this woman who could make him smile like that.

Her own smile faded however before he could answer, as a knock at the door drew their attention to another visitor. Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie had made an effort to appear as if she had not made an effort. Close-fitting black slacks revealed a little more than they hid of her slim hips and long legs, while the crimson sweater she wore was perhaps just one size too small for her generous breasts, and the V-neck revealed perhaps an inch more cleavage than it ought. Her make-up had been very carefully applied to make it seem that she wasn't using any and her hair was in carefully arranged apparent slight disorder.

"I'm not disturbing anything, am I?" she enquired as she strolled into the room, like some sort of feline predator, Loren thought, and so obviously insincere, that smile on her face was just a little too bright and a little too wide to be real. The Bitch-Colonel was actually hoping that she _was_ disturbing something! What the hell was wrong with the woman? Apart from wanting to tick Loren off, of course! She had her man, so why was she putting on such a big show for Harm, and why wait to visit with him until the day before he was due to be released from the hospital. If she really cared, she'd had six days when she could have come to visit with him, before! And that kiss on the cheek she had just given him, what was that all about, after all the times she had ignored him and put him down in the office! And what was wrong with him, lapping it up like that! Loren thought he'd said he was over her, but there he was, lying in bed and lapping it up while she... oozed all over him and there he was with that sappy look in his eyes! The pair of them were making her start to feel nauseous. She started to gather her purse and jacket, while the Bitch-Colonel perched on the side of the bed and taking a possessive hold of his hand turned to her and with false sweetness and fake disappointment asked, "Oh are you leaving us so soon, Lieutenant?"

"Yes," she replied in an artificially bright voice, "I do have other things to do!"

"Hey, wait up a minute, Loren, you don't have to go..." Harm called after her as she left the room. He had seen the withdrawal, the tightness return to her facial expression, all the good humour wiped clean.

"Oh, let her go, Harm," Mac's voice was deliberately pitched so Loren could hear it as she left the room, "Then we can be comfortable, together," she smiled at him.

To her amazement and anger, he sat up and away from her, and lost the stunned expression on his face. "Mac," he sighed half in exasperation, "Just what the hell sort of game are you playing, now?"

"Game? I don't understand, Harm. I'm not playing any sort of game; I just came to visit the guy who's been my partner for the last five years."

"Firstly, what was that kiss? We don't kiss," he said bitterly, "and secondly, Mac, I know you've been back since Tuesday, why wait until right now to come and visit with me?" A thought struck him, "Have you been talking to Harriett Sims?"

"No, I haven't, why?"

He looked at her with scepticism in his eyes. At one time he would have believed absolutely in the truth of what she told him, but now, with all the concealed truths, the implicit lies and the deceptions, and the way she had blown hot and cold towards him, he was no longer sure of either her motives or her honesty. As he pondered her reply and her reasons for visiting him, the idea slowly crept into his mind that she was once again running away from truths that she didn't want to acknowledge.

"Oh, it was just something she said that suddenly struck a chord."

"And what was that?" she asked archly.

"Just something about timing..."

Mac scrutinised him intensely; there was something different about him, and it unsettled her. He had always been her rock, her foundation, the one person who had never seemed to judge her when she screwed up. He had saved her six time and again, both literally and figuratively. It had been he who had taken down the crazy cop who had not only killed Dalton, but had kidnapped her; he had been the one who defended her when she had been court-martialled for the murder of her husband, while Brumby the man to whom she was now engaged, had tried his best to see her convicted. How the hell had she gotten herself into this mess, this time? And what had happened to Harm? Couldn't he see that this time she really needed him! Or was it that he was falling under the influence of Lieutenant Witch? Damn Chegwidden! It was all his damn' fault, sending that blonde tramp to check up on Harm; It should have been her, it was her duty; hell, it was her right as his partner! Movement to Naples could have waited a day, it wouldn't have hurt - it might even have helped, allowed some of the evidence to come to light naturally, rather than she and Bud having to step on toes to get to the truth.

"Ah, well, on the subject of timing," she continued on a bright and breezy note, "What time do you want picking up tomorrow?"

"No, that's OK, Mac, don't worry about it; that's all been taken care of."

"One of your lady friends, I suppose?" She may have tried to keep the note of jealousy out of her voice, but if she failed to notice it, Harm hadn't.

For God's sake, he thought. Get over yourself. I have! And perhaps it wasn't entirely a lie. But all he said was, "Yeah, right, you got me."

Trying to put behind her the unexpected hurt due to his refusal of her offer of help, she made desultory conversation, talking about little incidents at work during the past few days, how little A J their mutual Godson was doing, and how she, and others at work were constantly fielding enquiring telephone calls from what she jokingly called his harem. But after ten minutes of this inconsequential chatter, she gathered up her coat and purse and brightly telling him that she was going to have to run, or risk being late for an RV with Mic, she left him in solitude.

As she walked down the hospital hallway, Mac half-smiled to herself, her plan had half-succeeded, even if Harm hadn't seen that she needed his help, and had dispensed with her offer of help for tomorrow, and she had planned to be very helpful and very affectionate; she had at least reminded him of some of their bonds and had seen off that little blonde whore; they had looked far too comfortable together in the couple of minutes she had watched them before she made her presence known. She owed Harriett for the heads-up on that one. She must do something nice for her in return... one day.

**Sunday 11 February 2001, 1930hrs Local (Zulu -5), Male Medical Ward, Medical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD**

For the twentieth time in the last half hour Harm looked at his watch. It was unusual for Loren not have arrived on the stroke on nineteen hundred hours as she normally did whenever she'd cut short her afternoon visit.

**Sunday 11 February 2001, 2040hrs Local (Zulu -5), Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC**

Damn that Bloody Bitch-Colonel MacKenzie, Loren thought as she sat in front of her dressing table, ruthlessly pulling a brush through her hair. Who would have thought that just wearing her hair loose for the day could cause it to snarl like that, and that working the brush through the snags, knots and tangles - ow that smarts! - could make her eyes water like that. She'd have to be more careful; getting things in a tangle could really hurt!

**Monday, 12 February 2001, 0900hrs Local (Zulu -5), JAG Conference Room, Falls Church, VA**

** "**Attention on deck!" Tiner's voice cut across the Monday morning murmur as the Navy JAG Corps lawyers stopped their exchanged beginning of the week greetings and brief accounts of the past weekend's trials and triumphs, and rose to their feet in the attention position.

Admiral Chegwidden sat down in the elbow-chair at the head of the table and gave the anticipated order, "As you were, sit down everybody." He waited until all had taken their seats. "Tiner?"

The Admiral's Yeoman reached into the archive box on the chair beside him and handed the first of the day's files to his principal. Glancing at the cover-sheet, the JAG continued, "Sergeant Major Charles Krohn, found by Baltimore PD, kneeling over his wife's unconscious body in a Baltimore alley. Service accused, service dependant victim, the Navy is claiming jurisdiction. Assault consummated with battery and with intent to murder. Colonel MacKenzie, you'll prosecute, Commander Imes, you'll defend."

"Aye, aye, sir"

"Sir, I'd like Lieutenant Roberts to sit second chair with me on this one."

"Any particular reason, Colonel?"

"Yes, sir, with the civilian interest in this case, it's likely to become a leader on the local news, and the Lieutenant could do with the experience of learning how to handle a high-visibility case, and he worked well with me on the _Monroe Smith_ investigation"

"Yes, agreed."

At the admiral's nod, Tiner handed him a second case file.

"Lieutenant Barlow, you'll prosecute Senior Chief McHale. DDO, Disrespect to a Commissioned Officer. Commander Brumby, you'll defend."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Lieutenant Singer, I understand you'll be securing at lunchtime?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you tell the commander that he has two weeks' hospital leave to take and he'll damn-well take them, if I even hear the slightest trace of a scuttlebutt that says he's even thinking of returning to duty before then, I will personally throw his six into the brig for the remainder of his leave and then I'll send him back to Bethesda so they can charge him with DDO. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Mac fumed silently. So the arrangements that 'were all taken care of' were for the Pit-Bull to pick him up from the hospital. No wonder he'd been so damned reticent and evasive. What the hell was he playing at, she asked herself; he'd damn well lied to her! One of his lady friends, my ass! He knew full well that she'd meant that shrink, Jordy whatever her name was, or that TV commercial director! Not Lieutenant Witch. Look at her, sat there all prim and proper as if butter wouldn't melt in her damn mouth!. But, if he was trying to make her jealous he'd failed miserably, and his plan was all ass-backwards anyway, _she_ was the one with the ring on her finger; _he_ should be the one who was jealous. Well, she hoped he'd be very happy with the little Lieutenant Loren, until she got tired of him! Or, as she reflected, he got tired of her! Yeah, thinking about it, she'd had a lucky escape there; OK it was tough on him his girlfriend getting murdered, and she was glad she'd helped him nail the son-of-a-bitch that had pulled the trigger, but no woman was going to let him carry her ghost around forever. But that's what he'd been doing ever since she'd died. He'd let that blonde lieutenant go, he'd never even tried to contact her since she'd left JAG. He'd lost interest in Neurotic Annie, although he claimed she'd dumped him... yeah, right... did he think she was totally stupid? A widow woman with a six-year old, she must have been champing at the bit to get her claws into him, and then he'd ditched the shrink, just to go back flying, just like he'd betrayed her by doing that very same thing. Then there was that pain-in-the-butt TV woman, she had been drooling all over him, dragging him off to all those film-and-TV-industry events, just so she could parade around in front of the bosses with a 'real man' on her arm. Real man? Hah! Much she knew! If he was a real man, he'd have accepted her proposition in Australia and tried to see where it would take them. That's when she'd had enough of trying to coax him into behaving like an adult, and she'd looked elsewhere and found what she was looking for in Mic. He didn't put up with any of her crap, he knew just what he wanted, he made the all arrangements for their dates, none of this 'what would you like to do' BS. He made the decisions for both of them; and that was just one of the things she loved about him, she told herself. He wasn't the gentlest lover she'd ever had, but he was virile and energetic and, she shuddered deliciously at last night's memory, definitely a real man.

**Monday 12 February 2001, 1300hrs Local (Zulu -5), Male Medical Ward, Medical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD**

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant, he's waiting for you in his room, he's been straining at the leash for the last half-hour at least, right Commander?"

"Yes, sir," the Nurse Lieutenant Commander replied, "I thought we were going to have to cuff him to the bed for a while! All the release papers have been completed and signed, Lieutenant, and you can take him away at your earliest convenience, although," she said with a sigh, "we'll be sorry to see him go."

"Yes, ma'am," Loren replied dutifully with a grimace that might charitably be thought to be a smile, as she left the nurses' station for Harm's room. She did smile then, to herself, she was beginning to think of him as he'd said he wanted to her to call him, as Harm and not as commander.

"Hello, Harm."

He had been prepared to be snappy with her, for not visiting last night, but the unexpected, but totally welcome warmth of her greeting, and her use of his name and the sunny smile, somehow defused his hurt and disappointment. Instead he said mildly, "Oh, you did come, after all."

Puzzled, she asked, "Why wouldn't I? Didn't we arrange this on Thursday and Friday?"

"Well, yes, but you left so quickly yesterday afternoon, and then when you didn't show yesterday evening, I thought perhaps that you'd changed your mind."

She thought she'd picked up a hint of relief in his voice that she had come, and quelled the feeling of... something or other, sternly telling herself that it was only his anxiety to get out of hospital that had made him react that way.

"Oh, that," she said dismissively, "No, it was just that Colonel MacKenzie looked like she was settling in for the duration, and I figured that since she hadn't been able to visit all week, that you two partners would want to make a long evening of catching up, and a long 'do you remember...?' session when you're not a part of the memories is pretty boring."

He winced at her bluntness, but was forced to admit she was absolutely right. He remembered as a young man in his twenties being roped into exactly that sort of situation with his mom and Frank. "I wish you had come back last night, or even stayed a bit longer yesterday afternoon. The Colonel could only make a very short visit; she only stayed about ten minutes after you left. So between you, I was all abandoned." His last sentence was said with a mixture of mock sadness and mock bravado, but again Loren picked up, or thought she had picked up on a genuine sadness under his apparently cheerful demeanour.

That bitch! It was now very clear to her what MacKenzie had been up to! What a bitch-in-the-manger she was! She didn't want Harm, but she wasn't going to let anyone else have him either! But what was so sad was the way she so wrong! Loren hadn't the slightest romantic interest in Harmon David Rabb. They worked together in the same office, and they were gradually becoming friends, but that was it. Nothing else. Nothing more, if there were no other impediments, regulations prohibited any improper behaviour between junior and senior officers. Of course that hadn't mattered between Colonel and Commander, they were the equivalent in rank, and of course it didn't apply to the Colonel and Brumby, they weren't in the same chain of command, hell, they weren't even in the same navy! But Rabb and Singer were a definite no; a three strikes and you're out, no. That would be out, as in out of the navy, and probably via Leavenworth for him and Miramar for her for a good few years for good measure and that was not a good career path. So any romantic feelings that she might possibly develop in the future would have to be rigorously squashed!

**Monday 12 February 2001, 1540hrs Local (Zulu -5), Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC**

Struggling slightly under the burden of two large grocery sacks and his shoulder slung val-pack, Harm nodded to Loren to unlock the apartment door and let them both in.

"M'mm," Harm breathed deeply and appreciatively, Loren had said that she'd kept an eye on the place for the last two weeks. She hadn't said that she had turned to and had a real field day, even just a casual glance showed him that the apartment was spotless and smelled fresh too, but not one of those really girly floral air-freshener smells, this was more like… a herby aroma, bracken or maybe thyme? He'd have to ask… later. He turned to her with a real smile and said as he dropped his val-pack onto the floor and dumped the grocery bags on the breakfast counter, "Loren, this is fantastic, you've done a great job on the place! Thank you! And thank you for everything else you've done over the last coupla weeks!" And that includes, he said to himself, saving my life, but how do you adequately say thank you for that?

Loren looked up at him - it was easy to forget once you'd accustomed yourself to seeing him in bed - how tall he was. She had meant to acknowledge his thanks with a graceful disclaimer, but instead all she managed was a strangled, "I… uh… it… I didn't… It wasn't…" and then her damn tongue stumbled to a halt and waves of thoughts and images flooded the empty space where her brain should be. Harm saying thanks just for keeping an eye on his apartment, Harm in bed in the hospital. Harm in bed, here in this apartment, Harm naked in bed - well she'd had to strip his soiled T-shirt and boxers off him before the EMTs had arrived, and Harm naked in bed with… No! Red light, Lieutenant! Stop that thought right there, sister! And now he'd turned that damn' mega-watt, fly-boy smile on her and… Oh, noooo! Motherrrr! She felt herself go flame red again. Just how damn' pitiful did she want to look in front of him?

What, what did I say or do now? Harm was mystified. All he'd said, check-passing his last few words under mental review, was thank you for looking after the place, what, for heaven's sake, was in that to make her blush? Mind you, she's as cute as basket of kittens when she does! What? Cut that out right now, before she reads your mind, she's a lawyer for Chrissakes! She'll sue if you're lucky! Otherwise it'll be 'mind your freaking fingers!' as the cell door slams shut!

"And especially thanks," he added trying to restore some semblance of normality to the situation, "for picking me up from the hospital today. I'd really had it with that place," he continued as he crossed towards the breakfast bar, "I missed all the comforts of home, I missed being able to choose when and what to eat, and I really missed a decent cup of coffee!" he finished as he filled the coffee jug with fresh water and dumped a slack handful of coffee grounds into a fresh filter paper. "You will stay for a coffee?" he added.

Loren really wanted to do nothing more than bolt for home, but was painfully conscious that if she did bug out now, her escape would only draw his further attention to her discomfort.

"I'd love one, thank you, she said, realising as she said it, it was true. She would like a cup of coffee. "But if I could just freshen up a little first?"

"Sure, go right ahead, he indicated the general direction of the bathroom with a spoon-filled hand, "I guess you know where everything is?"

By the time Loren returned from the bathroom, having removed her Dress Blue jacket and neck-tab, the coffee was ready and Harm had brought two mugs over to the low table, flanked by the couch and two arm chairs. Taking his favourite position on the couch, he placed Loren's coffee mug at one corner of the table, leaving it up to her where she wanted to sit. He was not surprised, and possibly a little relieved, when she opted to use one of the arm chairs.

Over the course of the coffee drinking the tension between them eased and by the time Harm collected the empty mugs and taken them to be refilled, Loren had curled up in the arm chair in that uniquely female position that no mere male could ever hope to emulate, with her feet tucked sideways under her butt. Sipping appreciatively at the strong and mellow brew - so different from the 'marine' coffee available at JAG - Loren asked, "So, where did you pick up malaria?"

"Oh, in Colombia, way back in the day, when I was young and dumb!" Harm grinned at the memory of just how young and dumb he had been!

"You can't leave it like that!" Loren protested laughing, "C'mon give!"

"Well it was one of the first jobs I was given when I came to JAG. It was supposed to have been a simple JAGMAN investigation into three sailors, female Petty Officers, going UA in Panama, and then one of them turning up dead in a brothel in Buenaventura in Colombia. One of the other two sailors had an uncle who was a senatorial aide, and raised a big stink over his missing niece, and the investigation was half-handed off to State. That," he added with heavy irony, "was the first time I had the pleasure of meeting Mr Webb. Of course with Clayton Webb involved the whole investigation got FUBAR'd, and the four of us, Webb, the two sailors and me ended up running cross country through the Columbian bush try to E and E AK47 waving white-slavers! Managed to dodge them in the end," he continued, "but I wasn't quite so successful in dodging the mosquitoes!"

Although she realised that he had been in grave danger during the course of that investigation, the droll manner in which he finished his story made her smile, and she asked with an impish grin, "So that was the start of a beautiful friendship, I take it?"

"Yeah, it gave me a head's up 'though; every time after that when I see or hear of Webb's hand in anything I'm involved in, I make sure I've got my own back-up plan! One of these days one of his operations is going to get seriously goat-roped, and some poor bastard is going to get killed, while the Teflon spook wriggles out from under."

He didn't add that the poor bastard who'd nearly got killed on that trip was Meg Austin, whom Webb, unknown to Harm, had used as bait to entice the bad guys out into the open. He'd had nightmares for years over what could have happened to Meg, if he and Webb hadn't made it out of the bush in time to bust her out of the brothel and for Webb to put a couple of 9mm rounds through the back of the head of the guy holding a razor sharp machete to her throat while Harm had distracted him.

He did smile back at Loren though, but the cause of the smile was the memory of the aftermath of that operation; that was the first time Webb had had his nose broken by a JAG.

Loren tried to top his story with one about her pre-law days at Boston U, when a jock - a wide receiver on the university football team - who had mistaken her enthusiasm for the sport for enthusiasm for him had tried to hit on her, time after time. Eventually, she had grown tired of telling him no, and had agreed to meet him for cocktails in one Boston's snootiest hotels. She had turned up at the meeting however, accompanied by her 'boyfriend', actually her room-mate's cousin who played middle linebacker for the New York Giants. "It was fascinating," she ended "to see just how quickly the college jock's interest in me waned, but the middle linebacker I found to be very interesting, for a couple of months!"

She did however acknowledge that Harm's story out-topped hers by a country mile, and the conversation wandered around between books, bikes, and jazz singers, until Loren catching sight of her watch gasped, "Oh my God, look at the time! Harm, I've got to go!"

"Why?" he asked, "Is there somewhere you need to be?"

"No, but I've got dinner to get and uniform to get ready for tomorrow!"

To his surprise, Harm realised that he was reluctant to see Loren leave; he was enjoying the time they were spending together, enjoying that he could spend time with a woman friend without, he told himself, all the will-they-wont-they tensions swimming about just under the surface. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" he asked trying to make it sound like a casual invitation. "I owe you big time for all that you've done. I've got a washing machine, a dryer, an iron and shoe polish. I'll dig you out a T-shirt or sweats, if you prefer, and you can put your blouse and what-have-you into the washer while I fix dinner for both of us. It's little enough considering what you've done for me."

**Monday 12 February 2001, 1900hrs Local (Zulu -5), Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC**

Loren wasn't quite sure whether or not to feel resentful that he seemed to be putting pressure on her to do something that she wasn't sure she wanted to do. Well, not at the present time, anyway, and she definitely wasn't quite sure about the whole get out of your clothes and into mine while I fix dinner idea, either. But she reflected, he had never given her cause to suspect that his intentions were anything other on the up and up, 'strictly honourable' as the old cliché had it, she smiled. And again, how was she to say 'no' without appearing ungracious and ill-mannered? Besides, her usual habit was to get out of uniform the minute she got home, and it would be especially good to get out of the uniform that she'd now been wearing now for almost thirteen hours!

"I suspect that you pretty much well know where everything is stowed by now," he casually invited her, waving a wooden spatula in the general direction of the bedroom and bathroom, "You've got plenty of time, this little lot won't be ready for an hour or so!"

Given carte blanche to rummage through his various drawers and closets was too much of a temptation to resist, so with a smile Loren left Harm mixing up a storm of whatever he had in mind for dinner in a large brown bowl. He had an impressive array of T-shirts, sweats and jogging bottoms squirreled away in various drawers and on the closet shelves, she realised, and some very nice formal shirts hanging in the closet, but very little in the way of informal wear. When not wearing uniform or one of the three very sharp Italian suits in the closet, it appeared he lived in jeans and T-shirts or sweat shirts, depending she supposed on the time of year.

Very practical she supposed for a man who lived out of a go-bag for so many weeks of the year, but hardly an inspiring wardrobe. Eventually she picked a pair of jogging bottoms and a sweat shirt, more or less at random, and passed through into the bathroom where she quickly stripped off her blouse and after some thought her bra and put them in the washing machine. The sweat shirt was no problem, it was loose enough to conceal the unconfined state of her breasts and it was long enough for modesty, reaching almost to her knees, if anything it was slightly longer than her uniform skirt. This was just as well, as there was absolutely no way on God's earth that she was ever going to appear in front of another human being while she was drowning in one of his pairs of jogging bottoms!

Her reappearance in the kitchen caused Harm's jaw to drop. He had never before thought of his old squadron sweat shirt as sexy, or even as cute, but the way it looked on Loren, he was having to rapidly readjust his mental patterns!

This was the first time he had seen her when she wasn't either in uniform or the conservative skirt and blouse combinations that she favoured. And he had to admit that the more casual look enhanced her attractiveness. He stopped to reconsider that thought; but she was attractive, when she relaxed. He'd become aware of that over the last two weeks. Relaxed Loren had lost that whole dissatisfied-with-the-world-and-my-whole-life-sucks thing she had going, and actually appeared to be enjoying herself. Who would have thought before last week that he would actually invite her to have dinner with him in his apartment, and she got changed in his bathroom or bedroom while he cooked!

Recovering his mental balance, he pointed out the closet where the iron and ironing board were stowed and turning his back on her as she passed the iron over her skirt, he carried on with the dinner preparations. It took longer for the dinner to cook than it did for Loren to finish pressing her skirt, and she spent the last fifteen or so minutes of waiting time perched on one of the breakfast stools and watching with interest Harm's certainty around his kitchen. She had been right in her initial surmise, there was no agglomerating a mass of used tools and dishes when he cooked, as something was finished with, it was washed up and stowed away in its proper place. He was going to make some lucky woman a wonderful husband one day, she mused, but this time she applied the brakes on her runaway brain before she got to the fire engine red station! But his habit of stowing away everything as he finished with it made her realise just how ill he must have been the evening he had left his dirty plate and the oven-proof dish of lasagna unattended to.

Finally dinner was placed on the table and the two of them sat down to eat, their appetites sharpened by hunger. And although Harm apologised for only having mineral water to drink, she didn't feel the need for stimulants of any kind. The relaxed atmosphere, the good food - he was a good cook her taste buds confirmed, and who would have thought that meatless meatloaf could taste so good? - and most of all the good company combined to make a most ridiculously domesticated evening one of the better ones that she could remember in years - even if it had culminated in the redeployment of the iron and ironing board to bring her blouse up to the required standard for tomorrow!

She had felt just one more tinge of uneasiness when she realised that it was gone half-past eleven, when she mentioned that it _was_ time she left she had feared that he was about to suggest that she stay the night. She hoped he wouldn't because not only would that spoil the memory of the evening, it would nip in the bud one of the most promising friendships she had had in a very long time. Her fears, she thanked her guardian spirit, were unfounded. He'd protested a little, saying that she could stay longer if she wished, but when she pointed out that he was the one on leave and that she would have to get enough sleep to cope with the Admiral and all his works the following morning, he threw up his hand in a fencer's gesture and cried out, "touché"!

As a result of his foolishness and the laughter it had occasioned, it was nearly midnight when with freshly ironed blouse and pressed uniform on a borrowed hanger, and grateful that the lack of alcohol allowed her to drive home, she was ready to leave. Her departure was delayed for a minute or two by Harm, who, despite her protests, insisted that he would walk her down to her car, but he just needed to get something from his bedroom first. He reappeared wearing sneakers in place of the flip-flops he had slipped his feet into on first returning home and pronounced himself ready in all respects to proceed. Once he had seen Loren safely into her car, and watched her drive out on to the street, Harm had locked the outside door and taken the old freight elevator back up to his apartment, where he removed the Browning 9mm from its concealment in his waistband at the small of his back and replaced it in the nightstand drawer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Enough is Enough**

**3**

**Tuesday, 13 February 2001, 0756hrs Local, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (231256ZFeb01)**

Lieutenant Singer parked her blue MX5 in her allocated parking space and walked briskly across the courtyard, returning a couple of smartly snapped salutes with a cheerful, "Good morning, Marine," and "Good Morning, Petty Officer!"

The Petty Officer, the new boy in town, passed on his way without a single clue that he has just witnessed an extraordinary event. Private First Class Brian Donahue on the other hand stood rooted to the spot staring after the petite blonde Lieutenant, until recalled to his duty by the far from cheerful voice of his Corporal, which grated unlovingly in his ear, "Was there something particularly special about this morning that excuses you from getting your sorry ass to where it was supposed to be two minutes ago?"

"No, Corporal! Er… yes, Corporal."

"Make your mind up, Marine!"

"It was Lieutenant Singer, Corporal… she said 'good morning,' and she smiled…"

The Corporal just glared at him in disbelief.

Lieutenant Singer's unusually sunny behaviour didn't go unnoticed in the bull-pen either, her breezy "Good morning," addressed to the inhabitants of the bull-pen at large stunned most of them into temporary immobility until the Gunny, the first to recover, barked them all back to duty. Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, although alive with curiosity, gave Lieutenant Singer five minutes to settle in to her office, before he unobtrusively made his way around the edge of the bull-pen and knocked on her door.

Loren looked up from the case file, where she was annotating the witness list in order of priority and although she had a faint frown on her face, her expression was far removed from that of her normal peevish self. "Beg your pardon ma'am", the Gunnery Sergeant said, "but as you've come straight to your office, I was wondering if maybe you hadn't got time to make a coffee, and if so, ma'am, I'd be happy to have one brought to you."

"Oh, thank you, Gunny, yes, that would be fine," she smiled pleasantly at him, but when he didn't leave, she cocked an expressive eyebrow at him and asked, in a mildly inquiring voice, "Was there something else Gunny?"

"Uh, no, no ma'am, I'll get on it right away ma'am!" A pleasantly shocked Gunnery Sergeant wandered away to the break room, where he prepared a cup of coffee the way he knew Lieutenant Singer liked it, as hot as hell as sweet as sin, as strong as steel and as black as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat, as he'd once heard her describe it in painstakingly clear tones to an unfortunate seaman whose efforts at making coffee had not, on that occasion, met with her approval.

Her coffee made and delivered, his sense of what was right and proper in the world was further shaken when she smiled - again, and thanked him - again, and then had said, "M'mm good coffee Gunny, thank you!" As he crossed to his own desk, Victor Galindez regretted, not for the first time, that there was no-one else of his pay-grade in the office in whom he could confide, he sighed, it would have to be Tiner, he supposed. But sharing news with Tiner meant sharing it with Seaman Hawkins, and that meant of course that the whole of JAG, dammit, the whole of the DC naval community would know within a matter of hours. Still, if he swore Tiner to secrecy… Then the Gunnery Sergeant put two and two together. Lieutenant Singer's change in attitude had only occurred during the last two weeks, since Commander Rabb had been off sick, and everybody knew, now, that she had been the one who had found him and saved his life by giving him CPR and EAR, and her good moods usually only lasted the morning and she was back to her usual, if slightly less than normally waspish self, by mid afternoon. So, although it was circumstantial the evidence pointed to Lieutenant Singer having some sort of relationship with the Commander. This situation if it were true would need very careful handling, although in the quarrels between the Colonel and the Commander, he had as a marine automatically taken the Colonel's side, he liked the Commander, hell, everybody liked the Commander, but if word, or even the suspicion of a word got to the ears of the powers that be that the Commander and the Lieutenant were fraternising against the rules, then the Commander's career and that of Lieutenant Singer would be over. And while no-one would really be sorry to see the Wicked Witch of Washington disappear in the general direction of the women's military prison at Miramar, it would be a real shame if the Commander ended up in Leavenworth. OK there might not be any proof of an improper relationship between the two officers, but even the appearance of impropriety could be enough, and the Gunny had heard of more than one case of fraternisation having been 'proved' by purely circumstantial evidence. No, on this one, he had best keep his suspicions to himself and his mouth shut, while if he was, right, he hoped that they'd get away with it!

Unfortunately, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez was not the only member of JAG HQ to be arithmetically challenged.

**Tuesday, 13 February 2001, 0858hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (231400ZFeb01)**

Loren Singer left her office, a slim bundle of files under her arm as she headed towards the Conference Room on her way to the daily staff call, and was surprised when Colonel MacKenzie fell into step alongside her. Cocking an eyebrow at the Colonel, she asked in a neutral tone, "Was there something you wanted, ma'am?"

Mac MacKenzie stared with absolute loathing at the blonde navy lieutenant but forced her voice to remain non-committal as she replied, "No, not really Lieutenant, I was just wondering why you were suddenly so cheerful these mornings, and then I realised I could hazard a guess."

"Oh, really Colonel, and why do you think that might be?"

"I think perhaps that you've been… er… dining out rather a lot, at a little place I used to go to, but I don't bother with it anymore, the service wasn't up to much, and the menu was a bit limited."

"I didn't find it like that all Colonel," Loren shot back in her sweetest voice, and, added, "I found the service was excellent, and the menu was… exciting; perhaps there was nothing wrong with the bill of fare at all Colonel, maybe you just chose the wrong item off the menu."

The Colonel was forced to remain silent as Loren opened the Conference Room door, so respectfully that it was only just short of insubordination and then held the door open for the senior officer to enter the room first.

Loren took her accustomed seat about a third of the way down the long side of the table in the conference room, and placed a legal pad and pencil on the table ready for taking notes if they were needed. She nodded in acknowledgment of Lieutenant Barlow's greeting as the younger Lieutenant took a seat next to her, and murmured a response to Lieutenant Robert's "Good morning, Lieutenants."

Loren found that she was under hostile scrutiny from the Bitch-Colonel who was sat opposite her and, returned that stare with a look of the utmost complacency. But Loren was also saw that the Bitch-Colonel was whispering in the ear of her new fiancé, the Australian Lieutenant Commander, who made her feel uneasy every time he looked at her. Sarah MacKenzie, except for a blush of anger, was white with rage, while Lieutenants Barlow and Roberts looked uneasily back and forwards between marine lieutenant colonel and navy lieutenant. Neither of them had been privy to the hallway conversation, but both felt that the always hostile dynamic between Mac MacKenzie and Loren Singer had changed, and for the worse.

Fortunately perhaps, before either of the two women had the opportunity to say anything more, Petty Officer Tiner opened the door, calling out as he entered the room "Attention on deck!"

Admiral Chegwidden scanned the faces of his assembled staff. There was a strange undercurrent present, and he didn't like it. Two of his three lieutenants seemed very uneasy, while Lieutenant Singer appeared to be unnaturally calm and serene, while the same could not be said for Colonel MacKenzie, who gave every appearance of being about to scream at somebody. Brumby was red-faced and seemed on the verge of an eruption while Imes was very pale. In short, every lawyer in the room appeared just about ready to attack somebody. The admiral remained standing, and without taking his eyes of his officers, he growled, "Tiner, go get me a coffee."

Tiner's sense of self-preservation had already kicked in, and he was almost out of the door before his "Aye, aye, sir!" had reached the far end of the table.

"I don't know what's just been happening here. And I don't care whose fault it was. But I will get to the bottom of this, and by God when I do, somebody," and his eyes swept the assemblage, "will have me on their six so fast, they'll think I'm a Goddam SAM! Now, sit down and let's get down to business!"

**Tuesday, 13 February, 2001, 1630hrs Local, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (132130ZFeb01) **

Loren Singer breathed a sigh of relief, as she entered the elevator. The day had been so tense with unresolved hostility, that for once she had secured early, keen to get away from the battleground which the JAG offices had become. She ruefully acknowledged that she was in part to blame, but the vile insinuations from the equally vile Bitch-Colonel had finally become unbearable, and she had for once retaliated. She had been confident of holding her own in a verbal battle with the marine, but she knew that she faced a tough fight, and could only trust that the marine would at least try and keep their personal quarrel out of their professional lives. But already that seemed unlikely; the tension between the two officers had been picked up by the enlisted staff, and with Harriett Sims encamped in the Colonel's office for half the morning, and the looks the blonde Administrative Officer had been casting her way, Loren had no doubt that a highly flavoured account of the contretemps had been poured into her ears. Suck it up Lieutenant, she told herself, you're a big girl now. And, I think I know just how to cheer myself up.

**Tuesday, 13 February, 2001, 1810hrs Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (132310ZFeb01)**

She had arrived so early that she must have secured from the day's work promptly at seventeen hundred hours, carrying with her a suit-bag. Her unheralded arrival on his doorstep had interrupted his desultory plucking of his guitar strings, as he fumbled his way through a, to him, new piece of classical blues music, Willie Dixon's 'Spoonful'; he had stood with one hand holding the door open and his guitar trailing from the other with his mouth half-open and an expression of surprise on his face. After an awkward pause, during which the half-smile of anticipation on her face had begun to fade, and a flicker of hurt had started to grow in her eyes, he had stuttered, "Loren… you surprised me… I wasn't expecting you, please, come in."

Relieved that his reaction had been surprise rather than dismay or rejection, Loren couldn't resist indulging in a spot of light-hearted revenge, "Well, if you weren't expecting to see me, then who were you expecting?"

"Uh, no-one," he had managed, "Umm, Don't think that you're not welcome, you are of course, any time, or that I'm not pleased to see you, I am always pleased to see you, but should I have been expecting you? Did I forget that we had something arranged? Can I get you a coffee?" He realised that he was rambling and thought, I'll just shut up now, and give her a chance to answer.

Her heart and given a peculiar little jump at the thought that he had thought that they might have had an arrangement. In some ways that would have been more… comforting? more satisfactory? More agreeable, maybe that was the word, or more… fun? Although, she acknowledged, it had been fun ambushing him on his own doorstep, even though for a horrible twenty seconds she thought he'd been about to shut the door in her face, or tell her to go home that he was busy, or worse that he had company, female company. Not that it was any of her business if he did have other women visitors, of course, they were just friends, well nearly friends, so she didn't care - unless it was that bitch MacKenzie, and that was only for his own good! Didn't care, or didn't want to care? a small voice in the back of her mind wanted to know.

"Yes, and thank you for the coffee," Loren replied, rigorously suppressing that treacherous little voice. "No we had not arranged to meet today - but well, maybe we did, in a sort of nebulous way. And thank you for your most gracious welcome" she added, the rare hint of mockery in her voice bringing a startled look her way and then his slow smile dawned as he took her meaning.

"So, madam", he asked as he dumped the coffee grounds into the filter, "to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your visit, in a nebulous way, of course?"

Pleased, and in some sense relieved, that he had chosen to respond by turning her own words against her, she gained confidence and asked, "If I could just use your bathroom, while the coffee's brewing, I'll explain when I get back." She saw the bewilderment in his face and said in a cajoling manner, "I promise,"

"And I suppose" he growled in mock exasperation, "that if I say 'no', you won't tell me what is it I'm supposed to do with you?"

"Oh," she said, her hand going to the buttons of her uniform jacket, "I'll tell you anyway, it would be a wasted journey if I didn't but if I can't use your bathroom, I'll just have to get changed here."

That did startle him and he was about to protest, when he realised that she was challenging him for some deep and probably perverse female reason, and for a few seconds, he was sorely tempted to call her bluff.

"No, not the bathroom," he demurred, and indicating the far end of the room, he explained, "Glass bricks, you had better use the bedroom." It was only after he'd said it that he realised that his words were open to gross misinterpretation, and he shut his eyes waiting for her angered response and stormy exit, so he missed the quick blush that flooded her face before she grabbed her suit bag and muttered her thanks before she fled to the bedroom.

Once out of sight, she leaned back against the bedroom wall and took a few deep breaths as she regained control. How could she have been so stupid! She berated herself. What must he be thinking of her? First she had proposed getting undressed behind a glass wall - OK the bricks were too thick to allow anything other than a vague outline to be seen, but still! And then, she had definitely crossed the line, she had practically offered to do a striptease for him. She had been damn lucky that he hadn't called her on a red light and thrown her out of the apartment, while telling her that he was going to prefer sexual harassment charges against her! Quite how she was going to handle this she was unsure, but she couldn't run now, that would only be advertising just how guilty and embarrassed she felt. But least she'd made it to the sanctuary of the bedroom before he'd had time to register her confusion. No, girl, she told herself, the only thing you can do is suck it up - again! She'd just have to play it cool, and pretend the whole incident hadn't happened, unless he mentioned it, and then she'd just have to hope that he'd accept her explanation that it had been meant as a joke, that had played well in her mind, but that had badly misfired and she was sorry.

She emerged from the bedroom in something under ten minutes apparently in perfect control of herself and in a totally new guise, gone was the uniform and in its place a turtle-neck sweater in what he was beginning to realise was her favourite shade of pale blue, and a black pair of slacks, and as a concession to the still wintry weather, she also wore a light-weight tan leather short coat, the tails of which did not quite reach far enough to conceal a slim but rounded butt which fitted snugly into the pants.

It was the quick change however that had impressed him, rather than its effect, although, as he handed her a mug of coffee, he had to admit that she presented an appealing picture. "So", he inquired as she hopped up onto one the breakfast stools, "what are our plans for today?"

Again her heart gave that dumb little skip, and she felt a rush of pleasurable warmth when she heard "our plans". Oh, get a grip on yourself girl, he's just being friendly, and pleasant and inclusive; he doesn't mean a damn thing. And, you don't want anything - remember? He's your senior officer, there's nothing can come of it, he's probably just still grateful for you helping him, when he was sick. But, maybe he could help… I could learn from his legal expertise… if I could find a way of getting him to offer…, oh the question. She gave a guilty start as she realised that he was looking at her with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Oh… I'm sorry… I didn't…"

"Miles away were you?" His sympathetic smile set up sternly repressed resonances somewhere deep in her soul, "or were you trying to work the angles, so I wouldn't just say 'no' to whatever torment you've got in mind for me?"

This time when she blushed, she didn't mind him seeing it, for once the rush of blood to her face wasn't overwhelming, and it had its roots not in embarrassment but in guilt, because she had earlier, been doing just that, trying to work the angles so that he would accept a scheme to which she suspected he would object strongly. She could only grin in what she hoped was an unrepentant manner and answer, "Guilty as charged, your honour."

He folded his arms and leaned back against the kitchen work-top, "Alright," he sighed in a long-suffering manner, "out with it, exactly what have you got up your sleeve?"

"Well, she said slowly, concentrating on the invisible circles she was drawing with her finger-tip on the breakfast-bar surface, "do you remember when we had dinner the other night, I borrowed one of your old sweat shirts?"

"Uh-huh"

"Well, while I was rummaging… I mean while I was looking for something I could wear, I noticed that while you had some very nice suits and formal shirts, and a pile of jeans, T's and sweats, you didn't have anything in between the two extremes, so I thought, I might be able to persuade you to invest in a couple of nice casual shirts, and maybe a pair of pants that weren't blue denim, or part of a suit."

Whoa! Brakes on there! This is suddenly getting a little bit too intimate! "Er… I don't know, Loren. I mean, I'm pretty happy with my clothes, they fit me and they're comfortable, practical and they serve their intended purposes. I just don't think that I need anything else right now."

"Ah, now, that's where you're wrong, Mr Rabb. Permission to speak freely?"

"Yes, yes of course, we're not 'sir' and 'lieutenant' here Loren, you know that," he exclaimed, caught off guard by her sudden switch in mode.

"Harm," she acknowledged, "for some weird reason, most of the women who meet you seem to think you're pretty good looking. I don't see it myself," she added mendaciously, "but they do. That nurse, for example, the one who was in your room last Sunday, just before I left… hell, when she looked at you I could hear her ovaries popping from where I sat! but," she continued, hammering home her point, "you don't always make the best of yourself. And now, if you're thinking of putting yourself back out there, you need to refresh your image." She smiled at him hopefully.

"I don't know… " he answered, "For a start, what makes you think that I'm even interested in dating?"

"It's obvious. Whatever was between you and Colonel MacKenzie is over. She chose somebody else instead of you. You could, I suppose, make a push to make her change her mind, but somehow, I don't think you want to do that. And, it's only fair that you take yourself off the market as soon as you can. Once you're safely partnered up with someone, all those thousands of women out there who are just begging for a smile from you can forget about you and get on with their lives."

He gawped at her, feeling the beginnings of anger rising. What the hell! "Loren," he demanded, "who ever told you that the Colonel and I had anything going on between us?"

Damn, I've pushed it too far she thought. When the hell am I going to learn to keep my big mouth shut! This is one of the reasons I don't talk to people. I operate my mouth before I engage my brain! Oh crap! Now I'm going to have to talk my way out of this one!

"Oh," she said nonchalantly, "everyone knows that. Or, everyone knew that, well… until you all came back from Australia… Oh, I'm sorry, if this is too painful for you…?"

"No, no, it's not… it's just… well… let's just leave it shall we?" Harm knew full well that she hadn't meant to cause him any distress, and he couldn't maintain more than a flash of irritation, but she had been so brutal in holding up the truth for his inspection.

"Yes, alright then," she said brightly, determined to salvage something from the sudden debacle she had created, "shall we just grab our coats and get going, then?"

"I really don't know Loren…" but it would be a chance to break the sudden air of discomfort that had so rapidly built up…

"Not even if I throw in a bottom lip tremble and a couple of chin quivers?" she asked mischievously.

The thought of Loren Singer on the verge of tears because he didn't want to go shopping was so absurd, particularly when she had assumed such a fake air of innocence, that he reluctantly smiled and conceded, "OK then, but only to stop those chin quivers!"

Her beatific smile only served to increase his reluctant amusement.

**Tuesday, 13 February 2001, 1905hrs Local, Wednesday, 14 February 2001, 1800hrs Local, Shops at National Place Shopping Mall, 14****th**** Street NW, Washington DC (142300ZFeb01)**

Harm glared resentfully at Loren. This was definitely all her fault, except that it wasn't really. Casting his mind back to Monday evening, he was forced to admit that yes, she had hinted that his casual wardrobe was out of date, and he had admitted that yes, perhaps it might be and had agreed, sort of, when she had suggested that it was time he looked to rectify some of his deficiencies. But he hadn't expected her turn up unannounced and uninvited this afternoon, and bully him into going shopping. And he certainly hadn't expected to be dragged to a shopping Mall of all places. His suggestion that they visit one of the few men's outfitters that he used on a semi-regular basis had been shot down by Loren, who with the air of explaining something to a particularly dim-witted six year old, told him that the plan for today was to refresh his wardrobe, to add something different to it, not just to clutter it up with further examples of the same old, same old.

This, however, this torrent, this maelstrom of… of… shoppers, was beyond his worst nightmare. Instead of making a beeline for any one clothing store. Loren had dragged him all round all four floors of the huge building, during which time he had been painfully rammed amidships by an out of control toddler who ran into him at full pelt, had his foot run over by a harassed-looking young woman trying to cope with a stroller in which was a crying baby, and a grizzling toddler whose grip on her skirt threatened to be the cause of her public partial disrobing. He had been jostled on the escalators; he had had his ribs soundly elbowed by a little old lady whose path he had inadvertently obstructed, and most humiliating he had found himself crowding closer to Loren for protection. She however seemed totally unfazed by the smile and confusion, and had even, it seemed to him, a smile of enjoyment on her face.

Loren was enjoying herself, she loved shopping, even when the expedition wasn't intended for her benefit, and today, for some reason she was taking extra pleasure in the experience. It may have been because she saw such trips as a method of bonding with a new friend, and yes, she finally admitted to herself, she and Harm were forming a friendship that was outside the bounds of work acquaintances, however unlikely it may have seemed to them or to outsiders. But she had really enjoyed the Monday evening at his apartment, she had felt safe alone in his company; secure enough to lounge around in what she now acknowledged could have been interpreted as a state of undress, not that there was any suggestion of anything improper. And she had left early enough, well almost early enough, to still all but the most malicious tongues. Of course, she reminded herself, the intermittent contact with him as she kept him close to her had absolutely nothing to do with the way she felt, and she definitely wasn't slowing her pace, or taking the long way round just to prolong the experience, that would have been ridiculous, almost as if she was enjoying being with a… No! Stop that, Loren Singer! Harmon Rabb is kinda attractive in a goofy sort of way, and he's kind, and a gentleman, and a damn good cook she remembered, and he was, she believed, a keeper, but not for Loren Singer, so she could stop those thoughts, right here and now!

Right, here was a store they had passed by earlier, but it looked about right, yes, here were T's and sweats and jeans, but there were also rails of casual pants and shelves of cellophane and cardboard wrapped casual shirts with both long and short sleeves, and even a few circular stands with more shirts hanging from them. Determinedly steering an increasingly uneasy and reluctant Harm towards the clothing racks, she swiftly chose half a dozen shirts and draping them across her arm she held them one by one, up against his body to confirm which of them best suited his colouring. Eventually she returned all but two shirts, one a wine-red and the other a charcoal grey, to the rack, and making a final check on his size, she hung them over her arm and with her hand in the small of his back she guided him towards the rails of casual slacks lining the wall.

Pursing her lips she looked at him and said, "I don't think you'll want khakis, or anything similar, nor dark blue, or black. What you need are neutral colours, greys, or darker browns, definitely no whites!"

"Those two shirts are pretty dark," he said he looking thoughtfully at them, "how about a pair of mid-grey slacks to go with them?"

Slacks chosen and tried on for size in the fitting room and then displayed for Loren's approval they made their way to the cash register, where Harm proffered his card in payment. The young salesgirl who had been watching their progress and noting Loren's enthusiasm and Harm's contrasting reluctance, smiled as she processed the card and commented, "Your wife's got a good eye for colour Mr Rabb, these will really suit you."

Loren and Harm looked at each in surprise and burst out laughing. They were still giggling together when they left the shop three minutes later, leaving the puzzled shop clerk looking after them and thinking, what the hell did I just say that was so funny.

But although Loren was laughing, that quiet little voice said 'yeah, you wish', but once again she tried not to listen to it.

**Friday, 16 February 2001, 2000hrs Local, Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (160100ZFeb01)**

Loren accepted Harm's dinner invitation, intrigued by his suggestion that he was plotting his revenge for the ordeal she had inflicted on him by the trip to the Mall, and turned up at his door precisely at nineteen-thirty hours as he had bidden her. She'd arrived some ten minutes earlier but stayed in her car until she could time her knock at the door to the second. Harm accustomed as he was to Mac's inner clock, took Loren's prompt arrival for granted and without comment, which picqued her slightly.

Her mood was lightened again when dinner was served. Harm had made an effort. He had rigged his dining table, although he had not used a tablecloth the place settings were laid out with almost mathematical precision, and the meal although simple, a bean soup, followed by pasta with a creamy three-mushroom sauce and ended with store-bought tiramisu was an unusual selection.

Harm dressed in his new wine shirt and grey slacks in honour of the occasion sat back at the end of the meal as he topped up their glasses with a smoother than usual Chianti, and said "Loren, I must apologise for the bought-in dessert but I don't have much of a sweet tooth and don't usually bother with a dessert…"

"Oh, you needn't have bothered for my sake. It was very nice; it was a fabulous meal, thank you very much, and I really enjoyed it, but next time, don't go to so much trouble for my sake, please." Oh, crap! Did I just say 'next time'? Wow! Talk about taking things for granted, no, I am not going to blush, I am not going to blush, I am not… oh, shit! I am blushing.

Harm had been puzzled by the sudden stricken look on her face, and then as her blush mounted, he passed her words in review order, and the full significance of what she'd said sunk in. He smiled, which only increased her confusion, and then in spite of his best efforts not to, he chuckled.

Loren sat opposite him and in silent indignation. Her pale blue eyes fixed firmly on his face brought Harm back to the realities of the situation, and he forced himself to stop laughing. "Oh Loren," he shook his head," I'm sorry for laughing at you, but it was such a coincidence. Here I was trying to figure out whether you were just being polite, or whether you had enjoyed your meal, and wondering if I could ever invite you back, and then you said 'next time' and it just so matched my own thoughts, that it struck me as being funny."

Loren looked at him stormily for a minute or so longer, his reply did not exactly tally with her recollections of the last few minutes' chronology, and then she realised that he was giving her an out. He'd somehow known how she felt that she'd embarrassed herself, and was allowing her to wriggle out from under. Her indignation died and she smiled gratefully at him, her blush fading to a pale pink.

"All right, then," she said taking a sip of her wine, "if that little trap was your revenge, it wasn't very spectacular."

"Oh, no, that was just a sampler. You bullied me…"

"I did not!" she protested, half laughing at his choice of words.

"You bullied me," he repeated sternly and with marked emphasis, "or coerced me, or suborned me, if that makes you feel any better, into one of the worst experiences of my life. So I am going to let you allow me to repay you in kind. Come flying with me tomorrow, for the weekend."

"And is that going to be one of the worst experiences of my life?" She asked with a raised eyebrow to add power to her question. For the weekend? She asked herself. What exactly has he got in mind? Surely, he can't be thinking… and then as she felt a tingle of anticipation somewhere deep in her stomach she was forced to rebuke herself again. No! He wouldn't mean that, so don't get your hopes up girl - I'm not, I'm not, it was just so unexpected!

"No, to the contrary, I'm hoping you'll enjoy it. Well?"

"For the whole weekend?"

"Yes, we could leave tomorrow morning, I'd need to do a little pre-flight maintenance, and then fly after lunch, and then dinner and overnight in Charlottesvile, and then another flight on Sunday and then back here to DC. I have a hospital appointment at Bethesda on Monday, and see if they'll clear me to return to duty."

"Where in Charlottesvile, were you thinking we could stay?"

"There's a little inn cum tavern place that I use whenever I go up there to see Sarah. They know me there and they can usually find me a bed, even when Virginia Tech are playing home-field advantage."

"Who's Sarah?" she asked, surprised at herself for resenting even the suggestion that there might be another woman… hold on, 'Sarah'? wasn't that the Bitch-Colonel's real name, instead of that pretentious 'Mac' crap she handed around, but no… why would he visit her there when both he and she had perfectly adequate apartments here in the city… oh, of course, fraternisation. Damn! But his answer took her by surprise.

"The original Sarah is Gramma, my Grandmother, she has a farm up Pennsylvania, it's where I put my dad's plane back together, and so I named the plane after her." It's also where Diane put me back together after my crash, he remembered, but Loren doesn't need to know that.

"Uh-huh," why was she feeling so relieved? It didn't matter to her whether he had a score of girlfriends or lovers secreted away all over the country, or what their names were, as long, she reminded herself that one of them wasn't Sarah Bloody MacKenzie. But instead of revealing those very secret thoughts, she asked him, "Separate rooms?" and didn't whether to be disappointed or relieved when he'd answered, "Yes, of course!"

"OK, then, let's do it," she smiled, what the hell, it couldn't be any worse than a roller coaster ride.

Harm grinned and turned to the side table, picking up his cell 'phone, "Sam, good evening, this is Harmon Rabb. I'd like to make a reservation for one night, for tomorrow. Two rooms, please, in my name. And a dinner reservation for eight tomorrow evening, yes, again for two. You still have my card details? Good thank you. Goodbye." He closed the 'phone and looked at Loren. "There you are, all fixed, one night two rooms, OK?"

Before she could answer however, the phone rang. Raising his eyebrows he picked it up and on checking the caller ID those eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "Harriett Sims, he whispered looking at the clock and then at Loren. "What the hell can she want at this time of night?"

**Friday, 16 February 2001, 2114hrs Local, Bud and Harriett Roberts' Apartment, 1603 Corcoran St NW, Washington DC (160214ZFeb01)**

Harriett Sims was calling Harm so late because she had been busy. In between feeding little AJ, bathing him and putting him to bed, she'd had to fix dinner for herself and Bud and she had needed to stop at the store on her way home from JAG HQ to stock up on those essential vegetarian items that she needed in order to put her plans into operation, and that she didn't ordinarily keep on hand. Then she'd had to persuade Bud that he did want to host a cocktail party tomorrow night. Then she'd had to 'phone Mic Brumby - of all people - to explain to him that she wasn't inviting him and Mac, because the whole point of the party was to introduce Harm to other, single, available young women that she knew. Brumby, of course would be bound to tell Mac, and she would insist on coming to the party, invited or not. Then once Harriett had gotten Harm and Mac together in a social setting it would be very strange, she thought, if their mutual attraction didn't reassert itself, so in one evening she would have the felicity of seeing her two very good friends well on the road back to where they should be, and as a bonus, she might even be able to shut out that damn annoying Australian.

Then of course she'd had to run down a list of her friends who were attractive, single and likely to be attractive to and attracted by the Commander.

This last task she realised was not going to be so easy. She couldn't ask any of the single women from the office, that would only cause more friction between Colonel and Commander, and despite her boasts to the contrary, she really didn't know many women of her own age in DC. She spent her working hours at JAG and her off-duty hours here at home with Bud and little AJ, and had not really met anyone, not to say more than a passing 'good morning' to some of the people who lived in the same apartment block, but… she did know a couple of the women from the IG's office, where she was officially assigned. That brunette, Lieutenant Commander… Somers, yes, Catherine Somers, that was her name, she was quite attractive, tall, green eyes, slim, very pale complexion though, almost ivory. Yes quite striking. A few minutes on the 'phone was enough to persuade the almost unknown woman to promise to attend the party, the hint of an available tall, dark and very handsome stranger proved to be a sufficiently intriguing bait. Now for the chef de oeuvres, just one more call to make…

"Commander, sir, it's Harriett Sims."

"Harriett, hi, what can I do for you on a Friday evening."

"Oh, nothing for me sir, it's Bud."

"Is there something wrong, Harriett?"

"Oh, no, sir. It's just that Bud thinks we should have had you over for dinner while you were out on hospital leave, and he's a bit cross that I didn't make the effort, and I really am sorry sir, it's just that these last two weeks have gone by so quickly…"

"No, no, that's perfectly Ok Harriett, no need to apologise, I'm sure we can all get together real soon."

"Uh… that's why I called, sir. Bud made me realise that we had been neglecting you, and as we're having a little informal get-together tomorrow, we'd very much like it if you could join us."

"Oh, Harriett, I'm sorry, I can't I've already got arrangements made for this weekend. I'm going up to Charlottesville with a friend. We shall have to work on the Stearman all weekend, she's been stuck in the hangar all winter, and I need to get her airworthy before the spring comes, and so we'll be staying overnight in Charlottesville. I'd really have liked to come to your party, but the arrangements were all made so long ago, that I really can't welch on them this late in the day. I'm sorry Harriett."

"Oh, so am I sir, but never mind, it was a bit short notice. And it probably wasn't really going to be your sort of thing anyway, now that I come to think of it. We'll organise something special for you for another time, sir. "

"Yeah, OK, fine, thanks for that Harriett, 'bye."

"Goodnight, sir."

Harriett replaced the phone on its wall-mounted bracket, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn! She had got a great plan, but then she'd really screwed the pooch in its implementation. She should have made sure Harm was available before she'd bought the food, before she'd invited half her known world and definitely before she'd invited Catherine Somers. Now who the hell could she get hold of to play the tall, dark and handsome stranger she had used as bait?

**Friday, 16 February 2001, 2120hrs Local, Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (160120ZFeb01)**

Harm put his 'phone back on the table and blew his cheeks out in an exaggerated sigh of relief. Loren had to bite her knuckles to stop herself from exploding into laughter at the harassed expression that had developed on his face as he'd talked with Harriett Sims. She had heard only the one side of the conversation of course, but I was fairly evident that Harriett had issued an invitation that Harm had declined. An invitation she noted, that was so late that it was obvious that Harriett had only just come up with the idea. What was that dumb, but cunning, little housewife plotting?

She looked, with some sympathy, at the Harm, who was sheepishly starting to grin at her. "Harriett Sims, with a late invitation." She said, it wasn't a question, it was a statement.

He nodded, "Thank God you were here and we'd already made arrangements. If I know Harriett, and I do, trust me, this whole invitation to an informal get-together was some sort of plan to engineer a meeting between Colonel MacKenzie and myself. Loren, you have probably just saved my life, I could kiss you for that!"

The significance what he'd just said struck them simultaneously, but they had each been struck by a different phrase, Harm felt the impact of 'you just saved my life'; Loren had done just that, two weeks, no, nearly three weeks ago now, and he still hadn't been able to express his feelings and his gratitude for that gift. Loren had been struck by his 'I could kiss you' and had almost snapped back at him, 'well why don't you!' Recovering, she screamed at herself, No! this would have to be the last time she spent an evening alone with Harm. He was far too dangerous for her peace of mind! Oh, crap, she had just committed herself to spending the best part of the next forty-eight hours with him! The sinking feeling that realisation engendered was sufficient to drain some of the blood from her face, enabling her to speak without too much agitation in her manner. "Tell me about this flying machine of yours," she said with a very creditable assumption of mild interest.

"It's a nineteen thirties designed basic trainer, a biplane, a type which was used to teach navy and army pilots to fly. I completely restored it a while back, before I came to JAG and I've kept its service history in date, and it helps to keep my flying hours current, now that I'm no longer flying on operations. I'm still qualified on F-14s, and I get to do the required number of traps to keep current, but there's something about that old plane." He smiled reminiscently, "Oh, yes, I nearly forgot, it's an open cockpit two seater, so you'll need to wrap up, it can get pretty chilly up there this time of year."

"What do you wear?" she asked "just so I can get some idea."

"This time of year?" he confirmed, as she nodded.

"Well, normal underwear, for a start, then long-johns, sea-boot stockings, flying boots, turtle neck sweater, and a round neck sweater, flying jacket, gloves, scarf, helmet."

"Oh," she said in some surprise, "not that I'd ever really thought about it, but it doesn't sound too different from biking gear."

"No, I suppose not," he agreed.

"I've still got my leathers," she said, this time surprising him, "and with a heavy pair of pantyhose underneath… they should be as effective as long johns and sea-boot stockings, and I've got warm gloves. The only thing I can't come up with is a helmet… Do you…?"

"No, I don't have a spare," he replied, "but if you've got one of those knitted pixie hat things, you know the knitted ones you can pull down over your ears? Well, once you've got the headphones on they'll hold the hat in place and you should be fine. But don't wear all that stuff on the way up there, we've got a little bit of work to do before we get airborne, and you won't feel the benefit if you're all swaddled up before we do get up in the wide blue yonder. There's a room in the hangar you can get dressed up in and leave your stuff there is you need to, and" he added with a grin, "it hasn't got glass walls!"

**Saturday, 17 February 2001, 0900hrs Local, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (171400ZFeb01)**

Harm parked his 'vette in a vacant sport next to Loren's MX5 and turned towards the front door of her building, he hadn't taken more than two steps across the street towards it, before she exited the building, She had a grip bag, a bit bigger than his own val-pack, hanging from one hand and a ball cap with the Chicago Bears' motif perched on her head, her hair caught back in a pony tail as he saw when she bent over to stow her bag on the parcel shelf was tucked through the gap between the fabric of the cap and the tensioning band. He had seen the arm of a heavy duty motorcycling leather jacket through the unzipped gap of her grip bag and for the rest she wore a round neck over a turtle-neck sweater, in much the same fashion as he had, and a pair of jeans tucked into her motorcycling boots. But what was most noticeable bout her was the air of excitement she exuded. Harm had a pretty good idea of her approximate age, but at the moment her smiling anticipation reminded him more of a twelve-year old looking forward to an unexpected treat than it did of a well-qualified, experienced and pretty ruthless trial attorney looking forward to… what, exactly? Not knowing or coming up with an answer he gave a mental shrug and walked around to the passenger side of the car.

She gave him a half impatient half amused glance as he held the car door for her while she slid into the seat, she wasn't accustomed to such treatment, and on the rare occasions it had been offered she had been inclined to view it as an insult, as if she wasn't able to carry her own packages, or open her own doors or sit down by herself without making sure that there was a chair beneath her six. But with Harm it was different… somehow… he wasn't making a performance out of it; he was just doing it because that's who he was.

Another part of who he was showed in the way he drove. His concentration was fixed on the road ahead and his hands kept a firm grasp on the wheel except when he made lightning quick double clutched gear changes on the four-speed manual transmission. He handled the powerful car well, totally at ease with its power and handling, enjoying the ride and confident in his own ability to control that power. Loren whose own smaller car was pound for pound almost as powerful had grasped the side of her seat as the 'vette hit the open road, but in a very few miles she had become convinced that she had nothing to fear and sat back to enjoy the ride. She could, of course, she mused have driven her own car down to Charlottesville, following the 'vette, and that way had she disliked the experience, of flying she told herself with emphasis, she would have been free to jump in her car and return to DC at will. Now, she was obliged to, bound to, stuck with? Harm until he was ready to drive home. But, she reflected none of those terms fitted with the way she felt. It was almost, she thought, as if she'd jumped or fallen into a river and was letting the current carry her where it would, but without the fear of drowning, she would never drown while she was the responsibility of Harmon Rabb. Whoa, there! It was that annoying little quiet voice again! Back up there sister, you're getting dangerously close to a warm fuzzy pink place you do not want to go, not with this guy, anyway. Even if he is gorgeous! She sighed quietly to herself. That damn' voice was absolutely correct. There could never be a future with Harm, but, she half-smiled to herself, there was no harm in just day-dreaming a little, as long as she remembered that they were just day-dreams. At the back of her mind the little quiet voice muttered a disgusted 'sheesh!' and gave up for the day.

Although Harm was concentrating on his driving he was not unaware of his passenger, Loren was sat back in her seat, apparently totally relaxed, her hands resting in her lap, and her eyes half-closed. There was none of the unnecessary navigation instructions or demands that he slow down, or speed up or to watch out for a potential hazard he had already seen and was prepared to avoid if the need should arise. Loren Singer was, he was beginning to discover, a very restful and entertaining companion.

**Saturday, 17 February 2001, 1240hrs Local, Charlottesville County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (171740ZFeb01)**

Loren had not anticipated enjoying getting dirty quite as much as she was. She had helped Harm and the hangar owner, who had been introduced to her only as "Pop" had pushed the ancient airplane out into the wintry sun, and she had taken the opportunity to walk around the machine. She hadn't really known what to expect, but somehow she had thought that a biplane would somehow be bigger… or smaller. She smiled at her own lack of knowledge and understanding, unaware that her amusement was evident to the two men who had temporarily broken off their technical discussion and were enjoying watching her smile.

Pop gave a short laugh and accompany his chuckle with a slap on Harm's shoulder he shuffled away grinning, shaking his head and muttering to himself over Harm's surprised "What?"

Gazing after the old man, Harm shook his head in turn, and turned towards Loren, "Ready apprentice?" he joked.

Loren knuckled her forehead in imitation of a Hollywood version of a nineteenth-century sailor and with a broad Virginia accent drawled, "Ready, aye, ready, sir!" then abandoning the foolishness she asked, "What are we going to do with her, Harm?"

"Well, Pop has had his boys do a lot of the technical work, so all we really need to do today is an oil change and a plug change. So if you can get hold of an empty oil-drum, and then take this spanner, undo that drain plug there," he pointed out exactly what item he meant, "The oil will drain out of the engine and into the empty oil drum. Watch out, because the oil will seep out around the plug before it's fully clear, so prepare to get your hands dirty." He watched anxiously as Loren followed his instructions and when satisfied that she was doing as he intended, turned his attention to the job of changing all seven spark plugs on the Continental R-670 engine. By the time he had finished that task, the engine sump had drained and Loren who for the past several minutes had been handing him his tools and the new plugs was waiting to find out what to do next.

"This, he told her is the part that calls for a strong back and a weak mind. We need to roll a fresh drum of oil over here, and then rig a hand pump to it and refill the engine sump. But before that, let me just check that you've got the drain plug secured."

Satisfied that the plug was secure it took only a few minutes to roll the fresh drum of oil over to the airplane and only a minute or two more to rig the hand pump, but then followed about twenty minutes of the most boring labour that Loren Singer had ever undertaken, it wasn't that she wasn't achieving anything, it was that she couldn't see any result for the effort she was expending. The only thing that made the whole miserable experience tolerable, was the stream of banter she shared with Harm. It had all started when he'd called her 'Coco',

"What, as in Chanel?" she had asked him puzzled.

"No… keep pumping… as in the clown!"

She stopped pumping again as she glared at him. She was beginning to suspect that this pumping of the oil was something that was totally unnecessary and had been set up solely for the purpose of hazing her.

"Don't stop pumping." he said, and the urgency in his voice galvanized her into fresh efforts.

"But why Coco?" she asked

"What have you been handling?" he asked in turn.

She looked down at her hands and saw that while they weren't covered in oil, they were certainly dirty, but he still wasn't making all that much sense, "And?" she challenged him.

"And you hair's been escaping from its clips, hasn't it?" His eyes were alive with laughter and Loren had a horrible feeling that she knew what was coming next, "And you've been brushing it back off your face haven't you?"

"Oh, no!" she wailed, "Oil! All over my hair!"

"No! Don't stop pumping! Your hair looks fine, it's er… your er… face that's got a bit smudged! No! Don't stop pumping! Keep going, Loren, you're nearly there… aaah… yep, OK you can stop now!"

He replaced the oil filler cap and holding the pump nozzle in one hand he climbed back down the portable steps which he'd climbed to gain access to the upper surface of the engine, and grinned. "Yep, definitely smudged!"

She glowered at him, "You knew this was going to happen didn't you?"

"Knew? No," he shook his head, "Thought it might? Yep!" He smiled at her outraged expression. "The one good thing about working around these kind of 'planes is that there's always plenty of cleaning materials. C'mon, let's see if Pop has got anything that'll get that oil off you!"

Pop did indeed produce a can of some sort of gunk which with the aid of a handful of cotton waste Loren stripped the oil from her hands, and satisfied that it would do the job she asked, with a dread of what she was about to be shown, if there was such a thing as a bathroom that had a mirror. She was pleasantly surprised however when the bathroom she was shown to was, if not pristine, certainly much cleaner than the bathroom at the average bus depot.

De-oiled - was that even a word? She returned to the hangar office where she found Pop and Harm cradling mugs of coffee while a third mug stood steaming on the desk together with a packet of sandwiches.

"Go ahead, Loren," Harm told her, with a flash of his fly-boy smile, "the labourer is worthy of her hire - tuna and mayo," he explained as he indicated that she should help herself.

"Yeah," she grumbled in a not entirely convincing voice, "you only dragged me out here to use as a cheap hire!" But she was hungry and the sandwich would help keep her going until dinner time. "M'mm, good." She mumbled around a mouthful of bread and fish, but he'd better have something special lined up for dinner, if he thought he was going to get a cheap day's work out of me, he's got another think coming!

"Well, I wasn't going to let you starve until this evening. There was no way I was taking a ravenous Loren Singer up in the sky, without feeding her first! I know you've earned more than a sandwich, today, and I'll make it up to you tonight, I promise".

"You promise? You wish, you mean!" She retorted with a grin and then stopped horrified at what she'd just let slip, while the red flooded her face and that irritating little voice, no longer quiet, screamed Red Light! Red Light!

Pop seemed oblivious to the comment, and Harm apart from a raised eyebrow said or did nothing that would draw attention to either the remark or her heightened colour. Gulping down the last of her coffee, she grabbed the last of her sandwich and mumbled, "God, it's stuffy in here, I need some air," and strolled as casually as she could to the tarmac apron in front of the hangar.

Pop looked up from his own sandwich and said, "Give her a minute or two to get over it, son, and then go out to her."

Harm nodded, "Yeah"

Loren stood on the tarmac, wishing she had thought to grab her jacket against the chill, and cursing herself up down and sideways for being such an idiot, and she had just about made her mind up to return to the hangar, apologise to Harm and ask if he wouldn't mind taking her home, when she felt the weight of the leather being draped over her shoulders. Still not quite able to look Harm in the eye she mumbled "Thanks… Harm… ?"

"Yes?" he encouraged her, gently.

"Harm, I'm sorry, I'm such a fool."

He decided not to insult her by pretending not to know what she meant, and instead asked her, "Loren, do you consider us as friends?"

She gave a sort of snorting giggle, "We damn well better be after all that slavery you put me through earlier."

"Well, one of the good things I've found about friends, is that when you make a fool of yourself, they don't think that you've done a permanent job." He left it at that, content to let her decide what she wanted to do next.

To his relief, after a few minutes she asked, "Wasn't the whole idea of dragging me up here to go flying?"

"Yes."

"Well, if there's no more make-work to do, shall we give it a try?"

Ten minutes later, wrapped in their flying gear they were rumbling down the runway until Harm eased back on the stick and they were airborne. He had told Loren that they would be flying no higher than ten-thousand feet, and that once they were at that height and clear of the airport traffic circuit, he would perform some gentle aerobatics so she could check how her stomach was reacting, and then, and only then if she was happy, he would carry out some more ambitious manoeuvres, including he grinned, a couple of loops. If at any time she became unhappy, all she had to do was extend her arm to the side and give him the thumbs down, at which point he would take the shortest route back to the airport.

He need not have worried, Loren thrilled to the sensation of flight in an open cockpit. She was no stranger to commercial airlines, and although she had clocked up a more than a few air miles, this was something infinitely more exciting, more immediate, more intimate! She whooped with pleasure as Harm took the Steadman through a series of loops, rolls and corkscrews. The sound of her enjoyment carried clearly to him in the rear cockpit, and grinning in anticipation of her reply, he asked, "Do you want to take her?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Enough is Enough**

**4**

**Saturday 17 February 2001, 1600hrs Local, Charlottesville County Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (182100ZFeb01)**

Loren twisted around as far as the seat harness would permit and shouted, "Really?"

"Yeah, go ahead, but treat her gently. Did you ever ride a horse?" Loren nodded vigorously, "OK, then!" Harm shouted, "Treat her just like that firm, but gentle. First off just try to hold her straight and level, and we'll take it from there!" Harm took his hand off the stick and called out, "OK, Loren - you have control!"

Loren took the stick in her hand, and immediately felt the airplane pitch nose down and yaw from side to side, first one wing high and then the other. For a few seconds she fought for control, while Harm, unseen in the cockpit behind her held his hand hovering over the stick ready to resume control if necessary.

"OK, don't fight it!" he admonished her, "Look at the horizon, and let your body fly her for you!" And as Loren lifted her gaze out of the cockpit and fixed her eyes on the distant point where earth and sky seemed to meet and it seemed almost as if the Stearman was responding to her thoughts as her hand moved instinctively to keep her visual orientation level.

Letting Loren adjust to the sensation of handling the 'plane while flying straight and level for a couple of minutes, Harm called out his next set of instructions, "Alright, try a gentle climb, pull the stick back towards you, gently… that's it. Now. You see the nose come up above the horizon? Good, that means she's climbing, now push the stick forward to where it was before… Do you feel that? And see the nose drop? Good. Now a little dive, pushing the stick forward… a little more… a little more… Yes! Perfect!"

It seemed to Loren that they were plunging at a frightening speed straight towards the ground, but Harm's calm voice in her ears was reassuring… although the ground was getting closer…

"OK, now pull her up, gently, again, just like before, that's it pull the stick back… back… back… Yes! Nicely done. OK keep her climbing for a bit, now level off, yes, push the stick forward again… no… not too much… Yes! You're doing great! OK, Now, a gentle right hand turn, keep the nose above the horizon by pulling back on the stick and move it over towards the right… yes… Beautiful! Keep the turn going, keep it going, now bring the stick back to the centre. Well done. OK, I'm taking control back, let go of the stick. OK, I have control! Time to go home!" he shouted!"

Loren was still very much up in the air, even after Harm had taken back control of the Stearman and brought it in to a gentle landing; and then blipping the engine and weaving from side to side he taxied back to the hangar before switching off the engine. Harm climbed out of the rear cockpit with the ease of long practice, and turned to assist Loren as she stepped on the lower wing and slid down to the ground. Catching her with both hands on her waist he steadied her as her feet hit the tarmac, and as she regained her balance she looked up at him. Despite the ridiculous knitted hat with tendrils of hopelessly tangled hair escaping from it, and the slightly disheveled appearance she presented, her cheeks were pink with exposure to the cold air, and, he thought, with something else, with pleasure, perhaps or even joy. Certainly her eyes were brilliant, shining with… sheer delight, and her smile was at least equal to any fly-boy version he'd ever seen and invited the same response from him. Caught up in her evident pleasure he couldn't help smiling right back at her. She had never looked more attractive, and for a fleeting second he had to fight back an almost overwhelming urge to catch her up and kiss her. Harm caught his breath, he felt as if someone had sneaked up behind him and poured a glass of ice-water down the back of his neck; he couldn't possibly be falling for Loren Singer! He couldn't let himself fall for her! Apart from the fact that he wasn't ready for any relationship, he needed time to recover from Mac; this was dangerous, very dangerous. He dropped his hands from her waist, and stepped back away from her, unaware that his smile had gone, until her own smile disappeared and a faint frown appeared on her face. "Harm… is something wrong… did I…?"

"No, no, you've done nothing wrong! It was me, I shouldn't have grabbed you like, that, I was… it could have been seen as being totally inappropriate behaviour… I'm sorry." He smiled again in an effort to reassure her, but this time his smile was only a poor imitation of his previous best effort.

Loren's smile returned, her own usually reliable instincts still swamped by the emotions… by the sense of release that the all too quickly ended flight had generated. "No, it's fine, Harm, you were just making sure I didn't stumble, and," her smile broadened into a huge grin, "when all's said and done, no harm, no foul!"

Harm groaned in mock anguish and clutched both hands to the right side of his chest as he ham-acted a stagger in response to her pun - one which he had heard far too many times in his life, but hey, it was Loren, and it was good to hear her crack jokes and, yes, even make God-awful puns! His antics not only made her grin broader, but had the advantage from his point of view that they opened an even greater physical gap between them. His grin now, although unknown by Loren, tinged with relief, he said "Wait here, and I'll go and get some help and we'll push this baby back into the hangar."

With the help of Pop and two of his mechanics the Stearman was soon safely back inside the hangar. And Loren, nibbling nervously on her bottom lip, turned to Harm and asked nervously, "Well, how did I do?"

Harm grinned at her, "Loren, you were amazing!" he exclaimed in enthusiastic tones. "Are you sure you've never flown before?"

"No, I haven't, honestly!" and then somewhat shyly, "Was I really that good? You're not just saying that?"

Hearing a slightly different note in her voice, Harm got the feeling that this was an important question. Moderating his enthusiasm so that she might take him seriously, he replied "Loren, for a first-time tyro, you really were that good. OK, you're not up to mixing it with the Red Baron and his guys yet, but there is no doubt in my mind that if you wanted to, you would make a good, no a very good, pilot!"

Loren's face turned pink, but for once she didn't seem flustered by her blush, and smiling whispered, "Thanks," and leaving Harm to pay his hangar and maintenance bills, she slipped away to the empty office where she had left her grip bag, the door of which now bore a hand-written sign in black marker "Ladie's Locker Room", to wriggle out of her leathers, and to try and restore some order to her hair before she would be happy to be seen in public.

Emerging from the hastily allocated room, Loren stuffed her leathers and gloves and woolly hat into her grip bag and pushing an arm through the handles hauled the bag up onto her shoulder and walked across the hangar toward where Harm was waiting for her. He watched her approach, and again was forced to smile, she still had a flush of pleasure on her face and there was a spring… almost a bounce… in her step. She certainly seemed to have enjoyed her day, well maybe not pumping the oil, which he admitted had been a bit of a dirty trick to play on her, he could have asked Pop to have one of the boys do it for her, but he was certain she had enjoyed the flight. She had definitely enjoyed her stint at the controls. As always Harm had been slightly wary of handing over control to an unknown novice, but Loren had listened to his instructions and had proved to have a light touch. Her stick movements had been smooth and controlled, without being tentative and he had noted that she hadn't seemed at flustered by the unaccustomed sensation of controlling movement in three dimensions.

"Ready to go?" He asked her as she drew near, "Ready for a hot shower and a pizza?"

"The hot shower, most definitely, but you had better come up with something a damn' sight better than a pizza, buster!" she returned his teasing.

"Oh, I didn't know," and his face fell theatrically, "that you were going to be an expensive date," he complained, but still with that note of mockery in his voice.

"Oh, you'd better believe, fly… er… sailor!" his heart almost skipped a beat as he realised she had stopped herself from calling him fly-boy. That had been a nickname used predominantly by Mac, but Loren had decided, it seemed, against using it.

Tearing his mind away from speculating as to her reasons, he forced himself to concentrate on the rest of her sentence, "Not only am I top of the range, but you owe me big time for that oil pumping stint!" she glowered at him so resentfully, that for a moment or two he wasn't totally certain she was still joking, until he caught the sly look she cast sideways at him from under lashes.

"Well if there's nothing else for it, he sighed despondently, "I suppose we'd better go and get you cleaned up and fed. Madame, your carriage awaits!"

With both of them laughing at their own nonsense, Harm handed Loren into the 'vette, before walking around to the driver's side and sliding in behind the steering wheel.

**Saturday, 17 February 2001, 1820hrs Local, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (172340ZFeb2001)**

An easy twenty minute drive brought a still chuckling Harm and Loren to the Boar's Head Inn just outside Charlottesville, where the building's lights offered a warm welcome against the now decidedly chilly evening air, and the warmth that met them as they entered the hotel lobby emphasised just how much the temperature had dropped since sundown.

The desk clerk had an equally warm and friendly smile as well as a note of Harm's reservation, and having checked them in to two adjoining rooms on the second floor, offered them help with their luggage.

"Loren?" Harm asked.

"I know I'm only a weak and feeble woman," she commented straight-faced, "But I can carry my own bags, thanks."

Harm looked at her speculatively, she had been laughing with him just a few minutes ago and her sudden one-eighty seemed to be extraordinarily rapid, even for Loren Singer, and just as he'd suspected, he caught that tell-tale glint of mischief in her eye again. He was beginning to wonder just what sort of Genie had escaped from that bottle!

Reaching their rooms, Harm checked his watch, "It's eighteen thirty now, Loren, our dinner reservation is for twenty-hundred, will that give you enough time to shower?" he asked with wide-eyed innocence.

Loren gave him a look that could only be described as filthy before she ostentatiously turned her back on him and entered her room. Harm grinned; he had gained some small measure of revenge at least. He entered his room and had just dropped his val-pack on the bed when there was a knock at the door. "Yes?"

"It's me, Loren!"

"Come ahead, its open!" he called.

"Harm, have you seen what's outside the window? It's beautiful here!"

"What? Oh, yes the lake." As he replied to her, Harm was struck by the enthusiasm on Loren's voice and the total lack of it in his own. Loren, he then realised was staring at him with disbelief in her eyes. As if she couldn't believe that after today, he was unable to share in her delight at what she had just seen.

Harm, however, had stayed here on many previous occasions, and he was sure he had told, or maybe had just hinted that to Loren, but from the expression on her face, it was obvious that she felt that he had somehow failed her. Suddenly he felt embarrassed by his lack of a suitable response.

"Loren, come in properly and sit down, please. That was a lousy thing to say to you, and I'm sorry. Truly. It's just that I've stayed here so often, and I've seen the lights on the lake so many times that I've been taking it for granted. I had forgotten how spectacular it must be for a first time viewer, as it was for me the first time I saw it, but I had no right to rain on your parade like that. You are right, it is beautiful. And it's beautiful in a different way with each season."

Loren almost gaped openly at him. He had treated her to a most wonderful day, and now he was apologising to her just because he hadn't shared her girlish enthusiasm for something he must have seen dozens of time before. "Harm, there's no call for you to go saying sorry to me. I should have realised; you did say that you'd stayed here before, and of course you would have seen the lake, I was being over-excited, I guess."

"No, I'd say you were being justifiably thrilled with a view that was planned to produce just that effect, and that I was being needlessly blasé."

Recognising that Harm had no intention of letting her feel at fault, and that arguing about it with him would lead nowhere, Loren sighed and smiled, saying "OK, have it your way; it's all your fault!"

"Yes," he agreed, with a quick grin, "Yes, it is."

Loren left his room with another over-the-shoulder smile and walked the few steps down the hall to her room. How the hell did I miss seeing him for the man he is, for all these months? I thought he was just another handsome ass, getting by on his looks and his ability to sweet talk suckers, but he's not. He's not just handsome, he's awesomely good at his job, intelligent, kind, caring, considerate, friendly, good company, funny, sensitive, oh, yes, he's so sensitive, why, oh why, couldn't I have met him, or someone like him instead of wasting all that time with that loser - just like all the others that it seems I always attract! Oh, well, too late for those sorts of regrets now, girl. You chose your path, so it's all your own fault. And that, the little voice told her, is about the first sensible thing you've said today!

Having rigorously inspected her hair for any possible streaks of oil, Loren was relieved to find there were none and consequently that she didn't need to shampoo it this evening. She hadn't thought to bring a hair dryer and the prospect of having to try and untangle her hair after a towel-dry was not something she looked forward to. So… if she didn't need to shampoo, she didn't need to use the shower, but the idea of a bath was very attractive.

Lying in the tub of hot, scented water, Loren closed her eyes, I'm not thinking about him, I'm not, I'm just reliving that flight today - it was fantastic. I still love my car, and I love motorcycles, but that feeling this afternoon, that feeling of freedom, absolutely amazing. I should have been scared, or maybe just nervous, but I knew I was safe, Harm was watching me, watching my every move, watching over my every move, watching over…No! I'm not going there! For God's sake Loren, just because you've for once met a guy who is actually nice, you're falling back into your old ways! You've got a brain as well as a heart - for heaven's sake use it!

The vehemence of her thoughts galvanised her into leaving the tub and making preparations to join Harm for dinner. Wrapped in a towel, she brushed her hair until it shone, and then temporarily tying it back she carefully applied just enough light makeup so that her face wasn't totally naked. The choice of wardrobe was simple enough, she grinned, except for a pair of moccasins so at least she wouldn't have to wear her boots to dinner - her jeans and the two sweaters she had worn were all the clothes that she had with her. But then again, when Harm had said a country tavern, she hadn't been expecting anything quite like the Boar's Head.

Strapping her watch around her wrist and noting that she still had ten minutes before she would have been late, she was just congratulating herself on beating Harm in the race - her own invention, and she hadn't even told him he was in it - when a knock on the door and his voice inquiring if she was ready yet, burst her bubble. Opening the door, she looked at him and sighed, "I should have known…"

Startled, he asked her, "Er… you should have known what?"

"I was just priding myself on beating you to the punch, getting ready before you were, when you knocked on the door, and I hadn't beaten you after all." Her shoulders slumped and she let her face assume an exaggerated pout.

"Oh. Tell you what. Why don't I make it up to you? Why don't I walk you down to the restaurant?" he teased her, hoping that he hadn't misinterpreted her body language.

"Why, Mr Rabb," there was that excruciating attempt at a broad Virginia accent again, but this time accompanied by an outrageous fluttering of her eyelashes, "I do declare, that is th' best offer I have had th' pleasure of receiving tonight!"

Harm almost roared with laughter, and when he had recovered, he crooked an elbow for her to link her arm through his and said, "Well, Miss Scarlet, I reck'n th' pleasure's all mine!"

Still chuckling Harm and Loren made their leisurely way down to the restaurant, where the maitre d'hôtel, a rather pretty brunette, showed them to a corner table discreetly shielded from the door, and said with a smile, "I hope you'll be comfortable here, if there's anything you need, just let Sandy know. She'll be your waitress this evening."

The waitress who also seemed to have a warm smile permanently etched on her face, arrived within a minute or two and presented each of them with a menu and placed the hotel's wine list on the table. Loren, by now aware of Harm's dietary preferences scanned through the vegetarian section of the menu but failed to find any dishes of which she knew the names, let alone the type of dish they were, so with a sigh, she put down her copy of the menu, "Would you mind ordering for me, please? I'll' just have whatever you're having."

Harm looked across the table at her, "Loren, are you a vegetarian?" he asked.

"No, no, I'm not. But I don't eat much red meat, although I do eat a bit of chicken and I love fish."

"Look, if that's the case, you don't have to worry about offending me, by eating meat. If I could stand five years of watching Beltway Burgers being downed two or three at a sitting, then the sight of you with a bit of chicken or a fillet of fish on your plate, or even a bit of steak, isn't going to upset me. You order whatever you want!"

Loren smiled, not in gratitude, but in recognition of his understanding, and on Sandy's return was able to give her order, for a Feta cheese salad starter and oven baked parchment wrapped trout. Harm placed his order, and then ordered a bottle of Californian white wine and a large bottle of mineral water. "That was because," he explained to Loren, "The one bottle of wine needs to last us through the whole meal, and by stretching it with the mineral water, we'll just about manage it." Seeing the look of non-comprehension on her face he added, "Federal laws ban anybody from operating an airplane if they've had any alcohol within eight hours of take-off, and if they are above the FAA limit, which is zero point zero two per cent blood alcohol - much stricter than for driving a car!"

"Oh, I didn't know… I mean, I knew airline pilots weren't allowed to drink before a flight, but it never occurred to me that the same rules applied to small airplanes."

"Well, they do, I'm afraid, so if you want another try-out on the stick tomorrow, what's on the table tonight is all you're allowed?"

"Really? You're going to let me have another attempt tomorrow?"

"Well, of course, I invited you to come flying with me, so fly is what we'll do. Why, don't you want to try again?"

"Oh, more than anything else, well… nearly! Thank you Harm!"

Harm decided that he wasn't going to ask what else Loren might want other than more flying; he was enjoying seeing the glow that the thought of tomorrow had brought to her face. And he wondered how he, how anyone at JAG, could ever have thought her to be a sullen, miserable and thoroughly unpleasant person. At length dinner was over, and Loren had decided on a dessert, which turned out to be one of the biggest wedges of Lemon Meringue Pie he had ever seen, in fact it was so big that it provided an adequate dessert, once Loren had persuaded and cajoled him into trying it, for them both.

Once again they had enjoyed each other's company to such an extent, that by the time they had realised they were the last two guests still in the restaurant, the hands on the clock showed that it was very nearly midnight. As if that realisation was all it took, Loren was seized by a tremendous yawn, which as is usually the case set Harm yawning in sympathy with her. Acknowledging, by mutual consent that fatigue was winning out over their conversation which was gradually becoming less animated, they made their way back up to the second floor, and while Harm stood waiting to make sure that she was safely back in her room, Loren fumbled the key-card out of her hip pocket and opening her room door, she turned and raising herself on her toes lightly brushed his cheek with her lips, with a slight blush, she drew back from him and said, "Goodnight, Harm, and thank you."

He was unable to reply. After a good thirty seconds of staring the now closed door to her room, his hand stole up to his cheek, and shaking his head in wonder and sheer disbelief, let himself into his own room, where he stripped off and slid into bed, what had just happened out in the corridor, well that was obvious, Loren Singer has just kissed me, on the cheek, no biggie, girls, women, kiss their friends on the cheek all the time. I mean, it wasn't a full- on-with-tongue-tonsil-hockey kind of thing, she was just saying thank you. That's all. No need to make a fuss, it wasn't really inappropriate behaviour, it was much less of a kiss than Mac had given him when he got his DFC, and that had been in from of the Admiral, and Bud, and Tiner. No, no biggie, no need to make a fuss, best just let it fade away out of my memory, just like other unimportant events that I've long forgotten.

Loren closed the door behind her and leaned back on it. Oh God, oh God, oh God, please don't knock, please don't knock. Footsteps. Going away, Oh God, he didn't damn' well knock! Oh, I'm such an idiot! He'll probably bundle us into the car first thing in the morning, drive back to DC and never speak to me again! Unless of course he does a moonlight flit and just leaves me here! No, he would never do that, he's too much the gentleman! But why the hell did I do it! I hadn't intended to do it, I didn't plan it, it just… happened! At least I managed to hit his cheek, at the last second! That must never, never happen again! Yeah, riiight, the little voice sneered. Oh, shut up, you!

**Sunday 18 February 2001, 0600hrs Local, Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (181100ZFeb01)**

In spite of her worst fears, Loren was woken by the room telephone while it was till dark outside. Fumbling for the light switch on the unfamiliar bedside lamp she eventually turned on the lamp and squinting through dark-dilated pupils she saw that it was only just after six. Picking up the phone, she lay back against the pillows and said, "Singer."

"Good morning, Loren. Reveille time, we've got a lot scheduled for the day, so come on show a leg, we're burning daylight!"

"Harm? You're too damn' cheerful for this time of night!"

"Well, there's no point in starting what's going to be a good day in a bad mood, is there?"

"Oh, I don't know, it has its advantages!" It gives me a justification for murdering you for being so damn… cheerful!

"I'll give you a shout in an hour, and then we can go and have breakfast before we check-out. I'd like to be back at the field for zero-nine-hundred! Oh, and you should find a kettle and coffee in the closet under the TV set! It might help restore your equilibrium!" Dammit! He's laughing at me! Mr Harmon Rabb, you are so going to pay for that!

Thoughts of vengeance in the form of exquisitely painful physical torture entertained Loren as she managed to shower without wetting more than the tips of her hair, although whether it was those comforting thoughts or the beneficial effects of the hot shower and two cups of disgusting but hot, strong, sweet and black instant coffee that were responsible for her lightening mood. But then again, I've never really been a morning person. Rolling her toiletries up in her holdall, Loren checked to make sure that she had packed everything and then hefting her grip bag, she walked the few steps to Harm's room and knocked on the door.

"Oh good, he greeted her, you're ready. Hang on, I'll just grab my bag and we're good to go!"

Well, he doesn't appear to be put out or offended by last night's piece of stupidity, so if he doesn't mention it, I'm not going to. Maybe he's used to women jumping all over him! Wouldn't surprise me.

Harm's reappearance with bag in one hand and flying jacket draped over his arm put an end to her thoughts, and they walked in silence down to the restaurant. "Rooms 204 and 206, for breakfast please," Harm said to the breakfast waiter.

"Certainly, sir, madam, if you'd care to come this way." Once again they were led to the half-concealed corner table. "The breakfast buffet is open, so if you prefer, you may help yourselves, or I can take an order, if you'd rather stay as you are?"

"Er… "Harm looked at Loren, "No… I think we can manage to serve ourselves, thank you."

Loren who looked almost as bemused as Harm nodded her head in agreement

Although Harm was a fairly regular guest he had never quite met with the same standard of service, and as the waiter walked away he looked after him, and then turned to Loren and said, "I don't get it. The service here is good, but it's never been quite like this when I've been here before."

Loren had a flash of inspiration and thought that she could hazard a guess at the possible cause, but she nibbled her bottom lip and wrinkled her nose as she debated whether or not to tell him what had occurred to her.

Harm looked at her and said, "Well, there's something on your mind, Loren. C'mon, spit it out."

"Umm, I'm not sure about this, but you've stayed here before. More than a few times?" He nodded, "A lot of times?"

"Yeah, I guess, so over the years."

"Uh-huh, and were you ever accompanied by a… lady friend?" she phrased the subject delicately, and accompanied the question with an equally delicate lift of an eyebrow.

"Uh, no… I guess not, except maybe Meg, once… but that was a long time ago."

"That would have been your old partner, then, Lieutenant Austin?"

"Yes," his expression showed his surprise, "how do you know about Meg?"

"I wouldn't say I know anything about her, really, just that she used to be your partner before she got re-assigned and the b… and Colonel MacKenzie shipped in." She wasn't really lying, just not telling the whole truth, but there was no way she was anywhere near ready to turn over the stone under which he had buried his feelings for the long-gone lieutenant. "And I'll bet, that they," she added referring to the hotel staff, "have none of them been here long enough to remember her, but they do remember you always being alone, until this time, and I'll bet…"

"Oh God!" he exclaimed half-way between exasperation and amusement, "They think we're a couple!"

You don't have to laugh quite so loudly, it's not that far-fetched! I may not be Julia Roberts, or whoever the latest Hollywood babe is supposed to be, but I'm not that bad-looking, and I'll bet I'm a damn sight more intelligent than they are. Oh, crap!

"Harm, this isn't all that funny," she said her voice now deadly serious.

Her tone got through to him, "Oh, why not?"

"If we're giving off that vibe, and I don't see how we can be, to people who don't know us, what the hell are they going to say back at JAG?"

"Loren, if the people here do see us like that, it's probably for no more reason than you've said, just because they're used to seeing me flying solo. Anybody who knows us can see that we're two friends just spending time together because we have the same interests, right?"

"Well, I guess, so, but we still don't need to fuel the rumour mill back at Falls Church."

"So, you're saying that we shouldn't talk to each other when we're at work?"

"No, of course, not, that would be just as weird. No, we just need to continue the way we've always been."

"What. Barely acknowledging each other? No, that's not going to work either Loren. I'll bet that with Harriett's tongue flapping in the breeze that not only does everyone in DC know that you saved my life, at great risk to you own, but that you stayed by bedside day and night until the terrible, contagious fever that had me at death's door broke, and that you cried bucketsful of tears through sheer relief!"

Loren couldn't help but smile at the way he mocked Harriett's flights of hyperbole, but she sobered as she looked across the ruins of her breakfast and said, "But it did you, know, that fever nearly did kill you."

"Yes, I do know that," he said just as soberly, "and I know that without your quick thinking it could easily have done so. So yes, you did save my life. And I've been trying for the last three weeks, to find a way to say thank you."

"You just did Harm, you just said all that you ever needed to say."

**Sunday 18 February 2001, 0930hrs Local, Charlottesville County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (181430ZFeb01)**

Loren once again swaddled in her motorcycling leathers and with her woolly hat pulled down around her ears, held in position by a pair of goggles, sat in the front cockpit of the Stearman and concentrated ferociously as Harm told her the name and function of the dials on the instrument panel in front of her.

"This is all very basic," he said, "But for a light airplane like Sarah, these are all you need. So starting at the top centre: That's the compass, the vertical line in the middle of the window shows you in what direction you're flying. Then you have a vertical speed indicator, an airspeed indicator a turn-and-bank indicator, an altimeter, a clock, an outside air temperature and oil and fuel pressure gauge a propeller gauge that tells you how many rpm, and a fuel tank feed switch, the latter for "left," "right," or "off." The engine power and mixture throttles are by your left hand and the rudder and brake pedals are there, by your feet. Happy?"

Loren nodded, and he pulled an air chart out of his jacket and spread it out over the instrument panel while he traced their projected route with his finger, "OK, this morning, we'll fly North West over the north end of the Shenandoah park and then on to the George Washington park then turn South West until we get to the two-fifty, then we'll turn almost due east and head back home to here. What I want you to do, is note the times of the course changes, and tell me what readings you got once we get back."

"On it, Skipper!" Loren smiled. "Now can we get some… vertical distance between us and the ground? Please?"

Once airborne and settled on course and in level flight, Harm leaned forward and tapped Loren on the shoulder, she turned to look at him a smile plastered across her face, which got even wider as he shouted, "Want her?"

Loren nodded and turned to face forward, her hand held just above the stick. "You have control!" Harm yelled the magic words, and trying to remember all his advice from yesterday, Loren took control of the aircraft.

"Keep an eye on the compass, Loren and just try to keep us on course, I'll watch the rest of the panel for the moment!"

Loren nodded her understanding of his instructions, and concentrated with a fair degree of success in maintaining straight and level flight. All too soon for her liking, she heard Harm's voice again, "I'm taking her… I have control!"

Loren raised her hand to show him that it was clear of the stick and felt the first tugging of G force as Harm pulled the bi-plane round in a tight and steep left hand turn. Loren glanced at the clock and made a mental note of the time as the Stearman resumed level flight once more. As she gazed down at the thickly forested George Washington National Park Loren's ears picked up the increasing noise level of the engine and glancing to her left she saw the throttle lever moving forward at the same time as the airplane's nose dropped into a steep dive. The aircraft speed increased and Loren had the satisfaction of correctly identifying both the the ASI and the altimeter as the needle on the one gauge showed an increase, while the hands on the other unwound. Then as the airplane leveled out and started to climb the indicators reversed their directions as the nose pointed up at the sky and the speed died away. There was enough speed remaining to pull the Stearman over on to its back as the loop was completed and the airplane resumed straight and level flight. Loren noted that the compass and the turn and bank indicator had become unsettled during the manoeuvre and took a few seconds to return to their true readings.

Harm kept control of the airplane for the reminder of the flight, which according tom Loren's inner clock couldn't possibly have taken as long as the two hours the panel clock said it had. And it was with a feeling of, not exactly being let down, but a sort of regret that she felt the wheels bump onto the runway and felt the restriction of being tied once more to two dimensions.

Harm taxied the 'plane back towards the section of the airport reserved for light aircraft and headed for the fuel point. Both he and Loren deplaned while the bowser attendant refilled the Stearman's fuel tanks. Once the task was completed Harm handed over his credit card, and indicated that Loren should get back in her seat. Once again weaving left and right to see around the raised nose of the 'plane, Harm headed back for Pop's hangar.

The engine switched off, Harm led the way to the office, where he poured two cups of coffee, and pointing to a brown paper bag on the desk said, "Help yourself to a couple of sandwiches, they might help take away some of the taste of this coffee!"

Loren took a sip of a bitter brew and wrinkled her nose, another of her habits that he found fascinating. "Ugh, you're right; this is worse coffee than Tiner makes!"

Harm smiled, Tiner's inability to make anything remotely resembling potable coffee was legend at JAG. Loren, taking Harm's advice dug into the bag of sandwiches, "They're all tuna and mayo again," she told him.

"Of course they are," he replied, "Pop never brings anything else in with him!"

"Won't he mind us eating his lunch? Where is he?" Loren peered around the shadowy interior of the hangar.

"Oh, Pop's away for an hour or so," Harm replied, "his wife always does a pot-roast for Sunday lunch!"

Loren looked incredulously at the mug of bitter coffee and the packet of tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches as she struggled for an instant before bursting into a peal of laughter.

Lunch, such as it was over, Harm took Loren out on to the tarmac. "Before we go any further," he said seriously, "if you want to learn to fly, you'll have to understand that while I can teach you, I can't teach you so that you'll qualify as a certificated Private Pilot, because I'm not an FAA qualified flight instructor. If we were flying a navy plane, I could teach and qualify you, but Sarah is privately owned. You'll need to rack up about forty hours total flying time and pass ground school to get a certificate, and that's going to cost anywhere between five and six thousand dollars." He paused as he saw Loren wince.

"If you decide that is something you can't do, it doesn't matter to me, I'll still be more than happy to bring you out here every chance we get, and I'll teach you how to fly her. The decision is entirely your, Loren."

Loren nodded her understanding. She looked at the ground and up at the sky. She had never experienced anything that came remotely near to the sensations she had experienced while airborne, particularly when Harm had handed control over to her, and she, Loren Singer, was flying. "It may take me a little while to re-prioritise my spending, Harm, but this something I really want!"

"OK, here beginneth the first lesson." He grinned at his own irreligious mockery, "Always, Loren, think safety first. Flying is not like driving a car, you can't just pull over to the side of the road and wait for your car club to send a tow-truck. If something breaks up there, you won't have much time to find somewhere to put her down safely and where you can get her off again when she's been fixed! So, every time you take her up you make sure she's in perfect condition, and the only way to do that is to look at and see that everything is where it should be and works the way it should! We call this a pre-flight check, and this what we do."

Harm took Loren on a minute visual inspection of the Stearman, explaining that although it looked complicated, the pre-flight walk round was always done in the same order, according to a drill developed, he said back when Daedelus was fitting Icarus with his wings! After a thorough thirty minute inspection, Harm took Loren back into the hangar office, "More coffee, before we go again?" he offered, and almost laughed when he saw the look of distaste written large across her face.

"Never mind, grab your woolly hat and gloves, and let's get some air-time, shall we?"

The afternoon flight was much shorter in duration, as Harm was keen to get Sarah back in the hangar and themselves on the road before dark. Although he was familiar with the road he disliked driving up the Fredericksburg Pike after nightfall, the road was notorious for nighttime wrecks. So although Loren was disappointed in the short duration of the flight, one that Harm described as a 'hop' she found some compensation in that as soon as they had reached what Harm considered a comfortable height, he handed control of the plane over to her, and talked her through several manouevres, and course changes, so that Loren was not quite sure of where they were, where that had been and where they were going, until Harm told her that he was resuming control when looking forward Loren saw to her surprise that they were in line with the runway and that Harm was beginning his final approach to the airport. Once safely down he taxied the 'plane straight to the hangar where Pop was waiting for them. "Did you Enjoy your lunch, Pop?" he asked the older man, who merely grinned and said, "Yep, better 'n them tunnyfish 'n' mayo sandwiches anyway!"

The airplane safely stowed away and Harm and Loren having made running repairs to their appearance, they made their farewells, with a promise on Harm's part that he at least would be back next weekend. Once again seeing Loren safely and comfortably seated in the 'vette, Harm got behind the wheel and turned the car in the direction of Washington.

As the 'vette turned on to US29 Harm glanced across and asked, "Well, was it the worst experience of your life?"

"No, it was possibly the best experience that I've ever had," Loren sighed contentedly, "and if you think you can put up with me again, I'd really like to come with you next weekend."

"Loren, it would be my pleasure. I've really enjoyed having you with me this weekend, and I love the way you love flying. In all the years that I've partnered Mac, she's only ever come with me twice, and on one of those times, she ended up getting shot."

"I can see where that might put her off!"

"No, it wasn't that, Loren. Mac just doesn't like flying. I gave her a ride in a Tomcat once, she didn't like that either!" He deliberately didn't tell Loren that Mac had been thoroughly airsick and that the action of the G-Forces on her as he'd thrown the F-14 through some pretty tight manouevres had left her feeling weak and shaky for some time after the flight had finished.

**Sunday 18 February 2001, 1900hrs Local, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (182359ZFeb01)**

Pulling into the still empty space next to Loren's MX5, Harm climbed out of the car and walked round to open Loren's door for her, as she rummaged through her pockets for her keys. Stretching his back he waited until she climbed out of the car, and said, "Well, I guess I'll be on my way, I'll just walk you in and then I guess, I'll see you tomorrow back at the ranch"

Loren considered him for a few seconds and then said slowly, "No… I don't think so. Come up with me and I'll fix us a bite of supper…"

"Loren, I don't think that's a very good idea..."

"Actually Harm, you're dead wrong, it's a very good idea! There's something we need to discuss."

Harm felt his stomach go cold, Oh God, Loren, do not mention last night. It was a friendly kiss on the cheek, a thank you for dinner and for taking you flying. It was no big deal. We do not need to analyse this thing to shreds. It happened, once. It's over and done with!

"Don't look so worried, Harm, I'm not that bad a cook. And I'll even throw in a cold beer to wash it down with. Please?"

"Oh, well, since you put it like that…"

In spite of his reluctance, Harm couldn't help being curious as Loren let them into her apartment. It was, no surprise there, extremely neat and tidy, and while not particularly girly, there was no missing the woman's touch that told the visitor that this was not a man's apartment. It was a strange mix of the practical and the comfortable, the ceiling to floor bookshelf at one end of the living room occupied the whole of that wall and had obviously been built to measure, was filled with heavy legal text books, while the free-standing smaller bookshelf just to the left of the door was cluttered with paperbacks of the genre that he usually dismissed as 'Thud and Blunder' and a collector's set of the works of Jane Austen, as well as some, that judging by their cover were historical sea-stories, and which contrasted sharply with the shelves of Dostoevsky, Tolkien, Tolstoy, Chekhov, Dickens and other literary greats.

Loren, who had disappeared into what Harm assumed was the kitchen came back into the living room, with two bottles of beer in her hands and saw his mildly surprised expression as he looked at her library, "Oh," she chuckled, slightly pink in the face, "you're looking at my one acknowledged vice! I love historical fiction. I know most of it is pretty poorly researched and no one single person could ever do half the things these impossible heroes do. I must confess though, I do love my 'Sharpe' novels. Oh, not because they're any literary masterpieces, but they were made into TV movies, and the British actor who plays the hero is absolutely gorgeous!"

Harm looked at her in astonishment. Even with her revelations about motorcycles, football and literary classics, this was a side of Loren Singer that he would never have expected to find out in a hundred years.

"But, I didn't ask you up here to talk about my books," she continued. "Sit down, and let's be serious for a bit. Harm, I have loved being with you this weekend, and I meant what I said, I'd like to go back there with you the next time you go, and the time after that and the time after that. But I'm still worried about we talked about at breakfast this morning. You and I both know that the time we have spent together is totally innocent of any wrong doing, we haven't broken a single regulation, but we also know that there are people at JAG who would do anything to bring me down, and in a lot of cases if that meant bringing you down with me they'd do it, and just shrug your loss off as collateral damage. You've been very generous this weekend, you paid for gas for car and plane, you paid the hotel bill, and I do appreciate what you've tried to do. You've tried to treat me as a friend, but I can't let you pay for everything, not because of some stupid pride, but because it's too dangerous for both of us. If this weekend were ever investigated by NCIS or a JAGMAN team looking for evidence of fraternization, what do you think they'd come up with? How do you think they'd interpret the evidence? No, you've been very generous, but if I go with you next time, then I must pay, and then if we go again after that, we pay our separate bills."

Harm looked at her in dismay. He had invited her as his guest; they had not been lovers on a weekend tryst, and for her to offer to pay for half the expenses, which is what she was doing, went against everything in which he had been raised to believe. But he knew she was right; there were mischief makers at JAG who would love to blow their weekend out of all proportion. He was about to agree with her and regretfully suggest that they looked around and made other arrangement for her flying lessons, when a sense of déjà vu came over him.

"No Loren, we won't! This is just like me and Mac, tip toeing around each other, each afraid at different times to take a chance, and be open about what we were, more than colleagues, maybe even a bit more than friends, but not quite lovers. We were so damn' scared of the gossip, the scuttlebutt, and the rumour mongers that we let them, or the threat of them, screw us around for nearly five years. Loren, I am not ashamed to call you my friend, and I am not happy to let us creep around in the shadows, as if we had something to be ashamed of! Let's go to the admiral tomorrow, when I get back from the hospital and tell him what we did this weekend and that we plan to continue on being friends. And if he doesn't like it, or anybody else doesn't like then they can all go to hell!

Loren looked at him in amazement. This was the man that the Bitch-Colonel had complained couldn't or wouldn't make a decision about a personal relationship, and here he was in her living room telling her that the rest of the world could go hang, but he wasn't about to let them tell him who he could and who he couldn't have as a friend. "Harm, you don't mean that!" she said in shock.

"The hell I don't!" he retorted, with a twisted grin "It worked for Skates!"

There wasn't much of anything Loren could say in answer to that so shaking her head she retired to the kitchen to make good on her promise of dinner, but before she did so, she turned on the television and slid a VHS cassette into the player. "Here" she said, also grinning, "you missed this. For a football fan you sure picked the wrong week to get sick!"

Harm turned to watch the TV as the recorded full coverage of the 2001 Superbowl filled the screen. Loren was back in just over ten minutes, before the game itself had started, with two bowls of steaming pasta with a tomato, mushroom and herb sauce.

"Sorry about the sauce, it's store bought" she admitted, as she sat down on the couch next to him.

"Hey, it's not bad, could do with some extra garlic, though!" And then as the teams, the Baltimore Ravens and the New York Giants lined up to start the game, a thought struck him, "Hey is your old boyfriend, the middle linebacker playing in this?"

"God, no," spluttered Loren, giggling through a mouthful of pasta, "he hung up his jersey years ago!"

The two sat side by side on the couch, not touching, but sharing their friendship as they watch the New York Giants sustain a massive loss against the Ravens by thirty-four points to seven. By mutual consent they paused the tape at the half time show and dived into the kitchen to wash and dry pots and dishes, and on their return to the living room skipped the so-called entertainment and went on to watch the second half of the game. By the time the game dawdled to an end it wasn't far short of eleven pm, and a slightly weary Harm went rose to take his leave of Loren who seemed almost half asleep where she sat. "No, don't get up to see me out. Stay put until you're ready to go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Loren."


	5. Chapter 5

**Enough is Enough**

**5**

**Monday 19 February 2001, 0750hrs Local, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (191250ZFeb01)**

Loren Singer passed through the security barrier at the Falls Church JAG parking lot and swung the MX5 it its allotted space, right at the far end, she scowled, of the lot. The remote location of her parking spot was a consequence of being the low man, or in her case, low woman on the totem pole. At least, she reminded herself, even as a lowly lieutenant in an office dominated by lieutenant commanders and above she had a parking spot. The enlisted had to scramble for whatever free spots were available on a day to day basis. Locking the car, she adjusted her cover to the regulation angle on her head and cut across the parking lot to the gap in the ornamental hedge that divided that facility from the JAG building inner yard where the Admiral and his top-ranking officers had their designated parking spaces.

As she raised her head after mounting the steps to the main door she saw that the door was being held open for her by one of those senior officers. Her clipped and unsmiling, "Good morning, sir, thank you", was met with a broad smile and a courteous, "Good morning, Lieutenant," as he stood to one side to allow her to enter the building ahead of him.

Arriving at the elevator just before him, she pressed the 'call' button a fraction of a second before he arrived within reach, shooting him a defiant glance as she did. The elevator car arrived and again he stood back to allow her to enter first. Secure in the privacy of the closed car as it slowly moved towards the office floor above, Loren looked, no, she glared at the tall man standing beside her. "I thought we said we were going to act normally… sir!"

He glanced down in mild surprise at her tone, and saw that the so-called Lieutenant Witch was back. Her jaw was set and chin thrust pugnaciously forward, but despite her forbidding aspect, he thought that he now knew her well enough to see through her deception.

"Relax, Lieutenant, I am acting normally. I said good morning to a colleague, and because I was only a step ahead of that colleague, I waited at the door rather than have it swing shut in her face. That's normal for me, Lieutenant."

Her face relaxed, as far as her normal every office day mask, she looked at him and said, "But what are you doing here, sir? I thought you had a hospital appointment."

"I do, at ten-hundred hours, but I thought we'd get this over and done with before I went to the hospital… and before I lost my nerve."

Loren looked at him with surprise in her eyes, and then giggled, the thought of him losing his nerve after all that he'd done, just because he faced a possibly awkward conversation with the Admiral, just struck as her so funny…

"This is no time for laughter, Lieutenant," he rebuked her, but with a gleam of sympathy in his eyes.

"No, sir, of course not," and she only just had time to resume her business-like expression before the door slid open to allow them access to the bull pen and their offices.

"With me, Lieutenant," he ordered her, and falling in one step to his right ear she followed him across the bull-pen, where his return was greeted with enthusiastic cries of, "Good morning, sir", and "Good to have you back, sir!".

Making their way to the yeoman's desk standing in its own cubby-hole outside the Admiral's office, he said, "Good morning, Tiner; is the Admiral free? We'd like to see him for a few minutes, if possible." His gesture included Lieutenant Singer in the 'we'

"One moment sir." Tiner pressed the call button on the intercom unit wired to its match on the Admiral's desk, "Admiral sir, Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer would like to know if you can spare them a few moments?" The admiral's voice growling assent was clearly heard by all three at the yeoman's desk, and his "Sir, ma'am, the Admiral will see you now," was not only unnecessary, but almost drowned out by Harm's proforma knock on the office doorjamb, and the admiral's testy reply of "Come in, dammit!"

The sight of Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer, two officers entering the work area together was nothing to occasion any remark, any more than it would have been remarked upon if Colonel MacKenzie had entered together with Lieutenants Roberts, or Sims, or with Commander Imes, especially not at the very start of the working day, but his curt command and the determined manner in which he had led her across the bull-pen and straight into the admiral's office provided fuel enough for several hours of speculation until the truth could be ferreted out. The speculation started almost immediately and the few whispers increased in volume until it was only a matter of time before the unusual level of conversation attracted the attention of someone in authority. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the individual point of view, the ears of authority were attached to the head of Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, who re-entered the bull-pen having checked that the conference room was squared away in readiness for the oh-nine-hundred hours staff call. His ears assailed, not only by the level of the noise, but also by the quality of the noise he stood for a second in righteous anger, before snapping out, "Stand down people! Get back to your desks - all of you," he glared pointedly at Seaman Hawkins, who was in the process of making what she'd hoped was an unobtrusive move towards Petty Officer Tiner's desk, "and get back to work!" Victor Galindez shook his head as regained his own seat, and casting a malevolent glance around the bull-pen, shook his head and muttered to himself in disgust, "Damn squids!"

**Monday 19 February 2001, 0800hrs Local, Admiral Chegwidden's Office, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (19130ZFeb01) **

Harmon Rabb and Loren Singer marched into the admiral's office and halted at attention in front of his desk. The balding Flag Officer with the SEAL trident above his rows of medal ribbons regarded them expectantly over the tops of his reading glasses, "You wanted to see me?"

Harm licked his dry lips and spared a second for a quick glance at Loren, who gave every indication of wishing that she was somewhere else, anywhere else, rather than here beside him in front of the man who could end both their careers with a single decision.

"Yes, sir," Harm finally managed, uneasily observing that the admiral's eyebrow had started its ascent to where his hairline should have been, "It's a personal matter sir."

A J Chegwidden stared impassively at his two officers. He had kept himself more or less fully informed as to the time, number and frequency of Lieutenant Singer's visits to her sick senior officer while he was in hospital, but he'd had no way of finding out just how much time the two officers had been spending together while the Commander was on hospital leave, and while he had been encouraged by the Lieutenant coming out of her shell and showing some signs of interest in at least one of her co-workers - hell, in a way he'd even instigated her involvement the day the Commander had been admitted to hospital by way-laying her in the elevator, but he now hoped he wasn't about to hear what his flawed arithmetical sense feared it was. He made one try to deflect what he feared, "Commander, Lieutenant, I don't like interfering in my officers' personal affairs, unless and until their personal lives have a negative impact on this command. I trust you are not about to tell me that your lives are about to do just that? I trust that you are, both of you, aware of the regulations that govern your personal lives, and are responsible enough to obey those regulations?"

"Well, sir, that's why we have come directly to you. It might just be that that our altered relationship could have an effect on morale and good order and discipline…"

"Commander, do not tell me, do not even attempt to tell me that you and the Lieutenant have flagrantly contravened regulations and have entered into some sort of clandestine romantic or sexual relationship!" The admiral's empurpled face and the hiss that his voice had become left his two subordinates in no doubt as to the nature of the very real professional danger in which they stood.

"No, sir!" they chorused.

"It's just that since the Lieutenant's actions saved my life, sir, it has created a bond between us, nothing more than friendship, sir. We've had a couple of impromptu dinners at either my apartment or the Lieutenant's, and this weekend just gone, we went to Charlottesville, where I've started teaching her to fly. While we were at Charlottesville, we stayed in a local inn overnight, and I put both rooms on my credit card. In retrospect sir, that was a mistake; one that has potentially embarrassing circumstances. That sir, is why we've come to you this morning, to set the record straight before anyone starts poking and prying."

"Lieutenant, is that how you see your… friendship?"

"Yes, sir," Although Loren had turned pink under the stress of the moment, she stood tall and answered clearly, "It is exactly as Commander Rabb has stated. We started talking to each other and found we had shared interests, so, yes, sir. We have become friends!"

Chegwidden buried his face in hands for a few seconds, and then looking up, said, "I see, well we, no… _you,_" and his eyes swept from face to face, "are in a grey area. Regulations forbid fraternisation between officers of different ranks when that fraternisation has an adverse effect on good order and discipline; those regulations cannot direct that officers may not be friends with those junior or senior in rank. But if you have done nothing illegal, or immoral, then I do not see that they apply in this case. The same regulations forbid any form of trade between naval personnel and Marine Corps personnel and between both moieties. I take it that these flying lessons are not by the way of a commercial transaction? No? Good, then again the regulations should not apply to those lessons which are no more than an expression of friendship. The booking of both rooms on the one card, whether it was yours Commander or yours Lieutenant, was a lapse in judgement, that I may or may not have to take into account when I complete your next fitness reports, although that may be balanced out by your coming to see me this morning. But what I don't understand is your supposition that anyone might want to start poking and prying into your financial affairs, or any of your affairs, and this better not be _an affair_." He stressed the last two words to emphasise a warning.

"Sir, Lieutenant Singer and I will continue to conduct ourselves according to regulations and in the proper performance of our duties, but it is inevitable that despite our best efforts, the more perceptive of our co-workers may detect that our personal dynamic may have changed in respect of the way we look, talk and act around each other. And there are enough carelessly or even deliberately malicious tongues out there that adverse comments could well find their way up the chain of command to you sir, or even worse outside the chain of command to say, the IG's office."

"Commander! You're beginning to tread on very thin ice there!"

"Yes, sir, but would you say that I'm totally off target?"

Chegwidden sighed, "No… I don't suppose you are, but don't go around casting aspersions, Commander."

"No, sir! I wouldn't dream of it, sir!"

The admiral glanced up at the clock on his wall, "Well, I've just about got time for a coffee before staff call. Are you joining us today Commander?"

"Not today sir, I have an appointment at Bethesda at ten hundred hours, but I shall return to duty today if I am cleared to do so, or I will keep you informed of any other disposition the medicos might order, sir. So if I may be dismissed, sir?"

"Yes, and you too Lieutenant, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" both voices cracked out in unison, and after the regulation two second pause Commander and Lieutenant about-faced and made for the door. One again Harm was there before Loren and opened the door for her and once again she glowered at him.

Chegwidden observed this little by-play with interest, and once the door had closed behind Rabb and Singer, he permitted himself a rueful smile. He was not entirely dissatisfied with the way things had turned out, and he was gratified that not only had the two of them kept their heads, but that they had the good sense to come to him before any potential problems arose, and despite his words of caution to Rabb, the older man was fully alive to the looming possibility of disaster in the shape of deliberate malice or loose lipped gossip. Sighing he stabbed at the intercom call button, "Tiner, get me a coffee, please."

As he sat sipping his coffee Chegwidden found himself overtaken by an uneasy suspicion. He still hadn't solved the puzzle over why the atmosphere at last Tuesday's Staff Call had been so tense, but now, with Rabb and Singer coming forward - and he had been sure that Singer was part of the problem, but that was nothing new, but the intensity had been - and thinking back, the other obviously involved person had been MacKenzie. Damn her, damn Singer and damn Rabb. Why couldn't she leave the poor son-of-a-bitch alone? He'd seen Rabb's face when he had witnessed that way over the top public display of affection between the Australian and the marine, at Sydney airport; hell he'd even told the younger man not to look back! Now the Colonel was engaged to her Australian, and it looked like Rabb was moving on, and if not with Singer, not at least, romantically, he prayed, the fact that MacKenzie's fall-back guy was showing signs of losing interest in her had got her panties in a wad! He groaned to himself; if he was right, then Rabb's comment about malicious tongues may not have been so very far off the mark after all. He would definitely need to monitor this situation very carefully, but only after, he reminded himself, seeing to the day's business at Staff Call.

**Monday 19 February 2001, 0900hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (231400ZFeb01)**

Tiner opened the conference room door for his admiral and called out "Attention on deck!" to warn the assembled officers of their chief's arrival.

"As you were, ladies and gentlemen, as you were." Chegwidden sat at the head of the table amidst the noise of half a dozen officers resuming their own seats. Donning his reading glasses, he looked down at the sheaf of notes in front of him, and clearing his throat issued his orders, "Commander Imes, and Lieutenant Roberts, An Ordnanceman, Seaman Celucci, was lost overboard from the _Benjamin Harrison_ last night. You will proceed to rendezvous with the ship via COD departing from Pax River. Tiner has your orders and movement instructions." He paused while his Yeoman handed a buff envelope to each of the two officers.

"Just by chance a lookout was looking out in exactly the right direction and at exactly the right moment. An SAR helo was airborne within seconds and Celucci's body was recovered within minutes. We have just received a preliminary autopsy report from the ship's surgeon. Celucci's trachea had been crushed, he did not drown, neither was he killed by the fall, it appears he was dead before he went over the side. What started out as a mishap investigation is now a murder investigation. Commander Imes, you will liaise with the NCIS agent afloat, an Agent Paula Cassidy, but remember this is our case."

"Yes, sir. Our case, sir!"

He coughed and looked down the table at the Australian exchange officer, "Staff Sergeant Hart from MCCDC at Quantico is charged with bigamy; Brumby, you'll be trial counsel on this one, Colonel, you'll defend.

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

"Moving right along: Lieutenant Singer, Captain Coulter, currently doing life in Leavenworth for the ten year-old murder of his wife has lodged an appeal against conviction... Read through the case file, and see if we can rebut his grounds for appeal and for denying the application. Tiner?

Once again Tiner delved into his dispatch box and handed a two-inch thick file to Loren, who had at first been thrilled at been given such an opportunity, but now felt her heart sink as she saw the thickness of the file, and realised that she would be burning the midnight oil for more than one night, in order to meet any deadline.

"Sir?"

"Lieutenant?"

"Sir, when would you want my findings and opinion?"

"Today's Monday… so… by Thursday's secure, Lieutenant."

"Aye, aye sir." Great, just what she needed a three-day all-nighter! She'd barely have to time to eat let alone sleep!

Lieutenant Barlow?

"Sir!"

"Nothing meaty for you to get your teeth into today, just a stack of FOIA jackets to check, make sure that our Legalmen have crossed all the t's and dotted the I's before I get them for signature," he paused, "before we secure today, Lieutenant. Don't look so glum, your turn will come, and," he grinned, "when it does, Lieutenant, you'll probably be praying for the peace, quiet and sanity of FOIA requests!

"Yes, sir," Andy Barlow's voice still seemed somehow less than enthusiastic.

"Have any of you anything that needs bringing to my attention?"

"Just a question, sir, if I may?"

"Go ahead, Colonel."

"I understood that Commander Rabb was due back off hospital leave today sir. As he's not here, I was concerned that he might have had a relapse, perhaps he's been over-exerting himself, instead of recuperating?"

"The Commander is," and he looked at the conference room clock, "at the moment, well on his way to Bethesda for a review which will either clear him for a return to duty, or extend his hospital leave. Either way we should have answer by fourteen hundred hours."

"That's good to know, sir, I'm sure all his friends here hope that he has fully recovered, and hasn't set his recovery back by unwise behaviour."

Mic Brumby smiled with fierce satisfaction. That's my Mac! Good on yer Sheila. I love to see you sticking it to that sour-faced little blonde bitch!

Chegwidden looked impassively at the marine lieutenant colonel; superficially, and accepting them at face value, her words were a proper expression of concern for a co-worker who was also a friend. But, MacKenzie and Rabb had hardly been friends since his return from the _Patrick Henry_, and the atmosphere had definitely cooled further since Brumby had worked his way into her affections. Now given the knowledge that Rabb and Singer had formed a friendship, he was painfully aware of exactly what MacKenzie was hinting at. As long as it remained hints, he could probably, well, possibly, contain the situation but if the marine ever made an outright accusation, then there would be hell to pay… On the other hand, if the accusation was made now, a court-martial would certainly clear both Rabb and Singer, but… mud sticks, and there would always be some who harboured suspicions, and repeated them as if those suspicions were hard fact, that they really were guilty but had 'got off on a technicality', or worse that they had beaten the system because they were JAGs, and that sort of remark made in the hearing of a superior office could always come back to haunt them if they ever reached a position where a selection board were to consider them for Captain or even later for Flag Rank. The problem was, he recalled a case from a few years ago, before the regulations were tightened up, because the two offenders were JAGs the evidence collected against them had to be overwhelming, and the time taken to collect the evidence had allowed the illicit behaviour to continue for much longer than should have been permitted, and the length of the affair had led to exceptionally harsh punishment. Chegwidden gave his head a mental shake, he did not want to see a top rate lawyer and another, very promising lawyer brought down just because one of their co-workers felt she had been slighted! No, much as he would like to clear them both, it was far too risky. He could deal with them non-judicially, but a mast, even an Admiral's mast which found them not guilty was not a public enough forum to clear them of suspicion.

Loren was not inclined to accept the Bitch-Colonel's word at any sort of value. She knew exactly what filth Sarah-Bury-Me-In-A-Y-Shaped-Casket-MacKenzie was implying, but she should beware of judging everybody by her own standards, and she should also beware of Loren Singer. But if the cow wanted war, then she could have one, a real _guerra a cuchillo._

**Monday 19 February 2001, 1118hrs Local, National Naval Centre, Bethesda, MD, (191618ZFeb01)**

Harm adjusted his neck-tie and checked the result in the scratched mirror on the inside of the cubicle door; he couldn't complain that he hadn't received a thorough check up he reflected, as he checked his watch. He had reported dead on time, and had been whisked straight into the examination room where he had been set upon by what seemed to be half the staff of the hospital, all with their own specialty. There had been the usual vitals checked, pulse rate, blood pressure, temperature, respiration; and he'd been prodded, poked, pinched, probed and picked over until he certain that wasn't a square inch of him that some doctor, nurse or corpsman hadn't investigated. He'd given blood, urine and sputum samples, he'd blinding lights shone into his eyes, and that had scared him, he'd had more than enough eye problems to last him a life time! And all through the exam, there'd been no sign from the doctors, nurses or corpsmen that they were either satisfied or dissatisfied with what they'd found.

His tie adjusted to his satisfaction, Harm shrugged back into his Dress Blues jacket and turned an inquiring eye on the Surgeon-Commander who was still writing up his notes, "Well, am I fit for duty or fit for nothing?"

The doctor regarded him meditatively, tapping his teeth with end of his pen. "Rabb, you appear to be fit, well and rested, but I need to wait for the results of the blood panel before I'm completely happy with you. With any luck we'll have those results back on Friday, so I'll write you in for a further consultation on Monday, next week, at the same time, and we'll give you another medical before returning you to duty."

Harm looked at the doctor in dismay, "Another week, doc? I'll start climbing the walls, or doing a Steve McQueen. Look I have an office job, can't I just return to duty?"

"H'mm what did you say your duty was? Ah, yes, Judge Advocate's Corps, well in that case, yes. You can return to temporary limited duty pending the outcome of the blood work.

**Thursday 22 February 2001, 1200hrs Local, Admiral Chegwidden's Office, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (221700Feb01) **

Loren stood at attention if front the admiral's desk, she had brought the case file to the admiral too tired to realise fully the implications of what she had done. She felt a momentary glow of pleasure when she heard the admiral's praise for finishing the assignment on schedule, and he'd even grinned and said "Cheops would be proud of you Lieutenant!" she smiled in response but was too tired to understand the joke, and just wished he'd let her go and collapse somewhere in a nice quiet, dark room and let her sleep for at least twenty years. But of course, that didn't happen; he opened the file to the page of her findings and opinions and read them through in silence while she stood frozen at attention in front of his desk. As he read his face became grim, and then, when he finished reading, he looked up and across at her and asked, "Is that honestly your finding and opinion?"

"Yes, sir."

He massaged his temples with his finger tips for a few seconds and then replacing his reading glasses, he read a couple of her findings out aloud, "insufficient defence,", "unequal to the task demanded," "culpable negligence", "dereliction of duty," "conviction based entirely upon circumstantial evidence," pretty strong language, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

"H'mm, now, your opinions, "It is the opinion of this authority that in the interests of justice a retrial should be granted at the earliest possible date." Not an appeal, Lieutenant?"

"No sir, if Captain Coulter is innocent, as I believe he is, sir, then he deserves his full day in court, and public vindication, together of course with restoration of rank, seniority and benefits, sir."

"And the name of the defence counsel in all this escaped your notice?"

"No sir, Lieutenant Commander, now Commander, Allison Krennik."

"That's pretty thin ice you're skating on, Lieutenant."

"I disagree, sir, she screwed up, Captain Coulter deserved a competent defence, he didn't get it, and as a result, he's spent the last ten years in jail for a crime for which the evidence against him is at best inconclusive. If it had been within my remit sir, I would have made the same charges against NCIS, the original investigating authority."

"You're not pulling any punches, are you, Lieutenant? All right, dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Thursday 22 February 2001, 1840hrs Local, Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (222340ZFeb01)**

She had submitted her report to the admiral six hours ago, since then she had achieved almost nothing, she had barely been able to keep her eyes open, and the two hours she'd tried to sleep after securing early had been of no benefit, she had still been too tense to be able to relax. The phone 'call to Harm had helped, he had heard the fatigue in her voice and had told her to come on straight over, and he'd fix dinner for them and she could talk herself out until she was relaxed enough for sleep. That's all she was doing, she told herself, just looking for a little friendly company after three days of locking herself in her office while she ploughed through the Coulter case, and she tried to ignore that irritating little voice whispering 'liar, liar' in the back of her mind.

But he really was convivial company. He hadn't known what she was up against when he'd returned to the office on Monday afternoon, he'd had his own work on which to catch up, but he had noticed her drawn blinds on Tuesday morning, and seeing them still drawn that afternoon, he had knocked on her office door and asked what she'd been tasked with. On being told, he had whistled in surprise, and wished her good luck and had had the tact to withdraw and let her get on with it.

Loren parked outside of the converted warehouse that housed Harm's apartment, and unbuckling her seat belt she slumped forward and for a moment rested her forehead on the rim of the steering wheel. She was exhausted, going over the Coulter file, reading, researching precedents, checking against the transcripts for the errors stipulated in the appeal and then checking their validity against the MCM had been mentally tiring. It wasn't just the nature of the work that had been tiring, it was the sheer length of time it had taken, and she'd been working desperately quickly against a deadline. She guessed she'd averaged about four hours sleep a night for the last three nights, and that only because last night she had fallen asleep at her desk in her apartment for over three hours before she'd woken up feeling chilled and with her forehead stuck to a sheet of paper.

On Tuesday, she had worked on unheeding of the time and the departure of most of the staff, she hadn't even heard the duty Petty Officer Legalman bid goodnight to the admiral, it had only been the persistent tone of her cell 'phone that had forced her reluctantly to put the file to one side for a few minutes. Seeing the caller ID she had raised an eyebrow but thumbed the 'answer call' button, "Harm?"

"Yes. Loren, where are you?"

"I'm in my office, why?"

"Yeah, I thought you might be. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Oh, guess it's about seven… Oh crap!"

"No, it's not seven oh crap," he'd joked, "Loren it's twenty-one forty five hours. Stay where you are, I'm on my way."

He'd shown up some thirty minutes later carrying a large brown paper bag, and despite her half-serious protests sweeping her files to one side, he'd opened the bag and brought out the food he'd ordered, she hadn't been aware the she even hungry but as the smell of food reached her nostrils she realised that she wasn't just hungry, she was famished. He'd produced chop-sticks and apologised for the quality of the meal, but that was all he had been able to rustle up at short notice. She hadn't cared by that time, just as long as it was food! He had shared the meal with her, and distracted her from her work in an effort to make sure she enjoyed the meal rather than just treating as a re-fuelling stop, after which he'd cleared the up the debris and told her to make sure she didn't work too late, and left her to it..

She hadn't known it, but it had taken him all his self-control not to pick her up and physically carry her off the premises. As it was, she had been grateful for his understanding, that he had not badgered her in an attempt, which she told herself would have been unsuccessful, to go home and get some sleep.

He had badgered her yesterday 'though. He had swept into her office at seventeen hundred hours, and despite her outrage, had grabbed the file, shoved it into her briefcase, crammed her cover on her head and taking hold of her arm had bustled her out of the building, where the grinning presence of the marine guards had persuaded her to give up struggling and allow him to bundle her into her car, and tossing her briefcase onto the passenger seat, he had said, "Now, go home Loren. I know you're up against it, but go home. Take a shower, get changed into something a bit more comfortable, and then if you feel you really must, start work again. I'll call by later. Now go!"

He was so earnest, she'd had to grin and with a flippant "aye, aye, sir!" she had done as she was told, driven home and followed his instructions to the letter. He had rung her door-bell precisely at twenty-thirty hours and delivered what he called a proper meal from the best Chinese restaurant in the neighbourhood. Once again he had stopped her working and made her eat and take the time to enjoy the food. The meal over, once again he had cleared away the wreckage, bid her a goodnight and had left her to work.

Now, she forced her head off the steering wheel and bearing in mind his strictures about the neighbourhood, she made sure that the little Miata was locked and pressed the entry buzzer by the door. Harm was waiting for her with the door to his apartment open and with a smile that made her feel weak at the knees, it's only because I'm tired she thought and ignored the little snigger she heard.

"Come on in Loren, and sit down. Did you want to eat now, or would prefer to unwind for bit."

"Would you mind if we waited a while?" she smiled ruefully, "only I think I'm too tense to eat anything right now!"

He grinned in understanding, "I've been there myself, too hungry to be anything other than mean, and too tired to eat!"

"Are you saying I'm being mean?" she was torn between being mean or laughing out loud.

"No, it was me that was being mean. Fortunately I had a friend, a good friend, to keep me righteous."

Loren lifted a quizzical eyebrow, "A female friend?" she teased.

"Yeah, a female friend…" for a moment he seemed to brood and she thought she saw a cloud cross his face, but then he grinned, and she thought she must have been mistaken, "But you don't need to know about her, besides I never kiss and tell!" he finished with a wink.

Loren was suddenly seized by a mighty yawn, "Oh, excuse me, I didn't mean to be so rude!"

Harm looked at her calculatingly, weighing up just how tired she was. He'd pulled all night sessions before, hell, every lawyer had, it was part of getting through law school, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with once you were older… no, belay that, Loren wasn't old! That was a ridiculous thought. No, what he'd meant was that it didn't get any easier once you'd got out of the habit. And from the looks of her, Loren had got out of the habit. And it must have been some case that the Old Man had told her to review, especially in such a short time. His interest stirred, and now that she'd completed the task, he could ask her.

"Loren, this case the admiral had you reviewing, is it OK if I ask what it was?"

"Oh, sure a murder case; a navy Captain found guilty of killing his wife, about ten years ago."

"What was it, an appeal?"

"Yeah, Coulter is making an appeal against conviction, claims all the evidence is circumstantial and…"

"Loren! Did you just say 'Coulter'?"

"Uh-huh, why?"

"Aah, about three years ago, there was a case, the remains of a WW Two Navajo Code Talker were found in New Zealand, and he was brought home for burial, but the tribal medicine woman wouldn't believe the remains were his, so… well, to cut a long story short, we had to bring in a specialist, a forensic pathologist, a Lieutenant Commander Coulter…Theresa…"

"A daughter?" Loren asked with an expression of incredulity, "I mean, I know the navy's a pretty small family, but even so…"

"Well, could be, she did say that her father was in jail for killing her mother, but she never said, or at least I don't recall that she said anything about hers being a navy family, and if she had then…

"You'd have remembered it." Loren finished his sentence for him.

Harm stayed silent for a moment, and then said, "Loren this is all pretty fascinating, but if this case is going on to appeal or re-trial then we need to stop talking about it. Either one of us could end up representing one side or the other. Hell, we could both be involved, facing each other across the aisle. Besides, we have a decision to make."

Loren raised an eyebrow, one of her tricks that Harm was beginning to find bewitching, "Oh, yeah, like what?"

"Like what time do we want to leave for Charlottesville Saturday morning, and what we want to do about overnighting there. Think before you answer, and remember what was said on Monday when we talked to the admiral."

"You were serious last weekend then, about teaching me to fly?"

"Sure was, and to prove it, hold out your hand and close your eyes."

Loren scanned his face with just the hint of suspicion in her eyes that was repeated in her voice when she asked, "Why? If this is some horrible fly-boy trick, you will regret it buster!"

Harm chuckled, "No, no horrible trick, just something I picked up, that I thought you might like."

Still not entirely convinced of the purity of his motives Loren did as he'd asked and duly received her reward.

"It's alright Harm told her, "you can open your eyes now."

Loren did so to find that she was hold a small, slim buff-coloured notebook with the FAA logo at top centre of the front cover and underneath that in bold, black letters the words 'Pilot's Record Book'. Loren gazed at it for some seconds and then turned bewildered eyes to Harm, "I don't understand…"

"It's exactly what it says Loren. It's a pilot's record book, a log book. You use it to log, record, dates, times, aircraft type, purpose of flight… look it's all there. After dinner, I'll dig out my log book for last weekend and we'll copy the details over…"

Loren's eyes shone and her face flushed pink, "Harm, that is so wonderful! It kind of makes everything real, like I'm really going to learn to fly…"

"Yeah, well I told you that last week." He couldn't help smiling at her pleasure, nor could he resist teasing her a little, "Oh, ye of little faith!"

"Oh… that is so not fair!" Loren protested as her pink deepened to red, and feeling the growing heat in her cheeks, groaned silently, motherrr!

"I know you said you would, but last week it was like you were letting me play with your toys, but this, this makes it official…"

"So, you like it, huh?"

"Harm it's fantastic, I could.. I could…" She stopped, and now felt the tips of her ears growing crimson as she realised what she had been on the verge of saying.

Harm also felt himself draw back. Who would ever have thought that Loren Singer could be so playful? Well, he hoped she was being playful. Any other interpretation of her words and body language raised questions that were far too complicated to think about just yet…

"Could you eat?" he frantically rushed to fill the sudden hiatus before either of them said something from which there could be no retreat, "Well, then, if are you about ready, come and grab a plate; it's nothing fancy tonight, just some odds and ends that I threw together."

"You have got to be kidding me! I don't know what you've got cooking in there, but the smell has been driving my taste buds wild for the last half-an-hour!" Loren's relief in having been let off the hook almost led her into an incoherent babble, but she remained in sufficient control to avoid that ignominy - just.

Harm grinned in appreciation of the compliment, overblown though it might be, and invited Loren to pull up a stool to the breakfast bar, where they perched opposite each other and ate what Loren would afterwards describe as a wonderful vegetable casserole, mopped up with crusty whole-grain bread. The meal was flavoured too, by casual friendly conversation. For the time being, court cases, appeals and the law were left to one side, although there was definitely some adept character assassination of particularly difficult to deal with members of the judiciary, and Loren nearly choked on a mouthful of the casserole when in response to her teasing, Harm confirmed the story that, yes, he had fired an automatic weapon into Judge Morris' courtroom ceiling. But, he warned her, he had been extremely lucky to get away with only having to pay for the repairs, and that on no account should Loren ever be tempted to emulate him. The conversation wandered on in an erratic manner, changing, as was becoming their habit, from one topic to another as keywords triggered responses on the subject of books, music, television - or the lack of it in Harm's apartment - how Loren asked had he intended to watch the Superbowl this year, anyway? That wasn't a problem, there was a sports bar two blocks away with a large-screen television and he'd booked his seat there, of course he'd have been surrounded by Redskins fans, but as neither they nor the Chargers were playing he figured he'd have been alright on the night. She smiled at his story, and although she was enjoying the lazy, laid back evening, the two glasses of wine that Loren had drunk were catching up on her and she gratefully accepted the offer of a coffee and was happy to sit in the living area while the coffee brewed.

Just five minutes later, carrying the two cups of coffee Harm smiled to see Loren curled up on the couch, her shut eyes and even breathing betraying that she had at last fallen into a deep sleep.

Harm disappeared into the bedroom and returning with a zip-round sleeping bag, he gently lifted Loren's feet on to the couch and draped the opened out bag over her, quietly walking away

**Friday 23 Feb 2001 0620 hrs Local,** **Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (231120ZFeb01)**

Loren woke and for an instant was seized by panic, she had no idea where she was, and then drew a deep breath of relief, she was in Harm's apartment, on his couch and covered by a quilt of some… oh, no, it was a sleeping bag, that he must have thrown over her when she crashed out… oh, nooo! I'll just go and shoot myself now, shall I? I know where he keeps his sidearm. Yes, said the sane piece of her mind, in the drawer in the nightstand, right next to where he's probably fast asleep! What time is it? Dammit where's the light. Eyes blinking furiously and watering in the sudden brightness, she squinted at her watch. It wasn't that early, about oh-six-twenty hours, so if she was very quiet, she could sneak out before he was awake, and at least get home and get ready for work… now, where did I kick my shoes? Yes! There's one, now what happened to the other, of hell, it's slipped under the couch.

Harm had been disturbed by the light shining in through the opening to the bedroom and pulling on a pair of jogging bottoms he had padded barefoot to the door way just in time to Loren with her back towards him, on her knees and scrabbling under the couch for something, her position highlighting her shapely, well-rounded, and what appeared to be well-toned posterior which stretched the material of the black slacks she was wearing to what seemed to be its limits.

Now, there's a sight you don't often see at half-past six in the morning, he mused, having only just prevented himself from giving voice to the thought. Instead he settled for a cheerful "Good morning, Loren."

Loren froze. The voice, Harm's voice, had come from almost directly behind her, right in line with her butt, which she was not so elegantly pointing in the general direction of skywards, while her face was pressed to the floor, trying to spot her shoe which was hiding in the darkness under the couch. She could have cried with embarrassment, first she'd nearly threatened to kiss him, then she'd crashed out and now this. This was beyond embarrassment, this was… this was… unbearable. She slowly sat up and back on her heels, and twisting round to look over her shoulder at him said, "Harm, I am such a screw up… I embarrassed you last night, then I crashed out, and now I'm groveling around on the floor, and all I wanted to was to get my shoes so I could go home and… and…"

And Harm was kneeling down beside her, his arm around her shoulder and he was making soothing noises and squeezing her shoulder gently while he brushed her hair off her face and gently thumbed her tears away. "Hey what's all this about, it's OK, you're still tired, AJ really put you through it this week, it's no biggie, Loren, it's OK," until her tears had dried up and she was able to sniffle.

"Tissue time?" he asked with gentle understanding.

She nodded gratefully and a tremulous smile wavered on her face, as he took both her hands in his and lent her his strength as she got up from the floor and sat on the couch.

Harm was back in seconds with a box of 'man-size' tissues and Loren managed a chuckle as she asked him, "Am I that much of mess?"

Harm studied her, "Truthfully?" he wanted to know.

"Go on," she sighed, "tell me the worst."

"Well, your eyes themselves look a little red and you're a bit puffy around them, but otherwise, no not a total wreck at all. In fact you remind me of a girl I work with… a Laurel somebody-or-other."

"Fool!" She said, chuckling despite herself, "Is it really horrible?"

"No, not horrible, but you'll probably want to do some damage control before you hit the office this morning."

"Oh God, Harm… I gotta go, I need to shower and change. Thanks for dinner, and the log book, and the use of your couch, I'll see you at the office!" And gathering up her purse, she stood for a moment seized by indecision. Her shoe was still under the couch, but there was no way on God's earth that she was getting back down in that… position.

"Is there a problem, Loren?" Harm asked struck by her sudden stillness and thoughtful expression.

She turned and made a vague gesture, "My other shoe," she explained, "that's what I was doing when you interrupted me. It's still under the couch…"

"Oh, why didn't you just pull the couch out of the way… like this?" he asked as he heaved it a good four feet from its original position.

Chagrined that she hadn't thought of such a simple solution, Loren drew herself up haughtily, "I was trying not to make a noise, so that I wouldn't wake you up," she said in dignified tones. And then catching the quizzical expression in his eyes added hotly, "I was, really!" and hopping on one foot as she pulled the errant shoe on she waved and managed a smile as she let herself out of the apartment.

Harm watched her go with a smile on his own face, Loren Singer, he was discovering, had many hidden facets, she was not the Ice Queen of office legend. She presented that front, but underneath her armour, she was a complex, volatile and sensitive young woman. But there was also a reserve, during last night's conversation he had allowed her to probe into his past, within certain limits, but any and every attempt he had made to find out about Loren Singer had been smoothly deflected with the ease of long practice long before he had even scratched the surface.

Harm's smile slowly faded as he considered what had happened this past week. He had been limited to office duty; none of his requests for even the most undemanding courtroom assignment had met with anything other than a curt refusal from the admiral. The work he had been given, hand-offs from Legal Services on the first floor were routine requests for assistance in property purchase, completions of service wills, help in establishing or refuting paternity, all matters that could have been handled by any first-year law student with half a brain cell. Consequently he'd had time to observe the sea-change in office politics, and he didn't much care for what he'd seen. There seemed to be two major and one minor faction. The first faction was headed by Mac, urged on by Brumby and supported by Harriett Sims the second faction appeared to consist of Loren. Gunny Galindez was desperately trying to prevent the inhabitants of the bull-pen siding with either faction, but he himself was torn, his natural inclination being to support Mac, the only other marine in the office, while his position of responsibility not only demanded that he remain neutral, but that he squashed any and all attempts at behaviour that might negatively affect good order and discipline. Poor Bud Roberts was equally torn; his loyalty to his wife and her adherence to Mac conflicting with his own loyalty to Harm and a fervent desire to keep out of the line of fire. Inevitably the enlisted in the bullpen had picked sides, or most of them had, the third and smallest faction comprised those enlisted who were determined to keep their heads down and stay out of their seniors' quarrels.

None of this was open warfare of course, it was a campaign of sharp one-line insults and a walk away, hit-and-run guerilla warfare, not that Loren had had much time to do anything other than struggle through the Coulter case file, but there was also the whispers campaign, and he was sure that he had become part of it. In what capacity he hadn't yet figured out. He was either a target or possibly ammunition. But it seemed that there was a coterie of enlisted personnel who stopped talking amongst themselves whenever he entered their orbit, only to stare at him and exchange meaningful looks before they dispersed as if to go about their duties.

What the hell was the admiral playing at? He may be locked away in his office for a goodly part of the day, but his Yeoman was Tiner. Tiner for God's sake, the man who by popular repute was the JAG Scuttlebutt Control! And apart from that it was part of his damn job as the admiral's yeoman to keep the old man informed of what was happening in the unit.

Well, he for one had had just about all he could stand. He would be asking all but the admiral to stay behind at staff call this morning and he would have all this crap brought out for inspection and hopefully deep-sixed by the bucket load before JAG Headquarters as whole disappeared down the pan!


	6. Chapter 6

**Enough is Enough**

**6**

**Friday 23 February 2001, 0750hrs Local, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (231250ZFeb01)**

"Commander, my office - now!" Harm blinked in astonishment. There was, as far as he knew, nothing that could have festered overnight to warrant such a summons, and he'd not even made it across the bull-pen to his office this morning, so his conscience was clear. Then why, he asked himself the abrupt summons? There was, however, only one possible response, "Aye, aye, sir!" he answered as he changed course to veer across the centre of the bull pen and leaving his cover and briefcase with Tiner, he followed his chief into the inner office, and halted at attention in front of the large, highly polished desk.

Admiral Chegwidden ran a hand over his almost totally bald scalp and sighed. "Take a seat, Commander," he invited his subordinate. Although early in the day the Old Man seemed tired, Harm thought, and he looked more closely at the admiral. He did seem tired… no… perhaps weary would be more apt, he didn't look as if he were sleep-deprived, it was more as if he was trying to carry a load that was too much for him. Harm gave himself a mental shake, don't be absurd he rebuked himself, A J is a Two-Star Admiral in the US Navy, an ex-SEAL, and he probably did just have a bad night. His thoughts were interrupted by the admiral who said, "Commander, this nonsense has gone on for too long and is getting somewhere where I don't need it to be, and" he cocked a cynical eye at his subordinate, "somewhere where you don't need it to be either!"

"I'm not sure I followed the thrust of that argument, sir," Harm replied, although he a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew exactly what the admiral's point was.

His suspicions were confirmed when accompanied by an exasperated glare the senior officer, said "Bullshit, Commander! You know exactly what I'm talking about! This situation with the Colonel and Lieutenant Singer, I know the two of them don't like each other, in some respects it would be easier if they did!" His expression became cynical, "If I ever saw a case where relations between officers were the cause of conduct to the prejudice of good order and discipline, this is it. If they were friendly, at least I could pin the disruption they're causing on fraternization and slam both their asses into the brig!"

"I agree, sir. The Colonel appears to be completely out of control on this one."

The admiral exploded, "You agree! Dammit, Commander you don't just sit there and tell me you agree! You damn' well fix it!"

"Fix it? Why… how… Sir!" The last word was not an acknowledgement it was a protest as Harm's mind went into overdrive. How the hell was he supposed to fix it? Why didn't the old bast… the Old Man just put his foot down and order it stopped? Why…

"You are going to fix it Commander, because I damn' well say so! Because they're your damn women, and it's you they're feuding over, and I'm sick and tired of my office being used for a re-run of the Hatfield and McCoy fuss! That's Goddam well why!" then calming down he muttered as if his outburst had tired him even more, "And, Harm, do it before I have to take official notice. Before anybody files for a redress of grievance or files charges, and do it quietly son. We need to keep this strictly in house."

"Sir, I am in perfect sympathy with doing just that! But, if I may just point out sir, that neither Colonel MacKenzie nor Lieutenant Singer are now, or have ever been 'my women'. The Colonel and I were once friends, possibly. the Lieutenant and I have just become friends, and nothing more. Truthfully, I would like them both to be my friends. Hell, I'd like to be friends with everybody in JAG! But, I doubt my word will carry any weight with the Colonel, and from what I've seen this week, she is the aggressor, and Lieutenant Singer cannot be blamed for defending herself. Alright sir, I was going to ask for an open meeting after this morning's staff call anyway, so I'll start kicking some butt then..."

"No! Don't do that, Commander, that's too obvious, too public an approach. Let's save that for a phase two, if it's needed. No, I suggest that you talk to the individuals concerned on a one-to-one basis, and see if you can't, for God's sake make them see sense!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Friday 23 February 2001, 0900hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (231400ZFeb01)**

Harm looked around the long conference table and felt a shiver of unease, it seemed to be a full master this morning, with nobody TAD all the HQ attorneys were present, but their groupings, he felt, were significant. On the far side of the table sat so closely together they were almost in each other's laps were Lieutenant Commander Brumby and Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie then a two chair gap to Lieutenant Roberts.

On his own side of the table there was himself, a one chair gap to Lieutenant Singer, then Lieutenant Barlow and then a gap to Commander Imes. So it appeared that the battle lines were fairly firmly drawn. His musings were interrupted by Tiner's "Attention on deck!" and in the fuss of standing as the admiral entered and in the re-taking of seats.

Chegwidden cleared his throat as he looked around the table, and although he maintained an impassive mask he was dismayed as he too drew the same conclusions as Rabb. MacKenzie and Brumby were solidly aligned, and despite his growing distaste for the Australian it would have been greater if he had not been backing his fiancée; slightly out of their ambit was the uneasy Roberts. Imes had distanced herself from everyone, which is more or less what he had expected, and there was an expression of distaste on her face as she surveyed the table. Barlow was sitting next to Singer, but there was something about his body language that suggested he wasn't a strong ally, and it may have been that he sat where he was just because he had always sat near Singer. Rabb too was distanced, but not by much and after their talk this morning the admiral was happy that he knew where the Commander stood in relation to this whole damn mess. He just hoped that the unofficial action they had discussed would defuse this increasingly volatile situation.

"Good morning people," he began, "first welcome back Commander Imes and Lieutenant Roberts. That was a damn fine job on the _Benjamin Harrison_. I look forward to reviewing your report directly after this staff call. Other than that it seems we have had an exceptionally law-abiding Navy and Marine Corps yesterday, nothing new has crossed my desk in the last twenty four hours.

"Lieutenant Singer, you did an exceptional job on reviewing the Coulter case, well done." Loren turned pink with pleasure and a little embarrassment, as the admiral continued, "I have already spoken to SecNav and endorsed your findings; he has agreed that a full re-trial is the proper way forward. Now, I know you'll want to continue to be involved in this case, and given the nature of your findings and recommendations, I am pretty certain that you'll want the defence in this case, but I'm afraid I can only let you have second chair. I know, I know," he held his hand up to halt the protest he could see forming on her face, "that hardly seems fair after all the work you put in, but I'm certain that whomever I nominate as first chair will be properly appreciative." As he finished his sentence his eyes swept around the table pausing for a second as his gaze met those of his senior attorneys. "I have not yet decided on a lead defence, nor on a prosecution team, but I shall give the question my full attention over the weekend, and I will, I trust be in a position to name names on Monday.

He sighed heavily, "Unfortunately, as a result of the SecNav's decision to re-try Captain Coulter, one of our own, Commander Krennick," Harm's head jerked from the notes he had been making at the mention of the name, "will now have to face a Professional Conduct Review Board. Orders have been cut for Commander Krennick to return here from Naples on TAD to face that board. Commander Imes, you'll present the case to the board, Commander Rabb, you'll represent Commander Krennick."

"Sir, I'll have to recuse myself from this one," a surprised Harm managed to utter, his face a picture of confusion.

"And why is that Commander?" The admiral asked, his eyebrows climbing to where his hairline should be.

"Sir, you must remember at the time of Commander Krennick's assignment to Pearl I was still in custody on suspicion of murdering Lieutenant Schonke? And, you may not have realised it sir, but there were also several unresolved issues between myself and the Commander, who was my supervising officer at the time. Due to my confinement at the time of Commander Krennick's PCS, those issues have never been resolved, sir, and I'm still too close to be able to stand back and gain perspective on this, sir."

"Good God, man! That was six years ago!" Chegwidden exclaimed, he ran both hands, front to back, over his nearly bald scalp.

"Yes, sir. But I still feel I must recuse myself."

"Humph!" The admiral was definitely not pleased with Harm's decisive but respectful statement, and the look on his face said that the subject wasn't entirely closed, but he turned to the other side of the table, and said, "As Commander Rabb has recused himself, Colonel, then you will have to step up to the plate." He scowled at her, "Unless you have some reason that prevents you from," he shot a darkling look at Harm, "gaining perspective?"

"Nothing at all, sir, I'd be happy to represent Commander Krennick." The smile she sent across the table to Harm was poisonously sweet and totally artificial.

"Right!" Chegwidden barked, "That just about sums up this morning's call, I'm sure you all have sufficient to do to keep yourselves occupied. Dismissed!"

**Friday 23 February 2001, 1010hrs Local, Lt Col S MacKenzie's Office, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA (231510ZFeb01)**

Mac sat in front of her PC monitor, exulting, silently, but exulting nevertheless. That dumb jet jockey had just crapped all over his career. Did he really think that A J was just going to forget about being humiliated like that? The Old Man had offered him a case that he obviously wanted the defence to win; otherwise he wouldn't have offered the prosecution side to Imes. OK, it wasn't a trial, and strictly speaking Imes wouldn't be prosecuting, just presenting the case to the panel, little more than making an opening statement, in these cases it was always the defence that got the meatier role and Mr Harmon Rabb had turned it down flat, because of unresolved issues... she wondered exactly what that meant. Had Rabb been sleeping with Krennick? She checked the BUPERS file on her PC's monitor, zooming in on the official portrait, not bad for an older woman, and she was blonde. Rabb certainly seemed to have a thing about blondes, there was that shrink Jordan whatever her name was, and then that fling with Missed Personality from the TV company, and he'd moved on straight from her to Lieutenant Witch… and hadn't there been a rumour just after she'd joined JAG about him getting too friendly with his last partner, Meg, yeah, that was it, Meg Austin, and she'd been blonde too, she'd have to check out her file out too, see where she'd got to… It was unfortunate that there was no-one left here at JAG who might be able to enlighten her about that rumour, though… oh, yes there was, she'd ask Bud. He might not want to tell her, but she could always exert enough subtle pressure to make him co-operative, and if he still refused, then she could set Harriett on him, and as far as Bud was concerned, whatever Harriett wanted, Harriett would get.

Her thoughts were cut short by a sharp rap on her office door frame, turning her head she identified her visitor as the fly-boy himself. Now what could he want? And what was the best way to for her to handle him? Well, let's try playing nice to start with, after all he hadn't managed to upset her this week, so why be unfriendly when she could still use him to make Mic jealous, even if it doesn't work the other way round, just yet.

"Yes, Harm?" She smiled, trying her best to infuse some warmth into both the smile and her eyes.

"Mac, you got a few minutes? We need to talk. We really need to talk."

"Sure, come on in and sit down."

Harm closed the door, but sure that the blinds were open and sat in one of the visitors' chairs unobtrusively making sure that he could be seen clearly by anyone passing the door. Raising her eyebrows at his closing the door, she asked, "Oh, is this going to take very long?"

"I don't know Mac", he answered two faint vertical creases appearing between his eyes, "It could..."

"Fine, just let me make a quick call, and," she grinned, "I'm all yours."

Oh for God's sake Mac, he sighed silently, knock it off, that was a cheap double entendre, not worthy of you. Not even worthy of the you you've become. What had happened to the beautiful woman he fell in love with four years ago? Where did she go, Mac? She was still beautiful physically, but she was no longer the beautiful person he'd thought she was. Or, he thought ruefully, had he confused her with Diane, right from the get-go, and had only just figured out the differences between the two women?

"Hello, Mic, yeah, it's me honey, I can't make our ten-thirty coffee break date. No, I'm sorry; I'm tied up in a meeting with Commander Rabb. No… in my office. Yeah, OK, I'll see you at lunch, bye, sweetheart."

Now for whose benefit was that little performance? He looked at her cynically, if it had been for his benefit, it was totally unnecessary, he was only too well aware of the Australian officer's ring on her hand.

Mac replaced the phone and looked brightly at Harm, she could see that her 'phone call had had little effect on him other than to cause him to raise a questioning eyebrow, but this time around the call's purpose hadn't been to make him jealous, no, that particular shaft had been aimed at Mic Brumby.

"Sorry about that Harm, what can I do for you?" her voice was still was pleasantly low-pitched and her eyes were still like pools of molten chocolate. He couldn't blame Brumby for being attracted to her, hell, any red-blooded male would be. He sighed this wasn't going to be easy, and now as he saw the faintly disapproving look at his hesitation, he bit the bullet.

"Mac, you've got to stop it." That, he instantly knew was a bad opening shot. Her wrinkled forehead seemed genuine.

"I'm sorry, Harm, but I really don't know what you're talking about."

Harm drew a deep breath, "This dumb feud you've got going with Lieutenant Singer, Mac, let it go, bury the hatchet. It's not worth it, and there's no reason for it."

It seemed to him that a huge invisible hand had swiped over her face. The features remained the same, but the beauty had gone. "I'll decide, when and if, I finish with Lieutenant Witch, Commander, not you! And I'll decide if there's good reason or not to put her in her place once and for all!"

"Mac, I know you don't like her. Most of the people here don't like, her, and that's all the more reason for you to stop this vendetta, right now. Your attitude is affecting the enlisted out there in the bull-pen, and it's affecting morale and cohesion. But Mac, it's because you don't like her that you have to go that extra mile and at least try to establish a working relationship with her."

"What, the same as you have, you mean?" Mac sneered, "Cosying up to her, making friends?" Her voice was full of bitter mockery.

"Is that what's this all about, Mac?" he asked her sadly, "You're upset because I made an effort to get to know a colleague that I should have, that we all should have, made the effort to get know when she was first assigned here?"

"Just 'getting to know a colleague', is that all it is Harm, are you really sure that's all it is?" Mac's tone was even more bitterly sarcastic than he had thought possible of her, but he took a firmer grasp on his temper and replied.

"No, Mac, there's a little bit more than that. There's a little touch of gratitude in the mix. Without Loren Singer's intervention, I'd be dead now…"

"She gets no credit for that from me, Commander. She was ordered to your apartment, but if I hadn't been under movement orders for Naples, I wouldn't have needed ordering, I would have gone to check on you without having to be told!"

"Christ, Mac! Is that what this is all about?" Harm's temper got the better of him for a few moments and he continued, "You're pissed at Loren Singer because just for once Sarah MacKenzie wasn't the Goddam heroine. For Chrissakes, grow up!"

"How dare you talk to me like that Commander?"

"I dare talk to you like that Mac, because somebody needs to! Yes, Loren Singer, was detailed to check on me that morning, but once she'd found me breathing she could have left me there and just reported in that I was stale drunk, and unfit for duty with a hangover, but she didn't Mac, she took that extra step and found out that I was ill, soaked in sweat and stinking. But she didn't walk away from me Mac, she wasn't any more than a casual acquaintance then, not really a friend, but she decided to put clean sheets on my bed, just to make me comfortable, and then found out that I was really ill and had the sense to call me medical attention. Did you know, or did you even care that for the first twenty-four hours I was in Bethesda that the medics weren't sure if I was going to survive!"

He saw her go pale at that thought, but it brought him little if any satisfaction, as she tried to bluster back, "Any… anyone, would have done the same!"

"Would they Mac? Would you? Be honest, with your personal history, if you had seen me lying there and had thought that I was a passed-out drunk, would you have helped me?" He waited for an answer, but Mac stayed silent, looking at him with a peculiar blank expression in her eyes. "I'll take that as a no shall I?" he challenged her, and then continued, "She may have been detailed to check on me that morning, but as far as I know nobody detailed her to sit my bed for two nights running while I was still in danger. Nobody detailed her to come and visit me every day I was in hospital. Not once, not once a week, or a couple of times a week, but every single day and twice a day on weekends. Tell me Mac, why is it that you only came to see me once, the day before I was due to be released? Can you tell me that?"

"Is that why you're taking her side?" she demanded, carefully ignoring his question, "Because she came and held your hand and I didn't?"

"No Mac, I'm taking her side, as you so charmingly put it, because you are in the wrong. Mac you are two steps higher up the promotion ladder than she is. What you are doing is bullying. For Chrissakes, Marine, and for your own sake, power down!" He hoped the urgency in his voice would somehow penetrate her shields and puncture the balloon of her complacency.

"What do you mean, 'for your own sake'?" she demanded again, her voice becoming haughty and her hands curling into tight fists as she paled with anger.

"Mac, you may not like Lieutenant Singer, and that's fair enough," he replied wearily, wiping his hand over his forehead "but you need to recognise that she's a damn good lawyer, with the potential to be a great lawyer. Hell, Mac, she might even be good enough to become the first female JAG! Oh my God, is that it Mac? You're jealous of her?"

If Mac had been pale before, she was now crimson, "Don't be ridiculous, what the hell have I got to be jealous about. I'm a far better lawyer than she'll ever be!"

"I wouldn't bet on it Mac, not if I were you!" He was exasperated by her ignorance, pretended or otherwise, of the risks she was running. He might be pissed at her for the moment, but she had been his friend at one time, and he realised that he had no real wish to see her throw away he career.

"Huh, and what brought this sudden talk of her so-called legal skills on to the table anyway?"

"Mac, I'm not saying this is in the wind, but do the words 'hostile work environment' mean anything to you? And, I'm just going to mention two numbers: thirty-eight and eleven-fifty. Think carefully about what you're doing Mac it's only just over two years since you were damn near buried by that crap with your husband and John Farrow, and you were lucky to get off with an admiral's mast for the stuff you pulled then. How many more career hits do you think you can take?"

Mac did look thoughtful at his words for a minute or so, and then said slyly as she regarded the state of her nails on her left hand, "Perhaps the boot might just be on the other foot, had you thought of that? How closely do you think the Ice Queen's conduct would stand up to examination if she was charged with… say… fraternisation? Of course," she added smoothly, "somebody else would also have to take a career hit under those circumstances, wouldn't they, Commander? And she laid significant emphasis on her last word.

Harm stood up, his disgust with her crude threat writ plain on his face, "I've tried to give you a heads up on this one Mac, before official notice is taken, and all you can do is come back with threats. At one time I respected you as a fine lawyer, a marine, an officer and a friend. You're still a fine lawyer, Mac," he said with the pain of loss in his voice. He turned to leave, as he did so taking a regretful look at the woman the other side of the desk.

**Friday 23 February 2001, 1240hrs Local, Cathy's Cookie Café, Falls Church, VA, (231740ZFeb01)**

Harm rose to his feet as the blonde lieutenant crossed the floor towards his table, "Harriett, thanks for coming to meet with me on your own time."

The bubbly blonde lieutenant eyed him almost dubiously as she took a seat on the opposite side of the table, "This is all very mysterious, sir. Couldn't we have talked at the office?"

Harm looked into her blue eyes, there was trace of caution to be seen, and was that just the slightest suspicion of guilt? He sighed, and signed for the waitress to come and take their order, continuing to observe his companion as he did so. Their order for coffee and sandwiches placed, he looked across the table at Harriett Sims, who was showing increasing signs of nervousness and smiled gently, "Relax Harriett, I am not going to bite you, and I'm not about to make an indecent proposal."

Harriett blushed, and torn between outrage and amusement, she managed a weak grin as she muttered a shocked "Yellow light, Commander!" and although she loved her husband very much, she couldn't help but wonder, just for an instant…

"That's better," he encouraged her, seeing the grin and hearing the undertones in her voice of what, exactly, he was unsure: Embarrassment, amusement, protest, or maybe all three emotions?

"Harriett, I asked you to meet me here, rather than talk in the office, because I want to make this as absolutely unofficial as I can." He paused as the waitress delivered their drinks and snacks, and continued to watch his companion's face. He had a real value for Harriett, and for Bud, her husband. Bud he had mentored through his law studies and had coached him through his first cases as counsel, while Harriett in many ways was a sort of den-mother to the bull-pen, and in some ways she tried to mother him too, her previously pronounced maternal instincts had only been honed by the birth of little A J, to whom he was a godparent, a role he shared with Mac, and had once been glad to share. Now… he sighed as he let his thoughts of happier times with Mac fade, and turned his attention back to salvaging what he could of this friendship, at least.

"Harriett," he took up his train of thought, "You and Bud are my closest and oldest friends here in JAG, and I don't ever want to lose that friendship, it's far too important to me. Apart from anything else, how can I explain to little A J that I can't come and see him anymore, because his mommy, his daddy and me had a dumb fight? But Harriett, you're pushing me into a corner, and you need to stop doing that." He paused to see what effect, if any his words were having. Harriett might come over as weak and empty headed, but she had a mulish streak in her and could be as stubborn and as pig-headed as… as… he was. But this time Harriett's blue eyes were swimming with moisture, and she had an expression of real distress on her face. Hating himself for upsetting her, Harm plunged ahead, fighting to keep his own emotions under control and his voice gently conversational…

"Harriett, I know you think you're doing what's best for us, for me and Mac, but you've got to stop trying to push us together; I nearly said 'back together', but if you're completely honest with yourself, and I know you can be, you have to admit that there never really was anything between us. We were, maybe we can still be partners, we were, and maybe again, we can still be friends. But there's nothing else there, and even if there was at one time, Mac's moved on, she's chosen Brumby," and for a moment his own face twisted in pain, an event not unnoticed by Harriett Sims, but then he drew breath continued, "she's chosen Brumby, and whatever feelings I may or may not have had, or even thought I might have had, I have to accept her choice and respect that choice." Even though I don't respect it, and I certainly don't respect the man she chose. "So, even if I was attracted to Mac in the dim and distant past, I won't and I can't attempt to persuade her into cheating on the man she's proclaimed to the whole world that she loves. Think for a moment Harriett, would you like it if I tried to persuade you to cheat on Bud, would you even listen to me, even just for one second?" He waited to hear what if any response his friend would make.

"Sir, I don't!" Harriett blurted out, only just preventing herself from crying with frustration at his obtuseness. How could he just sit back and let a woman who was once his closest friend make such a huge mistake?

"You don't what, Harriett?" His voice was still gentle, still reasonable.

"I don't respect her choice, sir! It's all so wrong, sir, and… and… I don't believe that she loves him, sir! I don't!"

"Harriett," he said wearily, "she's wearing his ring, it doesn't matter what we think; it's a fact in evidence." His legal joke was meant to lighten the conversation which was beginning to shows signs of reaching an inappropriate level of intensity for discussion in such a public venue, perhaps Harriett was right after all, perhaps this conversation would have been better held in the office, but he didn't want the whole of JAG to know he'd had an intense and private conversation with the wife of one of his fellow officers. Dear God, had it really come to that? Yes, he was forced to acknowledge, it had gotten as bad as that! "She's moved on, Harriett, and that's that. So even if I ever did have any deeper feelings for Mac, I've got to move on too, and trying to handle us so that we get to a point where we can ki… where we can get back to being close friends isn't going to work. If we ever get to be friends again it'll have to be in our time and at our own pace. I know things are difficult at the moment, but I hope they'll settle down soon." Because if they don't settle, the shit storm that's going to erupt will bury everybody in JAG.

Harriett looked back across the table, she was troubled. Ever since she had first met the Commander and the Colonel, although they had been Lieutenant Commander and Major at the time, on board the _Seahawk_, she had known to the depths of her soul that they belonged together, that they were destined to be together, and to see them apart like this was almost too much for her to bear, and despite his brave words she thought, no, she was certain she could see the pain in his eyes. She wasn't certain whether she should say what she was thinking, but he had, she supposed, been totally honest with her, and as his friend, if he still wanted her as one, and his words certainly indicated that he wanted to remain friends, she couldn't be any less honest in return.

Harriett took a breath, and looking earnestly at the man seated opposite, she could not believe that Mac had willingly thrown this marvelously honourable man to one side, in favour of Mic Brumby. Harriett tried not being prejudiced against her friend's choice, but Brumby had always made her feel just a little bit afraid… Just what had happened down in Australia, she wondered. It had all seemed fine between them until then. "Sir, I don't believe that she really does love Commander Brumby and that if you would only talk to her…"

"Harriett, I've tried talking to her; she shuts me off, 'my private life is not up for discussion', or 'we are not having this conversation, Commander,' or even on one occasion, 'Red light Commander'. Tell me, does it seem worth making the effort? No, that was a rhetorical question, Harriett; you don't have to answer it. No, I'm tired of banging my head against a wall. For some reason Mac has decided to leave me behind; do you know how many times she came to see me while I was in hospital? Just the once Harriett. Do you know how many times she came to check on me, to see how I was doing, while I was on hospital leave? Not even once. She's gone Harriett, and I'm not even sure we can be friends anymore, so I'm moving on too."

"But with Loren Singer, sir?" Harriett asked, her question a plaintive protest, and her face showing signs of distress. Here was another of her friend's choices with which she could not be happy.

Harm smiled grimly, "I thought it might come to this," he drew a deep breath and stared into the tear-filled and troubled blue eyes across the table. "Harriett, Loren Singer and I have become friends; we are nothing more than that. We have shared interests in music, football, motorcycles and now even flying. Loren enjoys flying, which is something Mac never liked to do unless she was jammed in like a sardine with four hundred other people and she could pretend she was on a train. And besides, whatever feelings I may, or I may not have towards Loren Singer have nothing whatsoever to do with my feelings, or lack of them, towards Sarah MacKenzie…"

Harriett's imminent protest was stunned into silence, and she found herself, with an open mouth staring appalled at Harmon Rabb, she had never, ever, in the years she had known him, ever heard him refer to the Colonel as anything other than 'Mac', and to hear her name like that on his lips did more than anything he had said to convince her that his feelings towards the woman she was sure he had once loved, had changed beyond all recognition, but even so, she fervently hoped not beyond redemption.

Harm continued unconscious of, or perhaps indifferent to Harriett's by now almost palpable distress, "I know that between us, we've put you in an awkward spot Harriett, between the devil and the deep blue sea, but leave this one alone Harriett, don't try and choose between us, and Harriett, if not for your peace of mind, but for your career's sake stop supporting Mac in her war against Loren."

"I… I'm not sure what you mean, sir…" Harriett faltered, anxiously twisting the wedding band on her finger, and not quite able for the first time in this conversation to meet the intense blue eyes fixed on her face...

"Harriett, I've been back in the office a week, having been out a month, and I can hardly believe it's the same place I left. The atmosphere in the office… Harriett you can cut it with a knife. And it all seems to have its source with Colonel MacKenzie and her attitude towards Lieutenant Singer," Harm shook his head as he recalled the feelings that had assailed him when he had returned to work on Monday. "Harriett, have you ever heard of a 'hostile work environment'."

"Yes, sir… but that's do with sexual harassment, sir. Surely you aren't accusing the Colonel of…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Harriett!" the impatience now in his voice startled the blonde officer, who visibly jumped in her seat, "You know I mean nothing of the sort! There's more than one way of making life uncomfortable for someone." Pinching the bridge of his nose and drawing another deep, calming, breath, he carried on, "Mac's lost it Harriett, she's screwing the pooch on this one, in a big way; she's lost all sense of proportion in her dealings with Lieutenant Singer, and worse, her attitude has infected the staff, and even you Harriett. Yes, I said even you; Harriett I know you don't like Loren, you've never liked her and that's OK, you can't like everyone you meet, and I know you reckon you've got your reasons. I've heard you being angry with her, I've heard you arguing with her, I've seen you ignoring her, but I've never heard you being spiteful to her - not until this week. And I wondered where that was coming from, it's so not like the gentle, caring woman and mom that I know you are." He reached out and covered her hand with one of his own as her eyes threatened to overflow as his words took effect, "So I looked around for the source of this spite, and it was coming from Mac. I've seen it, Loren is all too well aware of it, and the admiral has seen it. I tried to talk to Mac about it earlier, before the admiral has to take a hand in the matter, and guess what? She shut me off again, she wouldn't listen. But Harriett what she's done is to create a hostile work environment, certainly as far as Loren is concerned, and maybe for others too, and if she doesn't back off she's going to find herself facing a possible section eleven-fifty complaint, or possibly even article thirty-eight charges, and if it comes to that she will almost certainly be found guilty, and I don't think her record can take too many more dings, especially not so soon after her last black mark. And Harriett, you know Mac, if she goes down, she won't accept the responsibility, she's never accepted responsibility for what's she's done, she's always looked for somebody else to blame, it's always been somebody else's fault. And it will be the same again this time round Harriett, she'll do her damndest to take somebody else, anybody else, down with her." He paused for emphasis, "Harriett, back off from this vendetta against Loren; make sure that if Mac does take somebody down with her, that somebody isn't you. I'm not saying don't be a friend to her, be a better friend to her instead of just an accomplice helping her to ruin her career, and you know Harriett that Mac's career as a lawyer and as a Marine, is just as important to her as her life. Try and make her realise that she's running full steam ahead right onto the buffers at the end of the track. For God's sake Harriett, get her to listen to you, because she's not listening to me, and if she doesn't or won't listen to you, then jump off that train before it wrecks!" He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he looked into her eyes trying to convince her of his sincerity and of his concern for her.

Harriett nodded and sniffed audibly as she hunted in her purse for a tissue to mop her eyes and blow her nose. Harm waited until she had completed her running repairs and then standing, he dropped a couple of bills on the table and gently squeezing her shoulder he said sympathetically, "Come on, Mrs Roberts, we're going to be late, let me walk you back to the office."

Managing a watery smile, as he had intended she should, at his unconventional form of address, and picking up her purse and cover, she allowed him to guide her out of the coffee shop.

**Friday 23 February 2001, 1450hrs Local, Lieutenant Singer's Office, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA, (231950ZFeb01)**

"Close the door, Petty Officer!" Loren was pale with anger as she stared at Petty Officer Personnel Specialist Second Class Thomas, and waited until he had done so and turned to face her, assuming the 'at ease' position. Loren said nothing but glared at him pointedly until he rather sloppily drew himself up to attention. As far as Loren was concerned that was it.

"As you were!" Thomas relaxed, and unwisely let a small, smug grin pas swiftly over his face.

The grin failed to escape Loren's notice, and she felt a stab of irritation, all the more unwelcome since it had been a while since she had felt that particular sensation. Now even more annoyed with Thomas, she barked, "Ten-hut!" The sharpness in the command startled the Petty Officer out of his grin and into a proper brace.

"Do you know why you're here, Petty Officer?"

Thomas considered the edge to Lieutenant Witch's voice and abandoned any idea he might have had of playing around with existentially-based answers and responded crisply, "No, ma'am!"

"I ordered you in here, Petty Officer, because you were reprimanding Seaman Leopoldi…"

"Ma'am, the Seaman had screwed… er… the Seaman had made a mistake, and I was counseling him on how best to improve his performance, ma'am!"

"I believe Petty Officer that I can differentiate between counsel and reprimand and I can even believe that Leopoldi merited a reprimand. I do not believe, however that that reprimand should have been delivered in public, nor do I believe that in reprimanding him the terms you used were appropriate. Do you understand?"

"Ma'am, yes… and no ma'am!"

"Very well, what do you understand?"

"That you think I was wrong to counsel Leopoldi in front of others, ma'am!"

"And what don't you understand?"

"I don't understand what the Lieutenant means when she says that I used inappropriate terms, ma'am!"

"Very well, let me see if I can put this into words of one syllable for you, Petty Officer. Amongst other phrases you used in talking to Leopoldi, you said, 'Christ, you can't fucking well do anything right!', apart from using that sort of language in front of junior, female enlisted - and if any of them complain I will support that complaint - I never want to hear that sort of comment again from you, or from any other Petty Officer in this building. That sort of language can be made to fall under the heading of abuse, as defined by USN Regulations and then coming under the jurisdiction of the UCMJ. In addition to having possible career implications for yourself, you need to consider that Leopoldi is young and inexperienced, and from what I've seen, he also lacks confidence in himself. Comments to the effect that he can never do anything right will not help him to grow into a confident member of the team. Do you understand now, Petty Officer?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"One more thing, Petty Officer; your attitude and bearing when you entered this office came within an inch of getting yourself written up for showing disrespect to a Commissioned Officer. I am advising you to get yourself an attitude adjustment right now! Is that understood, Petty Officer?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

"Dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!

Loren waited until the Petty Officer had left the office before she sighed and sat down at her desk. Why is, she asked silently, that bullies like Thomas could never see the damage they did by their use of constant put-downs. Her reverie was interrupted by a rapping on her office door frame, and she looked up into a pair of blue eyes that showed interest, and… was that concern?

"Can I help you, sir?"

He stood in her doorway, relaxed, with one hand casually holding the door frame, "Er… no… no thank you Lieutenant, I was just wondering what all that was about?"

"Oh, the Petty Officer was being a bit over-zealous in counseling a Seaman over a performance failure, so I felt it was necessary that the Petty Officer should receive some counseling of his own concerning his approach to that aspect of his duties."

"So," he grinned, "you tore him a new one, then?"

"Not at all Commander," she replied primly, "I merely advised him that perhaps an attitude adjustment might contribute to him having a more fulfilling career in the navy!" But Loren couldn't help the faintest trace of a grin from appearing on her face, but she added as her grin broadened into a genuine smile in answer to his own amusement that was now plain to see, "And now Commander, if you'll excuse me, I do have some work of my own to finish before secure!"

"Yes, ma'am!" and the fly-boy grin flashed out as he vacated her doorway.

**Friday 23 February 2001, 1452hrs Local, Operations Section bull-pen, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA, (231952ZFeb01)**

Harm mentally girding himself for the coming ordeal headed across the bull-pen to tell the admiral that he had failed to talk sense into Colonel MacKenzie, but that he would remind Lieutenant Singer of her obligations to remain respectful in the face of provocation from senior officer. However, he had barely taken four paces from Lieutenant Singer's door when the voice came from behind him, "Hey, you Seppo Bastard!"

Harm turned just in time to receive a stunning blow to the jaw. Taken off balance from the turn and unprepared for an attack, he spun helplessly under the impact and crashed to the floor of the suddenly silent and immobilized bull-pen, as the furiously red-faced and panting Lieutenant Commander Brumby stood over him and snarled, to the accompaniment of shocked gasps and a couple of female screams, "Don't you fucking threaten my fiancée you bastard!"

The tableau was shattered by the furious voice of Commander Imes, "Attention on deck! Tiner, get the Admiral! Lieutenant Commander Brumby, stand fast! Petty Officer, give the Commander a hand up off the floor. Move yourselves! The rest of you get back to work!"

Harm supported himself on one elbow and he became aware of his surroundings and of what had just happened and looked in amazement at his attacker. Sure, he and Brumby had never liked each other, right from the start of the arrogant Australian's attachment to JAG, but this was an unbelievable act, in front of two dozen or so witnesses, but if that was the way Brumby wanted to play it… and as he was helped up from the floor, his face darkening with anger he began to move towards the still red-faced Australian, who was now being urgently talked to by Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, but was intercepted by Carolyn Imes, who stood squarely in front of him and placed a restraining hand flat against his chest, "Don't, Harm, don't do it. Not here, not now. He's not worth it!" she urged him.

Looking around Harm quickly saw the value of her words, Harriett Sims whose own desk was in the bull-pen and the enlisted personnel had made very little move, despite Imes' orders to return to work and were for the most part staring transfixed at the scene, while a shocked Bud Roberts, a white-faced Loren Singer and an almost equally pale Mac stood in their respective doorways and looked in horrified astonishment at the two male officers.

It seemed an age, but could only have been a few seconds before a furious Admiral Chegwidden summoned by his Yeoman appeared at the far side of the bull-pen. "Somebody had best come up with a damn good explanation for this," he growled, the note of menace that could be clearly heard in his voice boded ill for anybody who crossed his hawse until his anger had time to cool.

"Sir," Commander Imes braced to attention with a warning glance at Harm and looked straight at the admiral, "May I suggest that we adjourn to the conference room?"

"What? Oh, yes, conference room. No, we'll deal with this in my office! Who exactly was involved in this disgraceful exhibition Commander?"

"Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Commander Brumby were the principals, sir. I witnessed the att… the incident, and I believe Lieutenant Sims did too, but I don't know if anybody else… she looked around at the assembled staff, who all suddenly seemed to find other occupations that necessitated them not meeting her eyes. Loren spoke out into the silence, "I didn't see anything directly sir, but I can testify to some events immediately preceding the… er… occurrence, sir."

The admiral thought quickly. "Very well, Gunnery Sergeant, escort the Lieutenant Commander to my office and remain there with him. Commander Rabb, are you in need of medical attention?"

"No, sir!"

"Good, then go directly to your office, speak to no-one and when you get there do not attempt to communicate with anyone by any medium, Understood?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm braced to attention, paused for the regulation two seconds and then turned away and headed for his office, passing the white-faced Mac, who whispered pleadingly as he passed, "Harm…"

Harm ignored the whisper, he was not only intent on obeying the strict orders he had just been give but he was also far too angry to talk to the woman whom he suspected had, deliberately or otherwise, enraged her fiancée with some doubtless biased version of the conversation that he and she had had earlier that day.

The admiral grunted approvingly of his subordinate's strict compliance, older than everybody else in the room he might be, but his ears were sharp enough to have heard the Marine officer's whisper and he would certainly have heard any reply Commander Rabb might have made. Turning to Commander Imes and the two blonde Lieutenants, he said, "ladies, please wait in Tiner's office until I call, you in to hear what you have to say, and please refrain from discussing this matter between you until I do. Thank you." The still infuriated admiral spun on his heel and headed back towards his own office.

Admiral Chegwidden had conducted his own investigation into what appeared to have been an unprovoked attack by one senior member attorney on another. He had interviewed all three of the witnesses and all three had independently corroborated the other two's story. He had kept Brumby, under the Gunny's escort in his office, and had allowed him to challenge any of the witness statements, an opportunity the Australian officer had declined. Having listened to Commander Imes', the last of the three witnesses, statement, he had ordered the Gunnery Sergeant to wait in Tiner's cubby-hole and turned to the Australian and said, "On the basis of the evidence we've just heard, none of which you have attempted to refute, it seems pretty clear to me that you made an unprovoked attack on Commander Rabb, and that you sucker-punched him in front of the entire staff of JAG Ops. If you were in the US Navy, Commander, you'd already be in the brig facing amongst other charges, a charge of having struck a superior officer and your career would be over. As it is, you have shown an astonishing lack of control and a total disregard for the conventions of civilised behaviour. If you had a quarrel with Commander Rabb that you could only settle by physical means you should have arranged to have done so off duty, off naval premises and in privacy. You didn't do that, you chose to flaunt my authority and make a disgraceful public display of yourself. You were heard to make a comment to the effect that Commander Rabb had threatened Colonel MacKenzie, an allegation that I find very hard to believe, therefore, despite your better than satisfactory performance as a litigator, I cannot accept your continued presence in this organization, and I shall be informing the Australian Naval Attaché of that decision. Do you have anything further to add in your defence?"

"Yes, sir. It would be a pretty poor specimen of a man who didn't defend his fiancée, sir!"

"Two points to consider, Commander, before you even think of that as a defence: Firstly, outrage over personal matters is not a viable defence for assault. Secondly, be very careful about using your relationship with Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie as an attempted justification for your actions; bringing her name into this dispute _will_ lay her open to charges of fraternisation. US Navy regulations are unforgiving over these matters if they are strictly applied, and while you may not have taken them into consideration, Colonel MacKenzie most certainly should have done so. You two are of different ranks, by one step only, but it is still a difference, and that makes undue familiarity that gives rise to conduct to the prejudice of good order and discipline subject to disciplinary action under US Navy Regulations and the appropriate article of the UCMJ. Regulations quite clearly stipulate that US Officers are still subject to these regulations even when the other party is a member of a foreign military service. Up until now I have, as the Colonel's Commanding Officer, tolerated her relationship with you. I am now fast coming to the opinion that I was wrong to do so and I shall be counseling the Colonel to that effect very shortly. Now Lieutenant Commander, you have one hour to clear your desk and turn your active case files over to Commander Imes."

The admiral had sighed and said in an altered tone, "Mic, you really screwed the pooch on this one. If you genuinely felt that Rabb had threatened Mac, why the hell didn't you come to me? And given the state of their current relationship, and their past history, did you actually think he would have threatened her?"

"She said he did, Admiral, and I have to believe her."

"Did she tell you what those threats were; did she say he'd physically threatened her? Because I hope, that despite your mutual antipathy, you know him better than to believe that! And I hope that Mac didn't say anything of that nature!"

"No sir, he threatened her with charges and official sanctions, arising out of…" Brumby's voice trailed off as he realised that anything he might say could well add to the possible charges that Mac might face.

"I know exactly what those charges could arise from, I told the Commander to warn Mac unofficially, about her recent conduct, so that I wouldn't have to take official action against her. Ironically, your actions have now brought matters to the point where I may have to take official action." He paused again, sadly eyeing the man who may just have brought the whole of JAG to ruins, and among other things may have ended three careers, his own, Sarah MacKenzie's and A J Chegwidden's. And then raising his voice he called out, "Gunny!"

Gunnery Sergeant Galindez entered the admiral's office and stood at attention while he waited for the admiral's orders. "Gunnery Sergeant, escort the Lieutenant Commander while he clears his desk, and then walk him out, and take possession of his JAG ID and his building pass."

"Aye, aye, sir! Commander, if you please, sir?" Gunny Galindez turned and waited for the Australian officer to precede him out of the officer.

"Dismissed, Commander." A J ordered him for the final time.

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden watched him go and then tiredly yelled, "Tiner!"

His Yeoman appeared smartly at the doorway and A J passing his hand over his scalp grunted, "Tiner, get me the Naval Attaché at the Australian Embassy."

Tiner looked at his principal, his own worry evident in his face. He hadn't see the Chief as badly upset as this since… since… well… since the news that Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie had gone missing in Russia. Tiner was baffled, that had only been six or seven months ago, they had been so close at that time, how the hell had they backed themselves into such opposite corners in such a short space of time.

"Tiner!" The admiral's bark jerked him out of his reverie.

"Sir! Yes, sir, the Australian Embassy. On it sir!"

"And Tiner, pass the word for Commander Rabb."

"Aye, aye, sir!"


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

**Friday 23 February 2001 1553 hrs EST, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA, (232053ZFeb01)**

"Commander Rabb, reporting as ordered, sir!"

"At ease, Commander." A J Chegwidden removed his reading glasses and leaning his elbows on the table, bent his head and rubbed his eyes against the heels of his hands. Then lifting his head to look his subordinate squarely in the eye he asked, "Are you all right, Commander? You don't need medical attention? That 's quite a knot you've got coming up."

"No, sir, I'm good." Which is more, he thought, can be said for you, sir. His eyes darkened with concern, the Old Man really did look tired. He looked more than tired. The word exhausted sprang to his mind.

"Rabb, what the hell happened out there?"

"I'm not really sure, sir. I had just left Lieutenant Singer's office and Brumby yelled something at me, I turned around to speak with him and then, wham! I was on my six in the middle of the bull-pen."

"Yeah, well witness statements tend to corroborate your version of events, and it's just as well you didn't retaliate. For once it seems that you are the innocent party in this - up to a point, that is!"

Harm grinned with embarrassment, "Sir, there's nothing I'd have liked better than to punch that sneer off Bugme's face, and the only reason I didn't is that Carolyn... I mean Commander Imes got between us."

Chegwidden leaned back in his seat, and gripped the end of its arm rests. That explanation cleared up one aspect of this affair that had puzzled him: the reason why Rabb hadn't retaliated. "Commander, you owe Commander Imes a huge debt of gratitude. She just single-handedly saved your career. As it is you are the target of an assault. If you had retaliated publicly, in JAG HQ, you would be facing charges yourself. Now, I have one more question for you... what did Brumby," the admiral placed emphasis on the Australian Officer's name, "mean when he said that you threatened Colonel MacKenzie?"

"Sir?" Harm's eyebrows rose in surprise. He'd thought he'd heard Bugme say something about threats, but at the time his ears had been ringing from the effects that punch - that sucker punch he reminded himself - that he couldn't be certain as to exactly what had been said, but even so...

"I asked what you thought Bug... er Commander Brumby had meant when he said that you threatened Colonel MacKenzie."

"Sir... I'm not really sure, I don't recall making any threats, and frankly, if I may speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead, Commander," Chegwidden sighed to himself, resigned to what was in all probability going to be an outbreak of carefully measured insubordination.

"Sir, I think I'm pretty well offended that you even entertain the suggestion that I would threaten the Colonel."

"I didn't think it, not for one moment Rabb!" Chegwidden was the admiral again.

"No, sir!"

Both men fell silent until Rabb said hesitantly, "Sir?"

Chegwidden's eyebrows rose in a silent question. "Sir, although I don't feel that I threatened Colonel MacKenzie, she might have interpreted some advice I gave her as being threatening..."

Chegwidden groaned and leaning forward shielded his eyes with a hand, "What advice was that, Commander?"

Rabb was surprised by the sudden change in the admiral's tone, he had done what the Old Man had asked, he spoken to Harriett and Mac in private and had done his best to get the situation back under control, It wasn't his fault if someone, somewhere along the line had decided that the best solution to the problem was socking him on the jaw! "I... er... counselled the Colonel, that it might be better if she ceased her harassment of Lieutenant Singer, sir!"

"What did you say to her Commander?" From the lowering of Chegwidden's voice it was apparent that his patience was wearing thin.

"I advised the Colonel that what she was doing was tantamount to creating a toxic work environment and that Lieutenant Singer, although she couldn't reply openly to the whatever crap the Colonel dumped on her, was a good enough attorney with a good enough knowledge of the UCMJ and US Navy regulations that she was more than capable of filing an appeal under section eleven-fifty of Regulations and bringing charges under article thirty-eight of the UCMJ, sir, and I advised her to back off from her needling of Lieutenant Singer, sir."

"I see, and what was the Colonel's reaction to that 'advice' Commander?" The irony in Chegwidden's voice was pretty unmistakable, Rabb thought, but it was also pretty well undeserved.

Rabb winced, "The Colonel was less than... happy with the idea, sir, and the conversation terminated before the situation could become worse than it already was."

Chegwidden looked his subordinate officer, any animation he may have had in voice, expression or bearing was gone. Rabb was staring fixedly at a spot the admiral estimated was about two feet above his head. Very well, he thought, if Rabb wanted to play it like that...

"All right then, Commander, dismissed!"

"Sir, if I may...?"

"I thought I said you were dismissed, Commander?"

"You did sir," Rabb's manner was dogged, "but as you have said, I am involved in this whole mess, and there are a couple of aspects over which I am uneasy, sir."

Chegwidden cocked an eyebrow, an expression of displeasure settling over his face and his hands beginning to clench into fists as the lay on his desk. He wasn't used to having his orders ignored or questioned by junior officers, but at least Rabb had lost that impassive boot-camp expression. "What, Commander?"

Rabb licked his dry lips, an indication of nervousness not lost on the former SEAL sat behind the heavy mahogany desk. "Sir, would it be possible for the admiral to give any indication of his intentions in this matter?"

"Why?" The one word question was flat and uncompromising, as was the stare turned on the Commander..

"Sir, as the injured party..."

"Rabb! You are not the injured party here! The injured party is the Judge Advocate General's Corps of the United States Navy! I don't give a flying fish for the bruise on your jaw; God knows Brumby has only done something I've wanted to do so many times myself! But I didn't Rabb, because the injury to the dignity of this office is far more important to me than the brief satisfaction I would have gotten _from knocking you on your ass_! Once again the admiral's voice had risen to a bellow. "As it is," his voice resuming a more usual tone, "I have already terminated Brumby's attachment to this office and informed the Australian Naval Attaché of my decision, and the reasons for making it."

"And if I may ask again, sir, what of the other players?"

"And that would be whom, precisely, Commander?"

"Uh... Lieutenants Singer, Sims and I guess Roberts too... and the Colonel, sir."

"Why does that concern you Commander? I could quite easily suggest that you might have more reason to be apprehensive as to the way I might view your part in this fiasco."

"With respect, sir, my part in this fiasco was to try and pour oil on troubled waters. Action that you told me to take sir." It was funny, the admiral reflected before answering, any sentence that began 'with respect...' inevitably turned out to be totally disrespectful.

"To pour oil on water, Commander, not gasoline on a fire!" If the admiral had hair on the back of his neck it would have risen at this point, as his defensive anger rose.

"Yes, sir, but action nonetheless that you... that we both could and should have foreseen would lead to some sort of reaction, sir!"

"_Are you criticising me Commander_? Once again the admiral's voice had risen to a roar, as he almost leapt to his feet and knuckles planted on his desk, leaned forwards to bring his face nearer that of the Commander in front of him.

"Not criticising, sir," Rabb objected, his face once again impassive, but thinking, yes! yes, I am criticising you! Where the hell was your leadership these last few days? "I am merely reminding the admiral that my intervention in this matter was at the admiral's direction, in order to avoid his having to take formal notice of the situation, sir! And that given our knowledge of some of the other personalities involved, we should have been prepared for some form of fallout, sir!"

Chegwidden, his feathers not entirely smoothed, was still able to appreciate the justice in Rabb's argument and sat down again.

"Alright, I grant you that point," he grudgingly allowed, as he passed a hand over his hairless scalp, "but, you told me that you were on the point of intervening anyway! And what's all this BS about other players?" He leaned back against his chair and watched Rabb's face. Although he was still irritated - irritated? He was madder'n hell he told himself! - but he was about to watch, and be on the receiving end of a piece of advocacy delivered by one of the finest litigators he had ever had the privilege of meeting; not that he was about to tell Rabb that, the young hotshot already had an aviator's over-sized ego!

"Well, sir," a relieved Commander started, marshalling his arguments, "If we first take the case of Lieutenant Roberts, there is no way that he deserves to take any part of any fallout. It can't even be said that he supported Mac... er... Colonel MacKenzie, the worst that can be said for Bud's minimal participation in this mess is that he stood by his wife, sir. And," he unconsciously echoed Brumby's words, "it would be a pretty poor man who didn't."

"Agreed. Continue."

"Lieutenant Sims, sir. Her fault is her loyalty to a friend, which led to her exercising poor judgement. I had spoken to Lieutenant Sims, sir, before Brumby had his melt-down, and I believe my representations have already borne fruit, and she will try to urge less extreme behaviour on the Colonel. Her virtue is loyalty, her fault is poor judgement, and in atonement for that fault she is willing to attempt to remedy some of the ill-effects consequent upon her blind support for the Colonel. We depend on the loyalty of our brother and sister officers, and to sanction Lieutenant Sims for exercising that virtue would send a wrong message throughout the entire JAG Corps, if not the entire navy, sir. In mitigation, her support for the Colonel has its foundations in two separate circumstances. Firstly there is her personal dislike of Lieutenant Singer, and secondly her belief that the Colonel and I are destined for a match made in heaven - God knows why - and that has exacerbated her antipathy towards Lieutenant Singer."

"Go on, Commander."

"Lieutenant Singer, sir, cannot really be held responsible for either Brumby's actions or Colonel MacKenzie's actions. Can you doubt sir, that if her behaviour had been in any way capable of being viewed as transgressing any article of the UCMJ that Colonel MacKenzie would not have brought charges against her? And, sir, Lieutenant Singer is, as we all know, very ambitious, even driven, can you really see her picking a fight with an officer two rungs higher up the ladder?"

"True, but she could have made some sort of peace overture."

"Would you, sir? If you were in her position?"

"No... probably... hell, definitely not! You don't appease bu..." Chegwidden stopped, not wanting to inflict his own views on the younger man, views which unknown to him Rabb had already formed.

"You don't appease bullies, sir?"

"Yes... no... yes, dammit! That's exactly what I meant."

"I agree, sir. But, sir..."

"Yes, what is it Rabb, we've come this far, so don't beat about the bush!"

"I was thinking, sir," Oh, God, I can even hear her say it, 'keep thinking Butch, that's what you're good at', "I was thinking, that if some us had been better friends to Colonel MacKenzie, we wouldn't have allowed her to get so far up her own six over all this crap, sir!"

"Do not even think of telling me, Commander, that Colonel MacKenzie's behaviour is somehow your responsibility and that therefore she should get a free ride over all this 'crap' as you so succinctly put it!"

"Not a totally free ride, sir, but maybe some sort of non-judicial sanction that wouldn't necessarily have to appear on her record, sir!"

"Just what in hell are you playing at Commander, this whole damn' mess is ultimately down to her not being able to face facts! It's about time she did just that and learned that actions have consequences!"

"Sir, while I agree with you on the subject of action and consequence, may I point out that you and I both know that the Colonel isn't a bad person. She's got past history that sometimes provokes her into acting unwisely. As for what I'm doing... I'm just doing what Mac... what the Colonel and I have done for each other for the past five years, sir. I'm watching her six, just the way she watched mine on both trips to Russia, when I went after Lieutenant Schonke's killer, like she's done so many times..."

"The difference, Commander, is that you were friends then..."

"Sir, we still are friends... it's just that at the moment we don't seem to like each other very much," the sadness and the pain of loss in Rabb's voice was easy to hear for anyone who was listening to what he was saying, not just listening to the words, but really listening. Then the younger officer straightened up, "But this too shall pass, sir. We will like each other again, one day, and I hope that day comes soon, sir!"

"Alright, Commander, I'll take your opinions into consideration. Dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden waited until Rabb had left his office and then thumbed the call button on his interphone. "Tiner, pass the word for Colonel MacKenzie, I want her here ASAP!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Sarah MacKenzie had obviously been waiting for the summons; it was less than two minutes before Tiner announced her presence. In response to Chegwidden's gruff "Enter", Tiner opened wide the door and the Marine Officer marched up to his desk and halted in the position of attention.

Chegwidden glared at his Chief of Staff. He had always known that she could be volatile, and that she had a propensity to brood over slights, whether real or imaginary, but she really had screwed the pooch on this one, and despite his words to Rabb he was seriously considering filing Conduct Unbecoming charges against her. The trouble with filing those sorts of charges was that it laid the whole distasteful mess open to public scrutiny, and that would do JAG and the navy no good at all. On the other hand, there was no way on God's earth that Mac could be allowed to evade all responsibility for what had happened. True, she hadn't thrown the punch, but he was damn' well certain that she had somehow or other instigated the assault. It seemed too that she was feeling guilty, her face was pale and she seemed to be trembling, although that could be that she was braced so tightly at attention.

"Well, Colonel," he said after allowing her to stew for a good two minutes, "you really screwed up this time, didn't you?"

"No, sir!"

"No?" Chegwidden's voice shot up at least two octaves and his eyebrows raced each other to his non-existent hairline. "No? As in no, you didn't screw up?"

"No, sir, I didn't screw up."

"What the hell! What the hell do you mean that you didn't screw up?"

"Sir, I was not the person who struck Commander Rabb, and the person who struck him did not do it at my instigation. It was done without my prior knowledge, and had I known it was contemplated, I would have taken steps to prevent it."

"Easy to say Colonel, and even if I acquit you of complicity in the assault, how do you explain away your suddenly greater than usual antipathy, your enmity, towards Lieutenant Singer?"

"Stupidity, sir."

"Well, that's honest enough, but why did it take until now for you to realise that?"

Mac had turned even paler, "Disgust, sir. Commander Rabb spoke to me earlier today, and as usual when we argue, things got out of hand, and... and I said a couple of things that should never have been said." Mac gulped, she had never liked admitting out loud her failings, although she frequently castigated herself, "and the Commander looked me straight in the eye and basically told me that he'd lost all respect for me. That hurt, sir, and I got angry and tried to justify my actions to myself, and I found... I found that that there was no justification, sir."

"And...?"

"I was about to apologise to Lieutenant Singer, but she was speaking to one of the enlisted in her office, and no sooner was he out of the door when Harm... Commander Rabb went in to speak with her, and then as soon as he came out, Commander Brumby hit him."

"And what of Brumby's excuse that Rabb threatened you?"

"I didn't say that, sir! I told him that I was going to ask for an armistice, because I was disgusted with myself, and that it had taken a warning from Harm... Oh, I said warning... but it wasn't a threat, sir. Commander Rabb advised me that I had taken things too far in my feud with Singer, with Lieutenant Singer, to such an extent that I was in danger of jeopardising my career. I'll admit I was angry with him for saying that, for pointing out how... stupid, how needlessly stupid I was being, and that's when I lost my temper with him, but I had calmed down by the time I spoke to Mic... to Commander Brumby, sir, and I did not ask him, or encourage him in any way to strike Rabb, sir."

"Alright, I'll accept that as you've given me your word, but I can't let you slide completely on this one because I don't think that you've yet grasped the magnitude of your actions, and those actions will have consequences. First off, there is a question of Conduct to the Prejudice of Good Order and Discipline, in that your fraternisation with Brumby had a negative impact on the unit, exemplified by his conduct this afternoon. There is a second charge under the same section of the UCMJ involving the creation of a hostile work environment for your actions and words directed against Lieutenant Singer, and for unsettling the enlisted personnel of the unit. Then there is a question of Conduct Unbecoming, again arising from your treatment of Lieutenant Singer. Colonel, tell me, how can I continue to use you as my Chief of Staff, when you let your personal feelings cause chaos in the unit? How can I ask you to evaluate anybody's performance, if you let personal bias torpedo your objectivity? And it's so damn' annoying, because until just recently you were doing a damn' fine job, but you can't stay in that post Colonel. Now, listen very carefully to what I am about to say. I intend to treat this interview as an Admiral's Mast; therefore I will have a record of it inserted into your SRB. I will also insert a letter of instruction counselling you on your relationship with Lieutenant Commander Brumby, I will also insert a punitive letter of reprimand. I realise that this may well delay or even scupper your chances of any further promotion, but you have brought it upon your own head. However, I have no wish to see you humiliated; therefore in order to ease the sting of losing the Chief of Staff's post I am going to have orders cut for you to go TAD for six months as Fleet JAG on the _Guadalcanal, _hopefully renewed contact with other, and for the moment, more squared away Marine officers will help you refocus and regain your perspective. Having said all that, it is perfectly within your rights to demand an Article Thirty-Two enquiry or a Court Martial, but I am sure you must realise that with the weight of evidence against you, together with your past record that taking such a path would almost certainly see you convicted, reduced in rank and receiving an other than honourable discharge, with loss of all benefits, together with possibility of a lengthy term of confinement. If you want to go that road Colonel, the way is open and the choice is yours."

Mac's heart sunk, what the admiral had prescribed was, as he'd said, almost certainly a death knell to her career. While she had been prepared to listen to Mic's urgings that she should resign and follow him when he returned to Australia, she now knew that was not going to happen. She wasn't Sarah MacKenzie, civilian attorney, who would have to study law again in order to be able to practice in Australia, she was Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, a Marine Officer, who had screwed up and would now have to take her lumps, "Sir, thank you sir, I'll accept your non-judicial punishments, sir."

"Very well, Colonel, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden watched as she executed an about face and with stiff back walked away from him. His heart was heavy too; Sarah MacKenzie had become almost a daughter to him. He had admired her spirit, her determination and her courage, but somewhere along the line it had all gone belly-up. It was that damn trip to Australia, and that damn' Australian that was at the bottom of it he was damn sure. Why the hell she couldn't have stuck with Rabb he didn't know, and why, when she had attached Brumby, could she not have been content with him instead of playing the two off against each other. She didn't want Rabb it appeared, and judging that her latest fit seemed to date from Rabb's hospitalisation and the attention, no... the care and attention, paid to him by Lieutenant Singer, she didn't want anyone else to have him either.

**Friday 23 February 2001 1900 hrs EST, Harmon Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (232359ZFeb01)**

Harm sat on the couch a half full - or half empty, depending on your world view he grimaced - bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of him, together with a half-eaten egg salad sandwich. He was still trying to make sense of the day's events. The punch on the jaw hadn't hurt that much, it had knocked him down because he was off-balance and from the sheer surprise of it. What in God's name had possessed Brumby to make an unprovoked attack right in the middle of the bull-pen, with at least two dozen witnesses to hand? He must have known that there'd be hell to pay. OK, the Aussie had always had a short fuse on his temper, and there had always been a suggestion of violence just under the surface, but to punch out another officer in public? It just didn't fit…

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell 'phone, and picking it up he saw that the caller ID was listing a number, rather than a name.

"Rabb."

"Hello, Harm, it's Loren…"

Harm sat back against the squabs and let some of the tension drain out of his body, "Oh, hi, Loren, what can I do for you?"

"Well… nothing really, I was just wondering about tomorrow… about going back down to Charlottesville…"

"Oh, of course, we hadn't gotten around to making any arrangements… This afternoon kinda blew us, blew me out of the water…"

"Yeah, I wondered about that, are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine… Listen, are you sure you want to come tomorrow? Things got a little squirly there today, and if you wanted to take a time out…"

"Oh, no, Mister Commander Rabb, you're not getting rid of me that easy! Are _you_ still going to Charlottesville, whether I come or not?"

"Yes, I've arranged for Pop to get the 'plane ready, and" he grinned wickedly, "knowing how hungry you get, I've asked him to lay on an extra pack of sandwiches, of course they'll be…"

"Tuna and mayo!" she finished for him, "How could I not go, when Pop's gone to all that extra trouble? Besides, I really do want to go. I want to see if I can remember what you taught me last week, and I want to feel that airplane, all around me and feel…"

"OK, OK, I get the picture!"

"And talking about food…" There was a tentative quality to her voice even as she left her sentence unfinished.

"Yes?" She detected a non-committal tone even in his one word answer.

"I was wondering… had you eaten yet? Because I haven't and I thought that you might like to come over? I mean it's a Friday evening, and if we're going to make an early start, then we, I mean I, didn't want to go and hit the weekend party scene, and I owe you at least two dinners, so… how does Chicken Kung Pao sound to you?"

"Ummmm, I'm not sure… I mean, it's nice of you to offer but…"

"Regs?" She sounded surprised.

"Uh… yeah," he admitted, feeling himself grin and his face grow warm with embarrassment.

"Umm, let me get this straight," there was a barely restrained bubble of laughter in her voice, "we are driving down to Charlottesville tomorrow, and after we spend the whole day together, we are checking into an inn, where we know nobody else, so we will probably spend the entire evening in each other's company, having dinner and sharing a bottle of wine; correct?"

"Uh… I guess…" The grin of embarrassment slowly turned into one of amused chagrin as the ridiculous nature of his reluctance dawned upon him.

"And now you're feeling threatened because I suggested I owe you a dinner or two?" He could hear the laughter in her voice, and for a few moments he visualized the way her eyes danced when she found something funny, and the way the skin at the corner of her blue eyes creased when she laughed.

"Well," he replied defensively, "when you put it like that, I guess it does sound kinda foolish…"

"Only 'kinda foolish'?" This time he was certain that she was teasing him.

"OK then, a lot foolish," he conceded, damn right it's a lot foolish Loren thought, but I hope I didn't come over like I was trying to proposition him. That would certainly explain his reluctance, maybe I ought to tell him that, maybe I ought to tell him that I was worried about the way he went down this afternoon, or maybe I should just keep my dumb mouth… dumb!

"So, I'll expect you in in…say, thirty minutes?"

"Make it forty, I need to freshen up a little."

"Fine, forty minutes, 'bye."

"Yeah, 'bye, Loren."

**Friday 23 February 2001, 1950hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC**

Loren Singer had considered carefully how she should present herself this evening. Her preferred choice for off-duty wear was for a skirt and blouse. But this evening, she didn't want to appear as if she'd made any particular attempt to dress up. Tomorrow and Sunday, she would be in jeans, sweaters and leathers, so they were out for this evening. A careful survey of her wardrobe was clearly indicated.

Loren stepped back from the door with a welcoming smile, "Come on in Harm, let me take your jacket." Oh, this wasn't fair, she thought as he shrugged of his jacket, he was wearing a pair of faded jeans and the charcoal shirt that she had suggested he buy last week. Unfortunately for her peace of mind the shirt fitted snugly enough to more than just suggest the muscles hiding beneath the cotton of the garment. Oh, for God's sake! It was that little voice again, stop drooling girl! Oh, shut up! She told it, and why, oh why, do you sound just like my damn' mother!

For his part Harm was just as impressed with Loren's appearance, understated chic, and looking very smart in a pair of black ski-pants with a scarlet V-neck sweater worn over a light blue blouse, open at the collar to reveal a slim gold chain around her neck, and with her hair, released from its workaday tight bun, carefully caught back in a careless pony-tail, the overall effect was of a young woman so totally at ease with her appearance, with her environment and with her guest that she hadn't felt that she needed to make a special effort, which of course had been the aim of the minute inspection of her closet and the painstaking selection of her outfit .

"Come on in," she repeated, "and take the weight off your feet. Would you like a drink? I've got a couple of beers in the 'fridge, or there's mineral water or fruit juice if you'd prefer?" Her smile was warm, possibly even affectionate, Harm thought, and there seemed to be no sign of the stress that the ongoing battle with Mac might have been thought to produce. He realised that she was waiting for an answer when one her absurdly mobile eyebrows quirked up almost to her hairline.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Loren, ah… yeah… beer would be great… thanks. But are you sure that I can't help with anything?"

"No… not really… The main dish is stir fried and only takes a few minutes, and the steamer's ready for the rice… so…" she continued, while twisting the cap of a beer bottle, "you just sit there like a good little guest and drink your beer!"

"Yes, ma'am!" He grinned at her adoption of a school-ma'am tone of voice, and was rewarded by another one her smiles, as she turned her attention to the steamer and the wok sitting on the hob. Her absorption in her task allowed Harm to study her covertly, her movements around the kitchenette were sure, and she certainly seem competent and confident in her use of the various tools she used, including what seemed to be a set of very sharp knives, and the level of her concentration seemed to be signalled by the way the tip of her tongue was held between her teeth. How on earth he asked himself did we all think she was some sort of robot? A better question, he decided, was why when she was at work did she act like she was some sort of robot? It seemed that the more Loren Singer revealed of herself, the more there was yet to find.

His thoughts were interrupted as she said, "Please come to the table, Harm, I'm just about ready to serve…"

Taking the seat she indicated, he saw that a huge platter of rice was already steaming gently in the middle of the table while a rice bowl, chopsticks and a neatly rolled linen napkin were in place before both dining chairs. The place setting though were not formally opposite each other but at a more intimate ninety degrees. Barely had he taken his seat when a chafing dish of the chicken kung-pao was placed on the table, and Loren sat up to the table, saying, "No ceremony, Harm, dig in and help yourself…Oh," her momentary embarrassment was betrayed by the slight pink flush, "I'm sorry, I just took it for granted that you would be comfortable with chop-sticks… would you prefer a fork?"

"No, no," he replied, "I'm quite happy with chopsticks. I got used to…" his voice trailed off, and he looked gultily at her, as he realised that he had nearly been tempted into talking about his past. Although not precisely ashamed of his youthful misadventures, he regretted the pain he had caused to others, he always felt that talking of them was something akin to boasting, and apart from that, his foray into Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos had resulted in experiences that about which he already felt guilty enough without re-visiting them needlessly.

But he had already said enough to spark Loren's curiosity, "You got used to them how?" she enquired.

"Oh, at the academy. There were four of us, Jack Keeter, Sturgis Turner, Diane Schonke and myself, the four musketeers. We formed a mutual support group for studying, and when it came round to mid-terms and end of year exams, we used to lock ourselves away and order in high calorie, high protein stuff to keep us going. Quite a lot of it," he added with his mega-watt grin, "was Chinese or south-east Asian food, so we all got pretty handy with chop sticks!"

It wasn't quite a lie, he comforted himself, he and the others had formed their group, although outsiders had frequently referred to it by the more sinister appellation 'the gang of four', but it wasn't the complete truth either.

For her part Loren had picked up on the name 'Diane' remembering the inscription on the back of the photograph she had discovered in his apartment, and while recognising the sentiment in that inscription, she couldn't help feeling in the bottommost corner of her heart, just a little gratitude that the relationship between Harm and Diane wasn't recent; if it had been an ongoing or a recent affair, then given the propensity to spread scuttlebutt that flew around JAG HQ then it would have been common knowledge, Harm's reticence notwithstanding.

But picking up the conversational gambit, she asked, "So, tell me about these four musketeers, then?" and the expression of interest on her face was not entirely assumed. She was genuinely interested in finding out more about this man whose life had so unexpectedly crossed with her own.

Harm tried to shrug off what he felt was her idle curiosity, "Oh, we were just four academy Midshipmen, who happened to fall in together, and who for some strange reason found that we liked each other."

"Strange reason?" Loren prodded gently, but with the feeling that if she pushed too far and too fast then Harm's shutters would come down with a resounding crash.

"Yeah," Harm grinned as good memories of his time at Annapolis surfaced, "We were so completely different from each other in so many ways, that you'd have thought that we could never have become friends, but we sort of complemented each other, like a jig-saw in some ways, where one piece didn't show the whole picture, the four pieces did… well, at least our little corner of the puzzle."

"And, who were the musketeers; I mean who was D'Artagnan, and the rest?" Loren persisted as she gathered the dirty crockery together by her elbow.

"Aramis and Porthos are dead easy; Sturgis was Aramis, the cool, sensible, logical one, always the one with a plan, the restraining influence on the rest of us idiots, although we did get him to loosen up a bit by the end of the course.. Jack Keeter was Porthos - he still is in some ways - a party guy, a different date every time he goes out." He flashed a grin at Loren, as the old feeling of bemusement overtook him every time, as he considered Jack Keeter's tumultuous social and romantic life. Diane… Diane…" Harm fell silent for a moment as his grief over her stupidly pointless death threatened to choke, but then continued, "Diane was D'Artagnan in many ways… she had a joy of life that carried her, and helped us all, through some of our most difficult days. She never lost touch with her feelings, and she never found difficulty in expressing them."

"That would make you Athos, then?"

Harm grinned, "Well, I guess so, but I don't think I was ever as driven as he was…"

Oh, but you are, Loren silently rebutted him. You may not be as driven in search of revenge, but by the Lord, your search for truth is almost as frightening in its intensity.

A brief silence fell, and more to break it than for any other reason, Loren prompted him again, "and where are they all now? I mean, I know you're here, but what of the others?"

"Oh… well… Jack and I went on to flight school; Jack's still flying, and after I went back for a second try, I ended up here at JAG. Sturgis went silent and deep," seeing her confusion he explained, "He's a submariner." Again he fell silent.

Aware that she might now be crossing into dangerous territory, Loren could not help herself asking "And Diane?"

"Diane was a cryptographer…"

"Was?"

"Yes. She's dead." It came out flat and hard, flatter and harder than he had intended, but the scar that had formed over the wounds her death had left had still not thickened enough to become impervious.

"Oh… I'm sorry, Harm… how…?"

"She was murdered, Loren."

"Harm, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"No, it's not your fault, I got pretty involved in her life, or rather she got involved in mine, and then when she was killed, I ended up being the investigator, and then being arrested for her murder, so it's pretty close to home still."

Loren regarded him closely, there had seemed a tremor in his voice and difficult as it was to tell as he sat with lowered head staring at his clasped hands in front of him., she thought she saw just a glimmer of moisture in his eyes, but whatever the physical manifestations of his agitation, she could sense it was time to leave this dangerous and distressing subject alone. "Well, I think, it's pretty close to dishes time, so if you still feel like helping, you can dry while I wash!"

"What? No dishwasher?" Harm was grateful for the change in subject; it had seemed for a few minutes that the entire evening was heading down a dark and dismal road.

"Yes, I've just told you," Loren's response was highlighted by a smile that could only be described as mischievous, "me. I wash; you dry. So come on Mister Lawyer man. Let's see if you're as good at the post-prandial as you are at the pre-prandial! And if you are, there'll certainly be coffee and possibly some dessert afterwards!"

By the time the washing and drying - to Loren's satisfaction - had been completed good humour had been restored all round, helped by the dab of soap suds that had mysteriously appeared on the end of Harm's nose, and so by the time the two took their places on Loren's couch, each with a dish of crispy chocolate covered mango ice-cream and a fresh brewed pot of coffee with two mugs sitting on the table in from of them.

Seeing Harm look askance at the ice-cream Loren grinned, she knew exactly what was going through his mind, and that was whether to graciously refuse the dessert, or to stifle his instincts and respond as good manners obliged him to. She made a small silent bet with herself, and felt smugly satisfied as he broke the chocolate crust with his spoon and tasted the confection, and even more satisfied as he tasted his ice-cream.

"Hey, this is really good!" he exclaimed as the tartness of the fruit contrasted with the sweetness of the ice cream and the bitterness of the dark chocolate, "Where did you get it? It's definitely not a Ben and Jerry's!"

"No," and Loren's cup of satisfaction was suddenly running over, "I made it. Actually," she added, remembering his complimentary remarks at the table, "I made it all."

Harm's eyebrows rose in surprise, "What," he gestured in the direction of her kitchen area, "the chicken, everything?"

"Well, don't look quite so surprised, Mister Master Chef, women can cook as well as men, you know."

"No…" he replied slowly, not wanting a compliment to be misheard or misunderstood as condescension as it had been so often in the past with a certain prickly Marines officer, "No, I wasn't surprised at the quality, I was surprised that you should go to the bother for me, when you could have just as easily ordered in."

It was Loren's turn to look surprised, "Why would I insult you… why would I insult any guest by ordering in? If I invite some to my home for a dinner, it is up to me to provide the meal, not rely on somebody else."

"But you didn't mind when we ordered pizza at my place!" Harm protested, hoping that he hadn't just managed again to put his foot in his mouth.

"That was different," Loren denied earnestly, "it wasn't an invitation, we just happened to be at your apartment when we got hungry, and as your pantry was bare, we did the sensible thing and ordered what we both liked." Although she had a puzzled frown on her face, her voice and body language said that she wasn't angered, but rather that she was nonplussed by his inability immediately to see the difference between the two situations.

Harm grinned, and again his grin had a touch of embarrassment in it, and he threw up his hands in surrender, "I wasn't complaining, Loren, far from it. That was one of the best dinners I've had in a very long time."

"Yeah, well," she grumbled, partly mollified, "at least cooking is one thing I can do!"

This time he was sure he'd caught just a tinge of bitterness in her comment, but decided if she wanted to expand on that theme he would let her do so in her own time.

"I'll tell you what we can both do," he suggested brightly, as he scraped the last of the ice-cream off his dish, hoping to restore some of the humour they had enjoyed standing next to each other sink. However to his amazement, his words produced an entirely unexpected reaction in Loren.

She paused with a spoonful of ice-cream half-way to her mouth and turned crimson. Oh God! No! Please, please, Harm, do not finish that idea, she prayed silently, please do not suggest that we finish the night in bed! Oh no! My face! And with that last thought she dropped her spoon back in the dish and put her hand to her flaming cheek, but she was certain she could feel the heat coming off her face before she had touched her skin. Oh motherrrr, no!

"Loren, are you alright?" He asked in concern. Her sudden flush and the look of horror on her face pierced Harm and he rapidly thought back over his last comment, and as he recalled his exact words, he could feel his own ears growing pink as understanding dawned. He drew a deep breath and hoped he could explain before she either threw him out or fled to her bedroom and waited until he left of his own accord, "Oh, Loren! No! I didn't mean that… It hadn't crossed my mind that we… Oh, God, I'm so clumsy!" Now, he thought unhappily, she's going to think that I don't find her attractive - well I damn well do!

Loren's thoughts were swamped by the little voice telling her, idiot, idiot, what the hell were you thinking? No, don't bother to tell me, it's unnecessary, just look at his face! You might as well have stripped and thrown yourself at him! He couldn't be more disgusted with you if you had. Loren would have given almost anything she possessed just then to have found enough voice to ask him to leave, or enough strength to rise from the couch and retreat to the haven of her bedroom and stay there for at least the next two centuries. Instead, all she could do was gulp back the tears of mortification, and determine that she wasn't going to dissolve in floods on his shoulder again.

Both drew ragged breaths, but Harm was just a little quicker off the mark with his explanation, "Loren, I'm sorry twice over. Please let me explain," he asked, looking her in the eye, and although she would have preferred to avert her gaze from his face the frankness in his eyes held her pinned,."I'm sorry that I didn't phrase my suggestion better, all I was going to say was that we ought to 'phone the Boar's Head and make our reservations, as we discussed; one room on each of our accounts. Secondly I need to apologise if I gave you the impression that I didn't want to proposition you because I thought you were unattractive, or unworthy in any way. That is about as far a one-eighty as it gets. I have always thought of you as being attractive, just someone who it is difficult to get know. Now I do know you a bit better, I can safely say that you are not attractive, you Loren Singer, are a beautiful woman." He held up a hand to prevent her from interrupting as she drew breath to do just that. "However I am now not in the practice of turning to someone new just because I have been disappointed elsewhere. When… if… the time is ever right for me to find someone else it will be because I feel a real attachment to them. There is not going to be another Jordan or Renee or even Annie in my life just because the woman I thought I was in love with has decided to amuse herself with a new toy-boy! And I'm certainly not going to jeopardise a friendship by being so stupid as to misread a dinner invitation as something else!"

"God, Harm, I never meant to put you on the spot like that! And I certainly didn't mean to transfer what I thought I heard back to you. I am sorry, and I'm sorry for being an absolute idiot. It's just that following on from your surprise at my cooking dinner, then it sort of became a corollary to… Oh…"

"A corollary to what, Loren?" Harm's voice softened with concern. He was being presented with another part of the mystery that was Loren Singer and while he would, as he'd already decided, respect her privacy, at the same time he was almost burning with the need to get to know her better, to understand what made this complex person tick.

"No… it doesn't matter," she mumbled, by now able to drop her gaze from his. "Have you got the number for the Boar's Head?" she asked with a bleak smile, "we better had make those reservations, I guess."

Once again Harm resolved to let her tell him what was troubling her at her own speed and taking his cell 'phone out of its belt-clip he scrolled through the menu.

"Hi, is that the Boar's Head? Good evening, this is Mister Rabb, I'd like to book two rooms for tomorrow night please, and a dinner reservation for two at eight o'clock. Yes, you should have my card details on record but that card is for one room only; if you'll hold the line, I'll pass you on to the second room cardholder - Loren?"

"Hello, yes, the name is Singer, as in Pearl, yes," she rolled her eyes in exasperation, "Ill spell it for you, S I N G E R. Have you got that? Good, my card is …" as Loren finished making the arrangements for her card to be charged, she thumbed the end call button and passing the 'phone back to Harm she scowled, and with more than just a touch of her old acerbity muttered just loud enough to be heard, "Jerks! What?" she demanded as she caught Harm grinning at her.

"Oh, I was just thinking how easily we slip back into our old way of doing things! No, don't get mad at me Loren, it's way reassuring, really! But…"

"What?" she demanded glowering suspiciously at him.

"You might think about powering down on the caffeine at this time of night!"

Loren was about to let fly with one of her savage put-downs when she caught the tease, "Oooh! You! Go on, get outta here! And I'll see you at…?"

"I'll pick you up, smack on the button of seven, OK?"

"OK, seven it is. Goodnight Harm!"

"Goodnight Loren! And thanks for dinner, it really was something special!"

As the door closed behind him, she thought that he too was something special and resolutely ignored the voice that reminded her, power down, girl, he's just told you that he's not interested in a relationship! No, she told the voice smugly, he just said he's not interested in a relationship right now. And anyway, she continued as she collected the dessert dishes and coffee cups, I'm not interested in a relationship either… but he did say 'when' before he corrected himself to say 'if'. Yeah, said the voice sarcastically, not interested, hey? Yeah… riiight! Oh shut up, she told the voice, blushing at the same time.

**Saturday 24 February 2001, 0700 EST, Harmon Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (241200ZFeb01)**

Harm's alarm clock sounded at oh-six-hundred hours, and after a few seconds of disoriented thought as to why he was getting up so early on a weekend, he remembered that he was going flying today. With Loren Singer. Somehow that rider to his thoughts made him feel a whole lot better about having to get up early. In a remarkably short space of time Harm had showered, dressed and downed two mugs of scalding coffee. Grabbing his go-bag he locked the apartment behind him and rather than wait for the antiquated elevator he ran down the stairs and out into the still-dark alley. Then he climbed into the Corvette to drive across town to Canal Street North West, where Loren answered his knock on her apartment door with a smile, grabbed her go-bag, saying "It's all good to go," and then with a shy smile explained, "I didn't really unpack it from last weekend, well, except for my toothbrush and things - oh, can you wait just a second?" she pleaded apologetically, her face expressing chagrin, "I've just remembered something that I forgot last time!" She dashed back into her bedroom, only to return triumphantly within seconds, but with a slightly sheepish grin and waving her hair dryer.

Harm shook his head in bewilderment, he really didn't understand the fuss women made over their hair. Men showered, shampooed and rubbed their heads dry with a towel. Why, he wondered, did the female of the species have to make such a big deal out of having wet hair?

Go-bags and Loren safely stowed in the 'vette, Harm chose a different route heading out through Arlington and bypassing Falls Church to Centreville before swinging South down past Manassas onto the Virginia Highway 28. By the time they'd reached Centreville, however, Loren's head had lolled back against the head-rest and with her mouth slightly open was sound asleep. He smiled to himself, enjoying the knowledge that Loren felt so secure with him that she could allow herself to fall into the most vulnerable state possible. His smile was also occasioned by what he knew of the admiral, the old devil had purposely put her through the wringer this week with the whole Coulter appeal thing. Then as memories crowded in, he felt his smile fading. There had been many times in the past when he and Mac while still friends had hovered on the brink of something more, and she too had fallen asleep while he drove. What, he asked himself, had prevented their friendship from going over the brink and deepening into something different… something more? Or, given her reaction to his 'not yet' would it have been more? She had turned from him, straight to Brumby, and it has hardly been five minutes after that when she started sporting that 'friendship' ring. Friendship ring, yeah, right. So maybe he had picked up a hint right there and then that whatever sort of partnership they had was going to remain on a purely professional level, and if it hadn't been then, well certainly when the ring shipped across to her left hand. And if that hadn't been certain enough, the way she had ignored him when he was hospitalised was even more proof, and the way she had been this last week… Well at least his friendship with Loren Singer couldn't work out any worse than his failed friendship with Sarah MacKenzie.

"Hey Loren," he said as she muttered and forced her eyes open, "You awake, sleepy head?"

"Huh! Next time, I'll drive and you can try and stay awake!" she retorted with just a touch of early morning grumpiness.

"Nope," he grinned, "that's not going to happen!"

"Why not?" She demanded, looking at him with suspicion, somehow just knowing that he was about to renew his teasing of her again.

"Because I'm the world's worst passenger," he told her, perfectly straight faced.

"Wait a minute," she said as she puzzled through his words, "You are the world's worst passenger?"

"Yep." his one word reply was replete with smugness.

"And you're afraid to let me drive you?"

"Yep!"

"But you'll let me take the controls of your airplane and fly you around the sky even when I'm still not sure what I'm doing?"

"Yep."

Loren looked across at his profile in amazement, "Have you any idea of just how illogical that seems?"

"It's not illogical at all." He denied. "First off, up there, is a huge empty sky where you can see hazards from miles away, down here we're confined to a narrows strip of asphalt, where we have very little warning of hazards. You see, Loren it's not that I don't trust you; it's just that I don't trust the other idiots that are on the road. That's my take on defensive driving!" He grinned across at Loren to see what, if any, impact his argument had.

Loren chuckled, "Oh, no, Mister Lawyer man, you ain't filibustering your way out of that one! It's still totally illogical!"

Squabbling amicably they drove on down to Charlottesville where they halted alongside Pop's hangar.

**Saturday 24 February 2001, 1000hrs EST, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (241500ZFeb01)**

As Harm parked the car, Pop came out of the hangar, dressed as usual in his oil-and grease-stained overalls, and wiping his hands on a lump of cotton waste. "'Morning, Harm, he grunted and flashed a grin of welcome at Loren, "See you brought your nugget back with you. Didn't scare her off last weekend, then?"

"Nugget? What nugget, Pop?" Harm twinkled back at him with a sidelong look at Loren.

"Well, the pretty little blonde one, the one that's standing there looking like she'd like to rip my heart out!" Pop chuckled.

"Oh, I wouldn't call her a nugget, Pop," Harm protested, unobtrusively moving out of Loren's reach, "She's not that good, yet! But," he added as Loren gave a yelp of outrage, "it won't be long before she's much better than that!"

"Hey, hotshot!" Loren half yelled at him, while giving him a sulphurous look, "if you think that just got you off the hook - you've got more than just one other think coming! And as for you..." she spluttered turning her ice-blue eyes on the now visibly and audibly laughing Pop, "You are going to be so sorry, one day..., but not until after I get my pilot's certification!" But it was no good, the old man's laughter and Harm's smile were too much for her to resist and she felt her own, albeit reluctant, grin spread across her face.

Harm smiled in sympathy with her frustration and said, "If you want to get suited up, I think Pop's already made the Ladies' Room ready for you. I'll wait for you here, and then we'll do the pre-flight checks together, OK?"

There was nothing whatsoever reluctant about the huge smile she turned on him, "Oh, it's a bit more than OK! Just give me five!" and turning, she almost bolted for her designated locker room.

On her return, the Stearman had been pushed out of the hangar and Harm was waiting for her at the outboard leading edge of the port wing. "OK, Sarah's a bi-plane, so she's a mite different than most other airplanes around today, her wings are made of wooden spars and ribs and are covered in doped fabric. So we start our visual here, we check the fabric on upper and lower planes - wings - for rips and tears and holes - those are definitely undesirable, and we check the struts for damage and the wire bracing the same..."

Because of the instruction and his frequent check questions to Loren, the pre-flight took twice as long as it would have taken Harm on his own, but the interest which she showed and the avidity with which she listened to his instruction more than compensated in his opinion for the extra time taken.

At last the pre-flight check completed, Harm assisted Loren up into the front cockpit and endured that she was properly fastened in. One of the few modifications he had made to the original was the substitution of the old style lap-strap seat belt with something more nearly approaching the seat harness used in modern military airplanes. In similar fashion the brakes were of a modern disc-brake design.

Fastening himself into his own seat Harm pressed the self-start button, and calling for clearance from the tower, he taxied in the Stearman's characteristic weaving pattern to the end of the strip. Where, leaning forward, he tapped Loren on the shoulder, and shouted, "Right, you're going to take her up! Use the rudder pedals to keep her straight, and push the throttle to the wall. Watch your speed indicator, when she gets to about seventy, she'll start to feel light, and by the time she gets up to eighty she'll practically fly herself off the deck. Don't worry, I'll shadow the controls, and if it looks like it's going wrong I'll take over, OK?"

Loren felt the surge of adrenalin as it choked her and was only able to nod enthusiastically, her thoughts and emotions a confusion of anticipation and dread as she licked her lips and pushed the throttle all the way forward. Just as Harm said, as the needle showed seventy she could feel the clumsy looking airplane lighten as if it too knew its rightful place was in the sky and then at eighty-five she felt the rumble of the wheels on the asphalt cease as the yellow bi-plane became airborne.

Then followed some fifty of the most glorious minutes of Loren' s life; following Harm's instructions she put the Stearman through a series of climbs, dives and turns, each time she completed a manoeuvre feeling more confident, and needing only the occasional reminder from Harm to keep the nose up in the turns, until at last following an instruction to bank hard right she put the trainer into a tight turn and levelling off once again found herself positioned for the final approach to the runway. Her heart in her mouth, she thought, surely Harm can't want me to try and land her, not yet, surely... but if he wants me to, then I'll damn sure give it a try. She was steeling herself to listen to his instructions when she heard his voice, "I'm taking over for the landing Loren! Ready? Right...! I have control!"

Raising her hands to show him that they were clear of the stick she sat back and waited for the wheels to kiss the runway. Once again her emotions were thrown into a state closely resembling chaos. She was exhilarated by the flight itself, the fresh, but admittedly cold air, had brought fresh colour to her cheeks, but at least this time it wasn't because she was feeling socially challenged. The thrill of making a success of her first take off was mixed with the remnant of fear resulting from thinking she was about to make her first attempt at a landing and was adulterated by disappointment and relief that she hadn't needed to.

The bump of the wheels making contact with the ground and the slowing down of the rush of air across her face told her that they were down and as Harm weaved the airplane across the airfield, she sighed in pure ecstasy.

Bringing the aircraft to a stop outside the hangar, Harm slid out of the rear cockpit and waited for Loren to regain her footing on before stepping forward and with a smile he asked, "Well?"

"No," she said trying and succeeding to keep a straight face, "It wasn't well, at all..." and then her control broke, and the biggest smile he had yet seen on Loren's face blossomed, and he felt as if some bright glorious flower had suddenly opened, "It wasn't well, at all... it was... fantastic!" Loren was almost dancing on the spot in sheer pleasure.

Harm reached out and gently grasped her shoulder, "You done good, there girl, but try and contain your excitement for a minute, huh, please?" and applying gentle pressure he turned her towards the hangar office to where Pop and another man, a few years older than Harm were walking towards them.

As they approached, Harm said, "Loren, I'd like you to meet Mike Hill. Mike, this is Loren Singer, the young lady I spoke with you about. That hop Mike was all Loren from the take off to the final approach, and that brings her total flying time up to..." he looked at Pop for confirmation.

"Four hours and thirty seven minutes - iffen her log book is accurate!"

"It's accurate Pop, all the flying she's done has been with me, and her book tallies with mine." Harm affirmed, deliberately ignoring Loren's puzzled and beginning to get annoyed expression.

"OK, then Harm," Mike nodded his appreciation of what he'd just heard, "Let's go and get ourselves outside a couple of Pop's excellent Tuna and Mayo sandwiches and a mug of his not-quite-so excellent coffee!"

"Hell, iffen you don't like my coffee then go without," grumbled Pop good naturedly as he led the way back towards the office.

Once in the office and with the open parcel of sandwiches lying on the desk, Harm took a sip from the purple-tinted and over-brewed coffee, grimaced and said, "Loren, I know you've been dying of curiosity, so here's the thing. Mike is a certificated flight instructor with the FAA, and teaches regularly in Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. He's also an ex-Zoomie, but we try not to hold that against him..."

Mike protested around a half-mouthful of sandwich, "Hey, if you Squids are so much better, how come I'm the certificated instructor and you're not? Huh? Tell me that why don't you?" The aggression in Mike's words and tone were belied by the laughter clearly visible in his eyes, and it was evident to Loren that Mike and Harm were performing the steps of some ritual dance.

"That Mike," Harm replied through the grin of triumph plastered across his face, "is because of those of us who can - do; those who can't - teach!" and ignoring Mike's spluttered protest, he calmly picked up a sandwich and turning to Loren winked solemnly at her before taking a bite

Chewing on his sandwich, Harm swallowed before saying to Loren, "Mike is an old buddy of mine and one of the few Zoomies we let play with our boats, so he owes me a favour or two, and I'm calling one of them in. We spoke last week, and Mike agreed that if he thought you could handle an airplane the way you just did then I could continue to give you regular lessons, he will give you a monthly check-flight and a monthly pop-quiz to make sure we're keeping up with the ground-school work too. So he's given me a lesson programme and lesson plans so we can get you certificated as quickly and as cheaply as we can. Is that alright with you?"

Loren was struck dumb, she nodded twice and slipped off the edge of Pop's desk where she had been perched and almost ran from the office.

"What did I say, what did I do?" asked Harm.

Pop grinned, "Son, you done good!"

Loren returned a few minutes later with suspiciously puffy eyes, although none of the three men were so ungallant to comment upon it. During the ensuing casual conversation however, Mike turned to Loren and said, "I watched your flight this morning, Miss Singer..."

"That's Loren, please," she interrupted him.

"OK, then... Loren... As I was saying I watched your flight this morning, and I gotta admit that I didn't quite believe Harm when he said you had a natural flair for piloting, but I'm here to tell you now that he wasn't exaggerating, not one little bit. I look forward to you taking me up in two weeks time. That's if the Squid there can figure out his route back here!"

Loren stood, her face shining with pleasure at the praise, although she didn't quite understand why she should be praised for doing something so simple, "I look forward to it...Mike?" she ended doubtfully.

"Yep, Mike it is," he smiled, "Guys I gotta get going, household six needs me to go to the Mall with her this afternoon. God knows why!"

"Hell, Mike, that's an easy one," Pop interjected, "she wants to use your credit card and not hers!"

Mike shuddered theatrically and with a wave of his hand disappeared from the office heading for the side door of the hangar.

Almost as soon as he had left the building, Harm cleared a space on the desk and taking a sheet of paper from the desk drawer he hastily sketched a diagram, Loren watching him with intense curiosity as he did so.

"Now, this morning you had your first take off. This afternoon, we'll repeat this morning's exercise, but instead of me taking control for the landing, you're going to do it! So, look carefully, this is how it's done..."

**Saturday 24 February 2001, 1700hrs EST, Boar's Head Inn, Charlottesville, VA, (242200ZFeb01)**

Loren was still bubbling with excitement, pleasure and adrenalin as Harm pulled the Corvette into the Inn's parking lot. She had listened carefully to Harm's pre-flight instructions and taking his advice had taped a crib-sheet to her left thigh to remind her of altitude at the runway threshold, airspeed and rate of descent. Her heart had pounded so hard in her chest that at one time she feared it was going break a rib or two, but with Harm's calm voice in her ears she had piloted the Stearman down. The contact with the asphalt had been a bit harder than she had experienced while Harm was at the controls, and despite his praise, she felt slightly disappointed and resolved that she would do much better the next time around.

As they walked towards the welcoming entrance of the Inn, Harm turned to her and said, "You know, Loren, for a first time attempt at landing that was pretty damn' good. I wish my own first attempts had been so successful."

She looked at him doubtfully, still having a hard time accepting praise, and while hating herself for sounding needy and wanting reassurance, she looked up at him and asked, "Harm, is that an honest opinion, or are you just trying to make me feel better about a crappy landing?"

Harm was honestly startled, not just by the question itself, but also by the fact that Loren felt she needed to ask it in the first place. "Loren, I said to you last week that I thought you had a gift for flying, and I've just had that confirmed today by Mike. There are two reasons why I didn't introduce him to you before we flew this morning, the first was so that you wouldn't get all tense knowing that you were being evaluated; I needed you to be relaxed - well as much as you could be on your first take-off, and secondly," he paused looking into her face wanting to be sure he got this right, "if Mike had thought that you weren't worth teaching he would have sloped off before we made it back to the hangar, the fact that he didn't is sufficient proof to me. Mike is one of the few pilots who have served more than one tour with the Thunderbirds, so he does know what he's talking about." Then seeing the look of confusion on her face he added by way of explanation, "The Thunderbirds are the Air Force's demonstration squadron, they give public displays of fancy flying all over the country. They are near as good as the average Navy pilot."

"But you would never admit that to Mike, right?" Loren said slyly, beginning to gain some insight into the fliers' brotherhood that was complicated by interservice rivalry.

"Not in this world, Loren!" Harm admitted cheerfully, and then nodding towards the warm lights of the entrance he added, "Come on, let's get inside before we freeze our ears off!"

Check-in was completed swiftly, and much to the bemusement of them both they found they had been allocated the same rooms that they had occupied the previous weekend.

"Don't forget, dinner reservations have been made for twenty-hundred hours, so we've got plenty of time for a good, long hot soak if you want one - I do, flying is great fun, but these old bones are beginning to feel the chill at this time of the year!"

Loren hadn't really thought about how chilled she had become until she had entered the warmth of the Inn, but she was now aware of an almost overwhelming desire to immerse herself in hot water and soak some of the chill leave her body. In a fanciful way, she agreed with Harm's diagnosis that the chill did deem to have gone bone deep!

An hour spent soaking in the bath's hot water restored her body heat but left her fingers and toes in a distinctly prune-like condition, and she wondered if Harm was paying the same penalty, as she pictured him with wrinkled fingers, her mind's eye pulled back to bring more of him into view as he lay soaking up the heat of the bath water, as he lay totally naked in the hot bath water. Oh for God's sake! Grow up! You're acting like a love-sick teenager! No, I'm not she argued, I'm not a love-sick teenager at all, I'm a physically fit, reasonable attractive young , well youngish, woman, who is not only deeply in lust with a fantastic looking man, but one who would love to repay him for all the kind things he's done for me over the last month! And besides, it's been soooo long...

This will not do, she sternly told herself, and forcing herself out of the bath, she stepped into the shower with her bottle of shampoo, and as she massaged the lotion into her scalp, she suddenly thought of the old musical 'South Pacific' and found herself humming the tune to 'I'm going to wash that man right out of my hair'. Thinking back along the chain of circumstances that led her to that particular melody she dissolved in helpless giggles until a mouthful of shampoo suds brought them to an abrupt end.

Hair now so clean it squeaked as she had dried and brushed it, and smelling a whole heap better than the mixture of sweat and gasoline that had enveloped it earlier, Loren Singer left her room at nineteen forty-five hours and walking the few steps along the corridor to Harm's room she knocked on the door and in response to his "Come on in", she entered and looked as he forced his head through the neck of a tight-fitting black crew-neck sweater.

A teasing smile spread across her face as she began to say in her very broad and very bad southern accent, "Well, I never, Mister Butler, I would never have thought it of you that you would keep a lady waiting for her dinner, most especially when" and she twirled an imaginary parasol, "that lady is positively famished!"

"Miss Scarlett," Ham replied joining in the spirit of the tease, "I do surely beg your pardon, but if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I am entirely at your disposal!"

"In that case, Mr Butler, shall we?"

"Let's!"

"Harm!" Loren protested collapsing into giggles, "Alvin and the Chipmunks? Really?"

"Yes, really," Harm grinned, "and why not, they were one of my favourite cartoons when I was a kid!"

They were still smiling at each other when they got to the restaurant where the same pretty brunette maitre d' hotel who had been present on their previous visit greeted them, "Welcome back, sir, ma'am, you're becoming quite regular guests aren't you? Your table's over here," she led them back to the half concealed table, "and Sandy's your waiter again, she'll be with you shortly, in the meantime, can I get you a drink, from the bar perhaps?"

Harm looked across at Loren and said, "Uh maybe just a pitcher of iced water?" and receiving Loren's nod of agreement turned to the Maitre d' and said, "Yes, just the water, please."

With a smile the young woman left them at the table and went in search of the iced water. Barely had she gone when their waitress arrived with menus and wine list.

Their food, wine and mineral water ordered, they passed the time in casual conversation until Loren asked, "How come Mike is so ready to help me?"

"Well, I saved his six once, so when I asked him for a favour for a special friend, he said he'd be pleased to help out."

"Am I?" Loren asked so softly that Harm almost missed the question.

"Are you what, Loren?" He asked mystified.

"Am I really a special friend?" Loren was totally unaware of the look of desperate pleading that was in her eyes as she sought once more for reassurance.

Harm felt troubled as he detected that look, "Loren, you're a friend, and you're special, so in my book that makes you a special friend." But why, he wondered, her constant search for approval, for validation. There was a mystery here, and one to the bottom of which he intended to reach!

Their conversation reverting to more casual levels, they both took their time to enjoy their meal, both having selected a three-mushroom soup and a grilled chicken salad. As they laid their forks down and contemplated the last to inches of wine in the bottle, Harm looked at Loren and challenged her, "No lemon meringue, this week?"

"Not unless you want to share it with me!" She shot the challenge right back at him.

His hand went to his heart and he groaned, "You _are_ trying to kill me! How about if I shared it with you?" he asked, enjoying the momentary look of confusion on her face as she took in that what he'd said was what she'd already said.

"Oh, Mister Rabb, I am _so_ going to get you for that!" she laughed, and the sound of her laughter had other diners turning indulgent smiles towards their table.

Becoming conscious of the smiles directed at them and accurately guessing the reasons behind them, Loren flushed a fiery pink, and muttered, "Let's skip dessert and get out of here!"

"Uh... Loren, if we do that," Harm replied, equally aware of the thoughts of the other diners, "it will only confirm their worst suspicions. They'll think we left in a hurry so we could..." His voice trailed off in discomfort as his own colour rose, suddenly embarrassed by the turn the conversation had taken.

"Why Mister Butler!" he was suddenly faced by an apparently outraged Southern Belle, whose laughing eyes denied her assumed anger while her raised voice attracted the attention of their neighbours, "I do declare that you have positively only one thing on your mind!" and then continuing sotto voce, in a move clearly calculated to increase his embarrassment, "Do you have any idea just how cute you are when you go that particular shade of crimson?"

He glared at her across the table until her amusement became too much for him and he too broke into chuckles. Until the laughter on both sides faded and they were left staring and wondering at each other as tension between them arose

Fortunately the arrival of the Lemon Meringue Pie broke the spell and good natured squabbling over the choicest morsels dispelled the suddenly strained atmosphere, and so it was in perfect amity and companionship that they left the restaurant and returned to their rooms.

Waiting once more in the hallway to make sure that Loren was safely in her room, Harm found himself wondering if he was to receive another goodnight kiss from his special friend, who at the same time was fighting a battle with herself not to succumb to the almost overpowering temptation to do just that. Fumbling with her key-card, she finally opened the door, and with a falsely bright "Goodnight, Harm", closed the door on him and sagged against it with a feeling of relief. Chicken, the little voice jibed. Hey, hold on there partner, who the hell's side are you on anyway? Mine, the voice said.

Harm watched the door close behind her with mixed feelings of regret and relief.

**Saturday 24 February 2001, 2250hrs EST, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington DC (250350ZFeb01)**

Mac was tired; she had spent the day in heavy duty physical exercise; by occupying her body she had hoped to occupy her mind. She had gone to her local swimming pool where she had swum several laps and then jogged to her favourite gym where she had worked out, and then driven out to Rock Creek where she had run the trails for several miles and then gone back to the gym for a session with the weights and had finished up kick-boxing with a sparring partner. The result had been that she was too tired even to order a home-delivery pizza when she got home. She'd taken off her jacket and kicked off her shoes and was now sitting at her kitchen table still dressed in blouse and slacks, and cradling a mug of drinking chocolate that she had allowed to go cold. Her fatigue was not just physical but also emotional; and at the root of her emotional fatigue was resentment. She felt that she had been unfairly demoted. She had not told Mic to take a swing at Rabb, but she had carried the can for it. She was no longer the JAG's Chief of Staff and that notation on her file would probably carry more weight with any promotion board that that unfair letter of reprimand. Oh, God, that letter! It would probably be typed up by Tiner, or even worse one of the enlisted personnel specialists in the bull-pen; how the hell was she going to face them! Mic would be fine, he'd go back home to Australia, tell his 'mates' that he'd been canned for taking a swing at some big-headed Yank who'd pissed him off, then they'd all go for a few beers and have a laugh, while she would have to face the gossip and the sidelong looks and the sudden silences when she walked into a room, and worst of all that blonde bitch Singer, the cause of all her problems would slide. She would stand there in front of Chegwidden with those oh-so-innocent blue eyes and lisp that it wasn't her fault! For a few seconds she thought about resigning, but swiftly dismissed the idea. She was a Marine and Marines did not quit. No, she'd stay, work off her current disgrace and damn them all! She was a good lawyer, a good Marine and a good officer! And the hell with Rabb and his damn condescension! And, if she was going to be TAD'd off in the middle of an ocean somewhere then the sooner her orders were cut the better!

Her thoughts were disrupted by a loud knocking at her door, and cautiously she moved towards the door, her hand going towards the Beretta 9mm she kept behind the armoire just inside the entry, while she peered through the spy-hole. Breathing a sigh of relief she slid her firearm back into its hiding place and opened the door to her fiancé.

"Oh, Mic, I've been wondering where you were, I called your number, but all I got was your voice mail, and your cell 'phone's turned off."

"H'lo, Sarah love, I've been doin' some thinkin'."

Mac recoiled from the smell of stale beer on his breath, he hadn't just been thinking, he'd evidently been drinking too. She wished he wasn't quite so fond of beer, but from what she'd heard it was a cultural thing with Australians. As she stepped back, he reached for her to pull her in so he could kiss her, but she twisted away and said, "Not now, Mic, after you've brushed your teeth and sobered up a little, then yeah, maybe…"

"'M not drunk… Had a couple, yeah, but 'm not drunk."

"Mic, go take a shower, we need to talk… and there's no point in trying to talk while you're like this!" Mac was getting an edge to her voice, and her face was no longer as friendly and as pleased as it had been when she opened the door.

Mic made an effort to concentrate, "Don' need to talk, decision's been made for us, love. 'M kicked out of JAG, kicked outta the US. On my way back down under; you gotta come with me, Sarah."

Mac's eyes took the appearance of brown agate, hard and glittering. "That is what we need to talk about Mic. Go and take a shower, while I brew a pot of coffee."

"Don' need to talk about it, Sarah, love, 'm going back to Oz an' you're coming with me!"

"No Mic, I'm not; not while you're pressuring me like this... But that's all you've ever done isn't it? All you've ever done is put pressure on me to fall in with your plans, you pressured me into bed in Sydney, you pressured me into wearing your 'friendship' ring, you pressured me into becoming engaged to you, and now you're pressuring me to..." Sudden revelation struck her and the sheer reckless audacity of it rendered her speechless for a few seconds until she gasped, "That's what this afternoon was all about wasn't it? You figured that if you punched Harm then you'd be sent home and I'd take some of the fall out as well and my career would be over, and then I'd just... and... and I'd follow on like a... a... Stepford wife! How dare you! Well you were nearly right! My career _has_ taken a hit, but I'm a Marine and Marines don't quit, so Mic, I'm not running away _with you,_ and I'm not running away _from_ anything. What I am doing is this!" Her right hand went to her left and after a struggle she tore off his engagement ring and threw it at his feet.

"The damn thing always was too tight! We are over, Brumby! Get out!"

"It's him isn't it?" he yelled, "that bloody Septic flyboy of yours, the one you've been panting after for years!" Brumby's face was empurpled and the veins on his neck and forehead were clearly visible under his skin.

Furious and pale-faced Mac snapped at him, "Get out, now!" and she stepped past him to wrench open the door, but as she did, he grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.

"Let go of my arm, Brumby, or by Christ I'll..." Her vision exploded in a flash of white light and she felt a shocking pain in her left eye. She didn't feel the second punch, or the third, or the others that followed.


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 0221hrs EST, Boar's Head Inn, Charlottesville, VA, (250721ZFeb01)**

Harm was forced to the surface as an insistent pulsing ringing dredged him up from where he was snorkelling in warm, clear, blue waters above a wonderfully coloured coral reef teeming with a bright assortment of multi-hued fish and accompanied by the bikini-clad figure of... His eyes blurred open and recognising the sound as the ringing of his cell 'phone, he fumbled for the switch on the bedside light and squinted his now dazzled eyes at his watch, who the hell was calling him at twenty minutes past two on a weekend morning?

As his eyes ungummed, adjusted to the light and focused on the display he saw with a sinking feeling the caller ID 'Chegwidden'.

"Rabb," he rasped out.

"Commander, this is Chegwidden, are you properly awake?" The admiral sounded bone tired thought Rabb as he forced himself to sit up; not just bone tired but, defeated... no... that can't be right..., but "Yes, sir, I'm properly awake."

"Where are you Rabb?" No, this was more than fatigue or defeat, the admiral sounded upset, worried, in pain. But Chegwidden wasn't a man to let his emotions run riot.

"Uh, Charlottesville, sir. What's wrong, sir?"

"Commander, it's bad news..." Oh, God, Rabb's heart sunk and he felt a chill grip his stomach.

"Who, sir?" Fearing the worst, Rabb had had to lick his dry lips and swallow twice before he could get the words out.

"Colonel MacKenzie; Rabb, she's been attacked. I'm at the ER at Bethesda with her... The medicos think she'll make it, but... Look, Harm, I know you haven't been best friends recently, but she's still got you listed as her medical power of attorney and..."

Rabb threw the covers off and swung out of bed, "I'm on my way, sir!" Rabb was already in an agony of impatience and troubled thoughts raced each other through his mind, Mac was hurt, she was in ER and he was over a hundred miles away. He'd already let her down once this week, he couldn't, he mustn't let her down again. She should make it, the doctors say, but that means there's a chance that she won't. Oh God, marine, hang on in there, I'm coming.

"Thank you, Rabb."

"Hanging up now, sir." Rabb thumbed the end call button, and picking up the room's 'phone he dialled Loren's number. C'mon, c'mon, Loren, please pick up the damn' 'phone. He heard the ringing tone stop and then her sleepy voice, "H'lo...?"

"Loren, it's Harm. Sorry to wake you, but there's been an incident back in DC, the Admiral's just called me, and we need to leave now. Can you be ready to go in ten?"

"Uh, yes..."

"Good, meet me in the lobby ASAP, OK?"

"Sure, but..."

Loren, not now, please; this is bad enough, I need to get going, and I can't leave you stranded here. "I'll explain as much as I know once we're on the move, but right now let's just move, OK?"

"OK, Harm."

"Good girl. See you downstairs."

Loren was as good as her word, but it was still a sleepy eyed and puffy faced blonde who joined him in the hotel lobby. Whether it was because she was still half-asleep or whether it was because she had picked up on Harm's distress, she held her peace until they had checked out of the hotel and were strapped into the Corvette and heading north on the VA 20 before she asked, "What's happened, Harm?"

He glanced across at her, her expression, in the absence of street lighting, was impossible to read, but the tone of her voice was that of concern rather than that of annoyance at having been unceremoniously turfed out of a comfortable bed at an ungodly time of the morning, but he had an uneasy feeling that given the cause of the abrupt disruption of their weekend plans her attitude could change, and change very quickly, and the last thing he wanted was a drive back to DC with an extremely unhappy Loren Singer in the passenger seat.

"Uh, don't get mad, Loren..." He paused, trying to find the right words. How the hell was he going to explain his feelings and fears to Loren when he didn't really understand them himself? Yes, he was over Mac, in any sort of real, romantic sense that was, but they were as he'd said to the admiral, still friends, and it didn't matter that they were going through a stage of not liking each other at the moment. They had been there before and gotten over it and over themselves, so why should this time be any different?

Loren thinking he had finished cut in, "Why would I get mad, Harm? You said the Admiral called..." I wish, oh, I wish you'd just come right out and say what was wrong. Oh, crap! I'm beginning to sympathise with the Bitch-Colonel, she'd always said trying to get information out of Harm was like trying to bleed a stone!

Harm risked taking his eyes of the road for a second, trying to read Loren's face, then deciding that stringing things out could only hurt and not help matters he gulped and said, "It's Mac, Colonel MacKenzie," he added unnecessarily, "She's been attacked, and she's hurt. She's in Bethesda ER, and the Admiral said that the docs think she'll probably survive." He gritted his teeth and waited for her reply.

"MacKenzie's hurt? In hospital? Will _probably_ survive?" Loren wasn't really conscious of what she was saying, her brain had filtered what Harm had told her and had seized on the salient points. She despised MacKenzie, she loathed the very ground the woman walked on, so why now did she feel a chill clammy hand gripping her heart? Oh, God, if I'm feeling like this, what the hell is Harm going through, I know he's said he's over her, but they've been partners for years... "Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"Do we know what happened? How? Who?" Oh, please don't let it be rape or anything like that. _No _woman, no matter how much I might detest her, deserves that, so please...

"No, just that she's in the ER and the Admiral's there. Apparently they need me, I've still got her medical power of attorney..." his voice failing, he tried to face up to his worst fears, "and if... if she's on life support and... and they need to..."

"Yes." She was only capable of that one word answer, but she tried to pack into it understanding of what he couldn't quite bring himself to say, sympathy for his being in that position and to let him know of her support through whatever was to come.

Harm audibly sniffed and then coughed to clear his throat. He hadn't picked up on all the nuances of her reply, but he was thankful and somewhat relieved at her reaction, especially considering the state of hostility that existed between the two women. He reached out his right hand and finding her forearm, took it in a gentle squeeze, "Thanks Loren."

There being nothing more that could be usefully said, they allowed a warm companionable silence fall between them as Harm pushed the 'vette northwards towards Maryland.

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 0448hrs EST, Emergency Room, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (250998ZFeb01)**

Harm eased the Corvette into a parking slot a few yards from the ER's main entrance and turned the key in the ignition and felt more than heard the abrupt silence. He had been pushing the car all the way from Charlottesville and he had, he knew, broken just about every speed-limit in the book, and although he enjoyed driving fast, the worrying over Mac's condition on top of a short, interrupted sleep on top of yesterday's activities had left him not only tired but tense, which contributed further to his feeling of fatigue.

He unsnapped his seat belt, but to his surprise Loren made no move. "Loren?"

"H'mmm?" Her response was a reflex to hearing her name, but he realised that she had dozed off while he was driving. If she felt anything like he did, then it was no wonder that she had, he told himself, so reaching across he gently took her upper arm in his grasp and gave her an equally gentle shake.

"Loren, wake up, sweetheart, we're here." Crap! Did I just call her 'sweetheart'? I didn't mean that! It just sort tagged on to the end of 'wake up', I mean we're not sweethearts, no; definitely not! Still, she's asleep, maybe she didn't hear me!

Loren was responding to her name being called and to the gentle shake on her shoulder when she thought she'd heard Harm call her 'sweetheart'. For an instant she froze, and then almost immediately she relaxed, I must have imagined it, she told herself. He wouldn't call me sweetheart, not in a thousand years, although, it might be kinda nice if he did, especially if he meant it. But he'd said we were here. Where was here? Oh shit! Bethesda! With that realisation she came fully awake; all warm, fuzzy thoughts relegated to the back of her mind, as she remembered where they were and why they were here.

"Yeah, I'm back with the programme, Harm!" She reassured him through a yawn and although she was still rubbing her bleary eyes.

"Good, well done! Ready?" She could just make out his grin in the glow from the parking lot lighting, and although his words were encouraging there were signs of stress in his voice.

"Ready, aye, Harm". She unbuckled her seat belt and not waiting for him to reach her side of the car opened her door and slid out into the chill of the morning - a chill made more noticeable by its contrast with the warmth produced by the car's heating system. By mutual, if unspoken, consent they folded their arms about their bodies and headed at a brisk walk for the entrance.

Pushing open the doors they shuddered with relief as the warmth of the building enveloped them and a swift look around the ER reception area showed their CO rising to his feet and moving towards them. A J Chegwidden saw that Loren was with Harm, but dismissed that as a temporarily irrelevant detail that could be dealt with at a later date. He also saw the signs of tension and fatigue in the younger man and that Lieutenant Singer appeared to have just woken up. At that he did feel a tinge of annoyance, he had been on the verge of retiring for the night when he had received a call from the Metro Police informing him that one of his officers had been injured, and was on her way to Bethesda, and now another of his officers had turned up showing every sign of having been asleep. Even as the thought occurred to him he recognised it as the irrational product of a tired and worried mind.

"Commander, Lieutenant, good morning. Thank you for being so prompt." Again Harm heard the deep-down tiredness in the admiral's voice and saw it in his carriage. OK, the Old Man was worried about Mac, but this... fatigue... was beginning to look as if it were a chronic condition, but, and Harm put the admiral's possible problems to one side and concentrated on the matter in hand.

"Sir. How's Mac... er... the Colonel?" Harm couldn't keep the worry out of his own voice, I'm not even going to try and hide how I feel about this... once I've discovered how I feel. All I want to know at the moment is that Mac is going to pull through. All the rest of the crap we've been trying to deal with can wait until we know that.

Chegwidden scrubbed the palms of his hands across his scalp and sighed deeply. He didn't look much like a squared away navy officer at the moment, Harm thought, dressed as he was in baggy tan corduroy pants and a plaid shirt and apart from his obvious tiredness gave an impression of... depression?

"Mac's been badly beaten, Commander; she has several injuries and is unconscious. As far as I know at the moment she's scheduled for, or may even now be having, a CAT scan to check for brain damage."

"Do we know how, or who or when, sir?" Harm could feel his anger rise and a burning need in him to hit someone, or something to do something to vent his rage.

Chegwidden sensed his subordinate's rage, and said as calmly as he could, "Power down a bit, Harm. We don't know who or how, but we do know the when and where. Mac was attacked in her apartment at about twenty-three hundred hours, a neighbour heard the disturbance, and screamed, the attacker then ran off and the neighbour called the police. As soon as Metro Police discovered that Mac was Marine Corps they handed over the case to NCIS. Those two," he indicated with a jab of his thumb over his shoulder, are agents Franks and Gibbs; they're waiting to interview Mac as soon as she's able to speak."

"Rent-a-cops, sir?" Harm's voice was thick with derision. "I remember just how good they were in investigating Lieutenant Schonke's murder, sir! So I can expect to be arrested for this one too, can I?"

Chegwidden's choler rose, "Stand down, Commander!" He was familiar with the bungled investigation into Lieutenant Schonke's murder, and while he was not unsympathetic towards Harm's views, he was not about to tolerate being spoken to like that by a junior officer.

Simultaneously with his CO's rebuke, Harm felt a hand grip his forearm, and turning in surprise he realised that in his concern for Mac and with his anger at NCIS he had almost forgotten the presence of Loren. Trying to make silent amends, he gave her a quick smile of thanks and with his other hand reached across and covered hers where it still rested on his forearm.

"I'm sorry, sir," he finally managed, as he turned back towards Chegwidden, struggling to maintain his composure, "I guess I'm still not over the way that case was handled."

The admiral was quick to see the interaction between his two officers, and despite his concern for Mac, grinned wryly, it seemed that Rabb _was_ moving on in some directions, if not in others... "No, evidently not and... I can't really say that I blame you," he reluctantly conceded, "Come on, sit down, all we can do is wait until the medicos tell us what's happening."

The three navy officers chose seats away from the two NCIS agents, almost forming a huddle that excluded the outsiders. After a short time spent considering the little information that their CO had given them, Loren asked, "Sir, did the neighbour who alerted the police see the attacker, maybe gave them a description?"

Chegwidden shook his head despairingly, "Not one that is of any use, Lieutenant. All she could tell them was that he was a man, not young, but not old, and with maybe dark hair. She didn't see his face, only his back as he ran for the stairs."

"Sir," Harm interrupted, his forehead was creased in a frown of concentration as he ran various scenarios through his head; the lack of information was frustrating his attempts to even theorise what might have happened, "was there any sign of a break-in?"

Chegwidden was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands dangling limply, raising his head and one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose he looked at his officer, now the better of the two senior attorneys left to him. "Uh...I don't know, Rabb," he growled, "maybe the rent-a-cops, as you call them, might have some idea..." He twisted in his chair, "Agent Franks?" he called out.

The older of the two agents who had been resting with his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the wall behind him opened a world-weary eye and said in a disinterested voice, "Admiral?"

"Agent, this is Commander Rabb. He's Colonel MacKenzie's partner, and may have some insight as to what might have happened..."

"That's a lot of maybe's and might haves, there, Admiral." There was still no interest in the man's voice, although Loren noticed that he subtly placed his foot over his partner's and gently pressed down. She also thought she heard a sotto voce, "Easy, Probie."

Reaching out as if to lay a sympathetic hand on Harm's wrist, she turned so that her face was hidden from the NCIs Agents and mouthed "Watch them," at Harm.

"Well, Agent...?" Harm said, acknowledging Loren's intervention with a brief, gentle squeeze.

"Franks, Mike Franks," he stood up and stretched, and indicating his partner said, "this is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs."

Harm nodded in acknowledgement of the grudging introductions, "Did you visit the crime scene?"

Frank's eyebrows rose a little in surprise; he was accustomed to suspects being hostile, but he was taken a little unawares by the edge in Harm's voice. This officer obviously had some baggage with law enforcement, not, he reflected, unusual for attorneys, but there might be some mileage in checking out this particular Commander's background to see if there was some reason for his hostility.

"Well, we did manage to find the Colonel's apartment," he drawled, his voice roughened with the effects of too many years of smoking, "Mind you, it wasn't too difficult with all the Metro police cars and EMT buses with all their lights a-flashing. And o' course the yellow crime-scene tape was pretty much of a giveaway too; wouldn't you say so, Probie?" His last remark was apparently addressed to his partner, who merely grunted inarticulately in reply.

Harm bit back on his anger, the last thing this investigation need was some smart-ass, washed up and passed-over cop, "Was there any sign of a break-in, Agent Franks?"

Mike Franks looked at him from under half-closed eyelids. The man he was looking at was big and appeared fit; certainly big enough and strong enough to have inflicted the sort of injuries sustained by the Colonel, And with his hands in his pockets, it was impossible, for the moment, to see if he had any bruises or torn skin on his knuckles. But on the other hand, he had told the admiral that he was in Charlottesville, and he had turned up here with that pretty blonde girl in tow. Her alibi might be suspect, but if he had been in Charlottesville, then there should be a record of his being there, once he could be persuaded to give himself an alibi, but for the moment...

"No, Commander, there was no sign of a break-in?"

"How about her personal weapon?" Harm queried, "was it found with her?"

Both NCIS Agents dropped their facade of disinterest at the mention of a weapon; Franks' hand disappeared into his jacket and came out holding a notebook, while Gibbs came to his feet and turned an inquiring eye towards his partner. "What weapon would that be, Commander? Franks asked Harm.

"I'll take that as no, then, shall I?" sneered Harm, disgusted at the apparent lack of investigative skills shown by the pair.

Chegwidden's "At ease, power down, Commander," was only just audible to Harm and Loren as they sat no more than three feet away from him and although Franks and Gibbs might have heard a mutter, there was no way they could have heard what was said.

Harm shot his CO a glance and then, with a fair attempt at civility, although speaking as if to a particularly dense child said slowly and clearly, "Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, is the registered keeper of her own privately owned hand-gun. It is a Beretta ninety-two FS, nine millimetre, automatic pistol and is kept in a slide concealed behind the armoire just inside the apartment's door."

The two NCIS agents looked at each other and Gibbs said, "On it, Boss!" and fishing in his pocket for a cell 'phone, headed for the hospital doors to make a call.

Franks looked doubtfully at Harm, "You seem to know an awful lot about the layout of the Colonel's apartment, Commander."

The implication was not lost on Harm and turning pale with rage he started to rise but was restrained by Loren grabbing his arm and the admiral standing between him and Franks. Chegwidden glared at the agent, his face filled with disdain, "That comment, Franks, crossed the line. Of course the Commander knows the Colonel's apartment. They have been partners and friends for five years and more. You have obviously no idea how trial attorneys work. If they're co-chairing a case then they will need to work together, sometimes far into the evening. It's common practice for partners to do just that, right Lieutenant?" He turned to Loren for corroboration.

"Yes, sir, it is," she agreed, "I have never had occasion to work with the Colonel, but I could describe in pretty fair detail, Lieutenant Roberts' apartment, as well as Commander Rabb's, or Commander Imes' places, doubtless any of them could give a fair description of my home!"

Both Chegwidden and Harm had to resist the temptation to turn and stare at Loren. That she was on such terms with any other members of the JAGs to be able to describe their homes was news to them, well, not to Harm as far as it concerned his apartment. After all, she had had pretty well free rein to rummage through his place during his own recent stay in Bethesda.

Franks eyed them in a measuring manner from under his somewhat shaggy eyebrows before grunting, "Uh-huh. If that's so, then that would explain the Commander's familiarity with the Colonel's domestic arrangements."

Somehow the three naval officers knew that that grudging admission was about as much of an apology as they were likely to get from gruff man facing them.

The stand-off was brought to a close by the reappearance of Agent Gibbs, who brushing by Harm and Loren walked up to Franks and whispered something too quietly for anyone else to hear. Franks grunted again, this time in acknowledgement, and then turned towards Harm. "Well, your local knowledge is of some help, Commander, the weapon is exactly what you described and exactly where you placed it."

"And does that tell you anything, Agent Franks?"

Franks shrugged and said carelessly, "No, should it?"

Before Harm could erupt, Loren once again grabbed his forearm and the admiral placed a restraining hand on his chest, "Yes, it damn' well should, Franks!" the now also-angry admiral exploded. "The two facts that the weapon is in place and that there is no sign of forced entry should be screaming at you that the Colonel knew her attacker, and knew him well enough not to be afraid of him and to open the door to him!"

"Crap!" Shouted Harm, spinning on his heel, "Brumby!" and he strode towards the door.

"Commander, Halt!" bellowed Chegwidden, "Get your as... get your six back here!" His slightly shame-faced grin silently apologising to Loren for his near-slip.

"Sir, Commander," Loren added, "Please do as the admiral says and get your ass back here!"

Her own grin at the admiral and her free use of the word for which he had just apologised stunned the flag officer into silence for a moment, he then fixed her sternly with his eye and said, "Lieutenant, sometime in the not too distant future, you and I are going to have a conversation about appropriate language!"

To his surprise, Loren went crimson, oh no! Not now! She stormed silently to herself. It wasn't that much of a cuss-word, and she frantically fanned herself with her open hand. Oh, why couldn't I have been dark like him, instead of fair like her!

Chegwidden now found himself embarrassed at having caused his Lieutenant's embarrassment. The two avoided each other's eyes for a few minutes until a surreptitious glance brought accidental full-eye contact. Chegwidden was the first to recover his poise, and his "As you were, Lieutenant," brought relief as he turned towards the two NCIS agents.

"Agent Franks, we have a suspect for you, Lieutenant Commander Michael Brumby, Royal Australian Navy; he is the Colonel's fiancé, and until yesterday afternoon he was on secondment to my office. I ended that secondment due to his misconduct, and informed the Australian Naval Attaché of that termination. You might want to investigate his current whereabouts and see if he has an alibi for the time of the attack."

"Will do, Admiral," Franks replied, and turned to his partner, who before Franks could say anything, "Call the Australian embassy and find out what orders this Brumby guy has received; on it Boss!"

"Franks, have you got a duty officer at NCIS?" Harm demanded, digging his own cell 'phone out of his pocket.

"Sure do, Commander, what's on your mind?" Franks looked with interest at the naval officer. This guy knows or guesses something, I think we need to talk to him in private, and maybe read him his article thirty-one rights.

"Brumby's photograph won't be in the DoD data-base, but we do have his photo on file at JAG, for his security badge. If I call our duty Legalman then he can e-mail that across to your people at the Navy yard, and it should help in getting a BOLO out."

"That's good thinking Commander, but..." Franks paused and eyed Harm keenly, "you seem awful anxious to pin the blame for this on this Australian officer."

"That, Franks," the admiral interrupted coldly, is because Brumby is the most logical suspect. His secondment was terminated because of an assault committed in the JAG building, and with the exception of the Commander, here, I can't think of anybody else the Colonel would have opened her door to at that time of night!"

"Well, I reckon what you say makes a bit of sense, Admiral, but aren't you getting just a little target-fixated here?"

"Yeah, well you people would know all about that wouldn't you?" Harm jeered.

"That's enough, Commander!" A thoroughly irritated Chegwidden reprimanded him.

Both Gibbs and Franks observed this byplay with interest. There was definitely a strong undercurrent here. The officers standing glowering at each other were obviously concealing something, and despite Harm's dismissal of NCIS as rent-a-cops their investigative antennae were now on full alert, but before anyone could say or do anything further the tableau was disrupted by the entrance of a white coat and khakis-clad figure through the crash doors at the far end of the room.

The intruder stopped and looked around and said hesitantly, "Er... I'm looking for someone who might have any connection to Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie...?"

Harm, the admiral and Agent Franks all stepped forward at the same time, "I'm her medical power of attorney."

"I'm her CO."

"We're investigating the assault!"

The three all glared at each other, none of them willing to give way.

"Very well, I'm Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Richards. The Colonel has received a pretty through beating. Her injuries include fractures to her nasal bone, the left zygomatic arch, the left supra-orbital ridge, two fractures to her mandible, a dislocated left shoulder, a fracture to her left radius and ulna, and three broken ribs. Her CAT scan shows no signs of subdural hematoma, but so far she hasn't regained consciousness, and that concerns us a little, but neither is she showing any indication of internal haemorrhage. However, it may just be that her body has gone into a funk in order to protect itself. We are in the process of moving her up to ICU, where we shall keep her until she regains consciousness. I'm afraid, Agents, that she is unlikely to be able to answer any questions you might have for the foreseeable future, but I will have someone call you as soon as she is able, in my opinion, to give you lucid answers. Sir," he continued, turning towards the admiral, "again, there is not much you can do here for the present, may I suggest that you too go home and get some rest."

NCIS agents and admiral all recognising the wisdom of the doctor's advice, but not liking it, glumly nodded, as the doctor turned towards Harm and Loren, but before he could continue, Harm stated in uncompromising tones, "I am not leaving here while Mac is still unconscious," and turning towards his CO, he asked, "Sir, if you're going home, might I ask you to give Lieutenant Singer a ride back to Georgetown, please?"

The admiral looked closely at his officer; he was concerned at the level of rage Rabb was unsuccessfully trying to hide, and although his first instincts were to order the Commander to go home, he just knew that if he did so order him then Rabb would disobey that order and go hunting for Brumby on his own account. On the other hand, the admiral reflected, if Rabb was to stay by Colonel MacKenzie's bedside, then at least people would know where to find him, and he wouldn't be running around all over the Mid-Atlantic States on some half-assed search for retribution.

"Of, course, Rabb, I'll be happy to give the Lieutenant a ride home..."

Loren looked at the two men, her anger beginning to boil. "Just a moment, sirs!" she interrupted them, "I _am_ here, and I would like a say in what happens in _my_ life!"

"Oh, of course, Lieutenant," Chegwidden startled everyone, including himself with that remark, "I didn't mean to suggest..."

"By your leave, sir?" Harm cut in. The admiral began to fume, his temper already frayed by yesterday afternoon's events, the attack on MacKenzie and the almost run-in with the two NCIS agents now he was being subjected to constant interruptions, and they were not something to which he was accustomed.

"What?" His tone was flat and unfriendly, nearly as unfriendly as the level stare he turned on both Harm and Loren.

"Sir," Harm persisted, "I think I may have taken the Lieutenant by surprise. If I may have a few words with her, just to explain my thinking...?"

Both the admiral and lieutenant turned distinctly unfriendly eyes upon Harm and he inwardly gulped. Although he was fairly certain he could resolve the current situation once he had explained his thought to Loren, he definitely did not want to place himself in their combined sights again. Ever.

Harm took Loren's elbow in a firm grasp, ignoring her pointed look at his hand and her arched eyebrow, and led her away from their CO. "Loren, I'm sorry if I sounded dictatorial just then, but I need you to be away from the hospital for a while. Those clowns," he indicated Franks and Gibbs "are already half-convinced that I had something to do with the assault on Mac, and I'll bet that one of them will be keeping me company while I watch Mac. So there is not a hope in hell that I would ever be allowed anywhere near the crime scene. I need you to go home and get some sleep, because if you're willing to help, then I need you to be fully alert later. I'll call Bud a bit later and get him to swing by your place and then I need you both to go and interview the witness and see if you can get anything more out of her than the Keystone Cops there managed. OK?"

Loren searched his face with anxious eyes, he was supposed to be over Mac, he'd said as much, but now this had all blown up in their faces and he was being sucked back into the whirlpool that was the Harm and Mac relationship road show, and she wasn't sure she could stand seeing him having his heart broken again.

"Harm", she whispered, her throat already closing with potential grief, "are you quite, quite sure that you know what you're doing here? And why you're doing it?" And somehow without either of them really sure of how it happened, her right hand came up and to caress his cheek, and for a few seconds before they recalled their whereabouts and that they had an audience it felt right that it should be so.

Loren dropped her hand from Harm's face, just as his hand came up - to hold it in place? To snatch it away? He wasn't really sure, but the two of them stood for a moment more looking at each other in much the same way they had looked during dinner.

Harm was the first to break the sudden silence, "Er... yeah, so, if you could do that, please, Loren?"

Loren for once during a moment that could be described as intimate did not blush, but replied evenly, "Of course, I'll be glad to help any way I can, just don't ask Bud to come by too early?"

"No, no I won't, ten hundred hours suit you?" Harm asked, his voice distant, his thoughts a roiling turmoil. What had Loren, what had they just done? He risked an anxious glance at his CO and was not surprised to see the admiral glaring at them from under his brows.

"Ten hundred hours is fine, Harm. I take it that this will be a duty call?" She asked him, still worried about his reasons for plunging headlong back into Colonel Mackenzie's life, but knowing that nothing she could say or do would deter him, and that if she persisted in trying to dissuade him then she would end up asking him to make a choice between her and Mac, and that was not something she wanted to force him to do, even if she had been certain that he would choose her over Mac; and to be honest, when she weighed the short-term nature of their friendship against the five years that he had spent as a friend and a partner to the Marine, she was by no means certain that he would choose her. Pushing her concerns to one side, she smiled up at him once more, and then turned towards her CO, "Sir? If that offer of a ride still stands, I would appreciate it"

Chegwidden gazed at her for a moment, his face inscrutable, and then without changing expression he turned his eyes towards Harm, "Let me know the instant anything changes, Commander," and then looking back at Loren he forced a wintry smile on to his face and said, "Lieutenant, it will be my pleasure," stepping to the side and indicating that she should precede him to the entrance.

Mike Franks watched the admiral leave with his female officer and switched his gaze to Harm for a few moments in his turn before he looked at Gibbs and said, "Walk with me, Probie."

The two Agents walked towards the door, and Harm believing that they were quitting the hospital, shifted his attention to the Medical Officer, "When can I see her, Doc?"

Commander Richards looked at his watch and thought rapidly. The tall blue-eyed officer in front of him had already stated his determination to stay with the patient, and given the way his CO, an admiral, no less, had accepted that decision, Richards was rapidly coming to the conclusion that trying to keep the Commander away from his partner would be no easy task, and probably beyond his abilities. "If you can give us another ten minutes, Commander that should be sufficient time for us to be able complete the patient's move to ICU."

"'The patient's name is Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, Doctor. Try using it, you never know, it might even jar you into thinking that she's human!" Even as he said it, Harm knew he was being unfair. ER doctors didn't have time to get to know their patients, once the ER team had stabilised them they were handed over to ICU or the appropriate medical or surgical wards. Right now Harm didn't want to think about what happened to those patients the ER teams weren't able to stabilise.

For his part Richards had seen family and friends react in a variety of ways to the stress of having someone to whom they were close brought into the ER, and was quite happy to pass off what he considered to be a relatively minor outburst. Smiling sympathetically, he said, "Look, Commander, you seem pretty tired, why don't you just take a seat, and as soon as we get the... as soon as we get Colonel MacKenzie settled, I'll send someone down to take you to her room, OK?"

Harm sank back on to one of the fiendishly uncomfortable blue plastic chairs and bracing his elbows on his knees, covered his face with his hands for a few seconds before looking up with an apologetic grin, and muttered, "Yeah, thanks, Doc... and Doc?"

Richards looked at him enquiringly, "Yes?"

"Uh, sorry... about that... about flying out at you like that... it's just...", Harm's grin was a weak imitation of what Mac termed his fly-boy smile, but he didn't feel much like smiling tonight - no - this morning, and he really was feeling embarrassed about yelling at Richards.

"It's OK, Commander," the Doctor reassured him, "we get to hear a lot worse. Just stay put and I'll send someone down."

Harm relaxed as best he could in the plastic hell that was designed for someone at least six inches shorter than he was, but grateful for a chance of solitude to collect his thoughts, and try to formulate some kind of plan to have a twenty-four watch placed over Mac. He didn't think Brumby would attempt any further violence against Mac, if it had been Brumby that attacked her. Oh, he was pretty sure that it had been the Australian, but on the off-chance that the attacker had been someone else, an ex-con with a grudge perhaps, or a disgruntled victim who thought that Mac had unfairly got an offender acquitted; unlikely scenarios, it was true, but ones that couldn't be ignored just because it was convenient to believe Brumby had been the perpetrator.

His thoughts were cut short by a voice asking, "Commander Rabb, sir?"

Opening his eyes Harm found himself the object of the attentions of a doubtful-looking Petty Officer Corpsman Second Class.

"Yes, that's me..."

"Sir, if you'll follow me, I'll take you up to see the Colonel, sir."

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 0547hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (261047ZFeb01)**

Chegwidden pulled his big black SUV to a gentle halt outside Loren's apartment block, and looked across at her in the passenger seat; she seemed to be almost asleep. Hardly surprising thought the admiral. He had deliberately given her a testing assignment this last week in the full knowledge that she would have to burn the candle at both ends in order to meet the deadline he given her. She must have been exhausted before Rabb dragged her off to Charlottesville, and being woken again in the middle of the night can't have done her any favours either. He grinned to himself; she had almost surprised him with that review. She had done an extremely thorough job on reviewing the case, and although the findings and recommendations she had made had not followed the path he had hoped, he couldn't deny that she had come to the right conclusions. Maybe Rabb and Imes had been right after all, maybe there was a damn fine attorney hiding under all those ambitions and prickles. Thinking of which, he frowned; what the hell had she been thinking back there at Bethesda, stroking Rabb's face like that in a room full of witnesses - and two of them NCIS agents no less! He didn't care if they were dancing a horizontal tango all night every night as long as they kept it out of the office, but if he were to become aware on an official basis then he would have no option other than to take action, and if he left that action too late then two young people who didn't deserve it were likely to lose their careers and quite possibly their liberty. Damn the stupid girl! Why the hell didn't she have the sense to keep her hands to herself in public! The anger rising in his throat roughened his voice as he snapped, "Lieutenant! We're here!"

Wow, talk about _déjà vu_ Loren thought as she struggled awake again, fortunately remembering who was driving before she made a flippant remark. "Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to doze off!"

"No, I believe that Lieutenant, but I suppose you did mean to stroke the Commander's face in public!"

Oh crap! Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! Thank God it's too dark that he can't see me a panic-stricken Loren thought as she felt her face grow so hot that she thought her skin might melt. Desperately seeking for a soft answer with which to turn away the admiral's wrath, she blurted out, "Just worried about a friend sir! And trying to offer comfort for his hurt, sir!"

"What hurt, Lieutenant?" Chegwidden's voice made it obvious that Loren's answer had done very little, if anything to turn away his anger.

Loren drew a deep breath, "Sir, I'm still trying to figure this out myself… so can I ask you for a little patience, while I try and work my way through it?"

Chegwidden was struck by the openness and the earnestness in his lieutenant's voice, and nodded, "Go ahead," and if his tone wasn't exactly amiable, at least it wasn't as brusque as his opening question.

"Sir, I get that the Commander and the Colonel have been long term partners and very good friends. And I'm not totally stupid, I know that some members of staff have thought, or even maybe hoped that their friendship would develop into something more… intimate. But what I have seen since I have been here is a woman mistreating a man who loved her, and did it to such an extent that she hurt him and hurt him badly. If she had been open and honest with him and had said right from the get go that there was never going to be a 'them', he might have been able to get on with his life. But she wasn't that kind, sir! She's kept him dangling on a string with half-promises and ifs and buts and maybes, until she finally took Brumby's so-called friendship ring and wore it as an engagement ring. Sir, I don't know if men see the same thing as women do, but that one act nearly killed him. If you could have read the misery in his eyes…" her voice died as she fought to bring her feelings back under control, "It's taken him months to get over that Admiral, and he was just beginning to heal and enjoy life again, now she's hurt and he's gone running to look after her. And I'm so afraid that she'll just use him as crutch again, suck him in and chew him up all over again and then just spit him out.. I just wanted to remind him that she isn't his only friend…"

The abject misery in her voice as she finished her explanation tugged at even the admiral's hardened heart strings, and as he considered her words about Mac's behaviour, a mental image formed of her deliberately kissing Brumby in front of Rabb, and his own reflections that MacKenzie only ever seemed interested in Rabb when she wanted something from him, or when he showed interest in another woman, or worse, when another woman showed interest in him.. "Alright, Lieutenant, we'll let it go at that, but remember two things, one: avoid any public displays of affection while you are in uniform or while you are on navy premises, and two: If things change, if you and the Commander…" Chegwidden broke off, uncertain how to proceed with that sentence, "Well, come and talk to me! I might be able to help!"

Loren blushed, again thankful that it was still too dark for her CO to see her face, "Yes, thank you, sir. We… er… I will, sir!"

"Good. Now, go and get some sleep, Lieutenant," the admiral's eyes tried to penetrate the gloom of the interior of his vehicle; there was something almost expectant about the lieutenant, as if she was waiting for something. What had Rabb said to her in those few seconds of private conversation? He can't have been whispering romantic sweet nothings in her ear, but… he might well have been giving her a briefing. Of course! He knew that he wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the crime scene, at least not if NCIS had any say in the matter, but Lieutenant Singer might just be able to garner some scraps of evidence that could help in putting away whoever had attacked Mac! Fighting down his anger and fear, the admiral forced his voice to remain level as he continued, "I have no doubt that Commander Rabb has some work lined up for you later today!"

"Yes, sir," Loren replied as she opened the car door, "and, sir, thank you for the ride home…"

Chegwidden grunted in acknowledgement of her thanks and waited until he saw that she had entered her apartment building, before picking up his cell 'phone and speed-dialing a number. "Hello, Gunny? This is Admiral Chegwidden. Listen carefully…"

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 0612hrs EST,** **NCIS Operations Bull-pen, Navy Yard, Washington DC (251112ZFeb01)**

The tall, thin African-American woman swivelled her chair away from her work station and twisted towards where Franks and Gibbs were poring over a photograph of Lieutenant Commander Brumby, Royal Australian Navy and trying to match it with the scanty description furnished by the crime scene witness, "Boss, Gibbs," she called indicating her computer screen, "you might want to take a look at this!"

The two men straightened up and lounged over towards her, "Whattya got, Owens?" Mike Franks asked her.

"Oh, just a little history on Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior," she grinned at her team leader, "In May '96 we arrested him for the murder of a Lieutenant Diane Schonke, but he was never charged." She pressed a key and an image of a Navy Lieutenant Appeared in the top left hand corner of the screen. "The file on that one remained open until March '98, when a letter from Schonke surfaced in Rabb's possession. The letter included a draft petition for redress of grievance against a Commander Holbarth, the XO on Lieutenant Schonke's ship. Rabb, accompanied by MacKenzie, and a Lieutenant Roberts, Navy," she paused for effect and was rewarded by seeing the two male agents exchange a look as Franks raised his eyebrows, "went to meet Holbarth's ship at Norfolk and confronted him with the evidence. Holbarth apparently panicked and went over the edge of the dock and kissed the camel."

Mike looked at Gibbs and then back at Owens, "That's a whole heap of coincidence, boys and girls, but it don't amount to more 'n a hill of beans."

"Maybe not, Boss," Owens seemed to agree with him, "but you might find this interesting..." pressing another key she brought up another photograph and sent it to the top right hand corner of the screen, "Gentlemen, meet Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, last night's victim!"

The two men stared, dumbfounded at the twin images on the screen. "Well, I'll be..." Franks breathed, while Gibbs stared through narrowed eyes as he took in the striking resemblance between the two women. One dead, one alive - if only just - and both connected to Commander Harmon Rabb.

Gibbs looked at Franks, his face expressionless but his eyes hard, "Bring him in, Boss?"

Franks thought for a moment and then agreed, "Yeah, bring him in, Owens, go with him."

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 0715hrs EST, SICU, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (251215ZFeb01)**

Harm had been sitting by Mac's bedside for over an hour. He smiled wistfully, if she had been awake, she could have told him down to the last second exactly how long he had been there. But at the moment she wasn't saying anything.

His first sight of her had horrified him. It wasn't just that the huge vivid bruises, bright red and purple contrasted with the stark white of the bed-linen, or that her nose, hell the whole of her face, was so grotesquely swollen that her eyes were forced shut, or even the fibre glass cast on her left forearm. All her injuries looked bad enough, but there was something else too. It wasn't that she looked so small lying in that hospital bed, or even that she looked so... broken... and... vulnerable, but she looked diminished... lessened.

He had pulled a chair up to the side of her bed, carefully avoiding the wires and tubes that led from her body to a battery of high-tech medical machines that hissed, whirred and bleeped, and had taken her right hand gently in both of his and rubbing the ball of his thumb against the back of her hand he whispered, "Hey, ninja-girl, wake up there. C'mon Mac, wake up; wake up Marine, I need you to wake up, Mac". And he kept on whispering to her to wake up; it became his mantra as his whole being concentrated on somehow penetrating her veil of unconsciousness.

"Commander, sir?" The familiar voice startled him; he had been concentrating so single-mindedly on Mac that he hadn't heard the door open, and twisting round he saw Gunnery Sergeant Galindez dressed in BDUs holding the door open. The fact that the Gunny was still wearing his cover indoors drew Harm's eye by reflex to the Marine NCO's waist belt on which was clipped a holstered sidearm.

"What are you doing here, and what's all the hardware for Gunny?" Harm asked Galindez, even though he had a sneaky feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Admiral's orders, sir." The impassive Gunnery Sergeant wasn't giving anything away. Besides, he wasn't quite sure how he stood with the Commander right now. He had naturally, but silently, supported the Colonel, a fellow Marine in her fight with the Navy Lieutenant, but he couldn't help but remember how much warmer and friendlier that lieutenant had been since she'd started associating - if that was the right word - with the Commander.

Galindez sighed quietly to himself and added a few words of explanation, "The Admiral is pretty certain that the Colonel is safe enough for the moment, sir. But he wants to make sure of that. I've left word with Staff Sergeant Walters at the CP to get a security detail up here. But until he gets his ass in gear, I'm it. The Admiral's orders are that nobody except medical, nursing and JAG staff are allowed into this room, and he's given me pretty robust ROEs, sir." Galindez reflected for a few moments, "Not that he needed to sir, the Colonel's one of our own!"

"Semper Fi, Gunny?"

"Oorah, Sir!" and on that encouraging note, Galindez closed the door and took post at 'Parade Rest' squarely in front of it. While almost dismissing out of hand the admiral's fears for Mac's safety, Harm couldn't help but be reassured by the presence the experienced and dependable Marine NCO, besides, as he'd said, 'Semper Fi;' the only way an intruder could get into Mac's room was over Galindez's dead body, so Harm returned to his whispered mantra of encouragement to get Mac to return to consciousness.

So absorbed was he in talking to the unconscious woman that it was some time before he became aware of raised voices in the hallway outside. Looking over his shoulder he could see that Galindez was involved in an argument with a tall, black woman and someone else who for the moment was out of his line of sight. Getting to his feet he opened the door to see Galindez facing off the woman and NCIS Agent Gibbs. The atmosphere was electric and Harm saw with shock that Galindez's pistol holster was unfastened and that his hand was on the pistol butt.

Harm was about to intervene when a flurry of movement along the hallway caught his attention. A stout woman in maybe her mid-forties dressed in khaki's with a Nursing Corps badge and a Captain's Eagle on her collar swept down on them.

"What the hell is going on in my hospital?" she demanded in no-nonsense tones, and without waiting for an answer turned toward the Gunnery Sergeant and barked, "Stand down, Gunny! Secure that weapon!"

Marine Corps discipline swept into effect and Galindez snapped to attention with a crisp "Aye, aye, ma'am!"

Much to the surprise of Harm, Galindez, Agent Owens and the Nursing Captain, Gibbs' reactions were almost the same, although he aborted his spring to attention and his own crisp "Aye, aye, ma..." faded off into silence, losing its crispness somewhere along the way.

"Huh!" The Captain snorted, "That figures! Any time there's an uproar in my hospital, it has to be a pair of damn' Jarheads at the bottom of it! So, does anyone here want to tell me what this fuss is all about?"

Gibbs flashed his badge and his ID, when he spoke his voice was overloaded with exaggerated patience, "Special Agent Gibbs, this is Special Agent Owens, NCIS. We're here to take the Commander to the Navy Yard for questioning concerning the assault on Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie."

The Colonel shot a glance at Gunny Galindez, "What's your story Gunnery Sergeant?"

"Ma'am, I was just doing what I was ordered."

"What orders, Gunnery Sergeant? And given to you by whom?" The Captain wanted to know, evidently still not happy with the potential crisis in _her_ hospital. Harm looked at her and considering her age, her air of command and the Eagle on her collar he assumed she was the Head Nurse, and the Head Nurse of an institution like the National Naval Medical centre was a woman of influence and authority, and not someone to piss off.

Galindez replied to her question with clarity, accuracy and brevity, "Ma'am, my orders were given to me personally by the Navy JAG. I was not to admit anyone to the Colonel's room unless they were medical, nursing or JAG staffers."

"I see," The Captain commented and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Gibbs, evidently waiting to hear what he had to say.

"We just wanted to talk to the Commander, and the Gunny wasn't about to let us, Captain. So I guess you could say things got a bit heated for a moment or two." Gibbs was feeling defensive, a condition to which he was unaccustomed and definitely one which he didn't like, almost as much he told himself as he didn't like the arrogant son-of-a-bitch JAG lawyer stood in front of him.

Harm gave a short bark of sarcastic laughter, which did nothing to raise his popularity with the NCIS agents, "Don't you rent-a-cops ever learn? Before you start fishing for your cuffs, why don't you try asking the basic questions that any half-smart rookie beat cop knows to ask? Why don't you try... oh, let's say... just as an example, 'Where were you Commander, at approximately twenty-three hundred hours last night?' And I could answer, 'I was in bed at the Boar's Head inn in Charlottesville, and before you ask, I was alone in my room. But Lieutenant Singer and about half the guests in the Inn as well as the restaurant staff will be able to tell you that I was having dinner in the restaurant with Lieutenant Singer from about twenty hundred hours until gone twenty-two hundred hours! Get a goddam clue agent!"

Gibbs face darkened, he was angered at the sneering nickname given to him and his partner by Rabb, but also seemed taken aback but the directness of Harm's attack and queried gruffly, "If that's so, then why didn't you tell us?"

Harm rejoinder was instant, "Why didn't you try asking?" He was furious with the seeming ineptitude of NCIS, and still angry over his arrest for the murder of Diane all those years ago. "Look, Agent Gibbs, I'll try and put this into words of one syllable so that even NCIS can understand: I. Did. Not. Hit. The. Colonel. Oh, wait, I'm sorry, 'Colonel' is more than one syllable, shall I try and explain it a bit more clearly?"

The scathing contempt in Harm's words caused a rush of blood to Gibbs' face and he stepped forward into Harm's personal space. "This isn't over, Commander!" he warned between gritted teeth.

Harm didn't back down an inch; he locked his eyes on Gibbs' and jeered, "No, it's not, not until you find the man who did that! If you think you have enough evidence, then get a warrant for my arrest, if not, then... get going, do your job, and find the man who did that," he indicated the battered and still unconscious figure of Mac, now visible through the open door, "to my partner!"

The Captain looked from Gibbs to Harm and back again, "Do you have a warrant for the Commander's arrest, Agent Gibbs?" Harm thought she'd make a damn good lawyer, she was asking a question to which she already knew the answer, and despite himself he couldn't help a flicker of a grin as he guessed what was coming.

"No, Captain." Gibbs knew she had him backed into a corner, and the least painful way out would be to submit to her handling of the situation.

"And," she continued remorselessly, "having heard that the Commander has an alibi for the time of the attack, do you consider that you have sufficient exigent circumstances to arrest him without a warrant?"

Damn, Harm thought, she _is_ good!

Gibbs was forced to admit, grudgingly, "No, Captain, not as things stand..." and he signalled to the still- silent Agent Owens that they should leave, adding to Harm as he did, "If we find out you had anything to do with this..."

Harm looked at him in amazement. He had just provided Gibbs with a rock-solid alibi that could be checked by a simple 'phone call and the idiot still wanted Harm to be the guilty party! All this on top of the total screw-up they had made of Diane's murder investigation, and people wondered why he had no faith in NCIS!

He was recalled back to the present by a sharply spoken, "Commander!" coming from the Nursing Captain. He turned his blue-grey eyes towards her and responded politely, "Ma'am?"

"This is the last time, Commander! Any further disruption of my hospital, particularly in ICU, and I will have you escorted from the premises, under armed guard if necessary!" She huffed and exhaled slowly, "I would really like to tear you a new one Commander, but I got a coupla 'phone calls to make. And you, Gunny!"

"Ma'am!" Galindez stiffened to attention.

"Would you have used your weapon, Gunnery sergeant?"

Galindez looked at her impassively, "I guess we'll never know, now ma'am!"

She nodded to them both and turned to stride back down the hallway, the rubber-necking members of her staff who had been attracted by the argument making haste to appear busy as she approached. As Harm grinned appreciatively at the sight and turned back towards Mac's bedside he thought he heard Galindez mutter, "Damn' straight I would!", but a swift glance at the Marine showed him taking up his position of 'Parade Rest', his face once again expressionless.

Harm resumed his seat next to Mac's bed and once again threading his hand through the forest of tubes and wires that seemed to sprout from every square inch of her battered body he gently squeezed and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, "C'mon Mac, wake up Marine... Please."

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 0821hrs EST, NCIS Sedan Car en Route from Bethesda to Navy Yard, Washington DC, 251321ZFeb01**

Gibbs drove fast, concentrating furiously on the road and on the traffic. Owens having seen him in this mood on other occasions held tight to the handstrap above her right shoulder and avoiding talking or even looking at him. Gibbs swerved violently past the car in front that he considered to be driving too slowly and cut in across three lanes of traffic as he sought for the next clear stretch of asphalt. He continued driving like that for a few more miles until he was forced to stop for a traffic signal showing red. Silently fuming, he finally slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and almost screamed, "Damn him! The bastard set me up!"

Owens blinked startled out of her silence, "Rabb?" she queried.

"No!" Gibbs, to her surprise was beginning to show the start of a grin, "That old bastard Mike Franks!"

"But, how? Why?" Owens was at a total loss, especially as she saw that Gibbs' grin had absolutely nothing of humour in it.

"I dunno why, Owens, but I'll bet you a steak dinner that he knew that Rabb had a solid alibi! What the hell is that devious old man playing at?"

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 0955hrs EST, SICU, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (251455ZFeb01)**

Three of the JAG USMC Security Detail had arrived a short while ago, relieving Galindez of his post, and while two of them sought refreshment in the cafeteria, the third Marine, a broken-nosed Corporal whom Harm knew by sight had taken up an unsmiling post outside the door to Mac's room. Twice since Gibbs' departure a nurse had quietly entered the room and checked the various humming, chirping and bleeping machines that were still attached to Mac, and on the second visit had replaced the bag on the IV that led into her left forearm.

Harm had barely paid them attention, nurses he had discovered recently, were not his favourite people but he paid them the compliment of assuming that they were good at their job, and were only doing as the doctors had instructed them. And it was the doctors for whom he was reserving his questions. He knew enough of hospital procedures to be sure that at some stage this morning an attending physician or surgeon would look in on Mac to check on her progress; in the meantime he continued his soft spoken mantra, "C'mon ninja-girl, wake up Marine, wake up Mac..."

His urgings were interrupted by a muffled groan from the figure in the bed and for a moment Harm was still and silent. Did I just imagine that, or not? He asked himself, but then he heard another groan and saw Mac's head move restlessly on the pillow, the movement accompanied by a louder moan of pain.

Taking a firmer grip of her hand he said urgently, "Mac, don't move, don't try to speak, if you can hear me, just squeeze my hand..." he held his breath and was almost sure he felt the pressure from her fingers. He drew a breath, "Mac, you've been hurt, don't try to talk, your jaw's been wired together, and your eyes are swollen shut, do you understand? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no..."

A squeeze, followed by another, "Damn! Mac, this is Harm, can you hear me?"

A single squeeze. Thank God, he thought, she's still with me. "Mac, I'm going to let go of your hand, just for a second to call a doctor..." as he loosened his grip her own hand tightened around his and she pulled at him with as much strength as she had left.

"What's up? You don't want me to let go?" His voice spoke of the worry that was consuming him. He wanted to call for medical advice, but at the same time he didn't want to let Mac think that he was abandoning her.

"Just let go just for a second, please, Mac..."

A wavering moan accompanied by her head turning against the pillow was enough to crack his resolve, and worry stark in his blue eyes he said soothingly, "Alright, Marine, I'm here," and he tenderly brushed a tendril of her hair away from her forehead. Looking around the room trying to figure a way of reaching the bell-button to call for help, his eye alit on the Marine Corporal at the door. "Corporal! Get in here!"

The door flew open and the Corporal, hand fumbling at the holster flap release catch looked swiftly around the room and barked, "Sir?"

"Corporal, do you see that cord hanging on the bed-head, there's a call button on the end of it. Press it!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

Within seconds it seemed the room was invaded by a coterie of white-coated nurses and doctors, all jostling around the bed and forcing Harm, despite Mac's despairing moans, to release her hand. As the bustle of the invasion subsided Harm could see that there were only one doctor and three nurses, but with the amount of space taken by the high-tech medical appliances there wasn't a lot of free room for idle bystanders and Harm was forced into a corner.

After a few minutes consultation, the two nurses left the room, while the doctor sat on the edge of the bed and signalled for Harm to sit down again, next to the now visibly distressed Colonel. As he did so, the doctor looked across at him and mouthed, "Talk to her".

Harm picked up Mac's hand again and was surprised by the fervour with which she grabbed hold of it. "Mac, it's me again, are you OK with that?"

A single squeeze told him that she was happier now that he was back in physical contact with her, and her breathing rate steadied.

"Hi, Colonel, I'm Doctor Sutherland. You're in Bethesda Naval Hospital. Do you understand that?"

"M'mm"

"No, don't try to talk, Colonel. You've got some pretty nasty injuries, and they're going to hurt for a few days. You can't see right now, because your eyes are swollen shut. Do you understand that?"

"Mmmurt, noostoopd."

"OK, OK, I get it, but try not to talk. I'm going to ask you some questions. They'll be yes or no answers. Squeeze the Commander's hand once for yes, twice for no, got it?"

"Aaaarm?"

"Yeah, I'm here Marine, you're going to be fine, we're going to take good care of you, OK?"

The single squeeze told him that she'd heard, understood and believed him, and he nodded across the bed at Sutherland.

"In a few minutes, Colonel, a nurse is going to come back with a couple of chill packs and put them on your face to help bring down the swelling, once the swelling's down you'll be able to open your eyes and things won't be so scary. Do you understand?"

Another single squeeze, followed by Harm's nod to the doctor.

"OK, Colonel, I'm going to leave you with the Commander now, he knows to call me if you should need anything. Commander, if the Colonel needs anything other than a drink, press the call button. If she wants to drink, there's water in the jug, a glass and a drinking tube. Tell her to take it easy, with those broken ribs we don't want her going off into any choking fits. Got it?"

"Yeah, thanks, Doc."

Sutherland left Harm and Mac alone in the room, and silence fell. Mac lay in darkness, unable to see and totally dependent on her other senses. She could feel Harm's warm, gentle and comforting grasp on her hand, and a single frightened tear escaped from the corner of her right eye and trickled down her cheek, and as if in sympathy she felt a splash, a single splash of warm water on the back of her hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 13255hrs Local, SICU, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (251825ZFeb01)**

Harm's eyelids fluttered as he awoke slowly. His neck ached, his back hurt his eyes felt as if they had been glued shut and his mouth tasted like the bottom of a parrot's cage, and as he regained consciousness, he became aware of further discomfort. There was a peculiar antiseptic smell in his nostrils and his left hand felt as if it was clamped in a vice. The smell and his aches and pains reminded him of the all too often times he had been in hospital. It was with that thought that he finally jerked awake. Dammit! He was in hospital, but this time he wasn't the patient. Then as memory started to function it came back to him; the patient was Mac. Finally, now fully alert he forced himself to sit up from the slouch into which he had fallen as he slept and anxiously looked at his partner.

It was the sound of a nurse checking Mac's vital signs that had awoken him. The low pitched humming sound of the various machines must have acted like a lullaby. Mac was still lying motionless in the bed. Why he wondered was she still unconscious, or was she merely drugged? If so, it must have been a hefty dose he thought can't help but wonder what they gave her to put her out so completely. A second thought crossed his mind, did they know about her past addiction? He would have to find some way of letting them know about her reluctance to touch drugs of any sort. He grinned wryly; it was a hell of a job just to get her to take aspirin for a headache!

"Excuse me?" The nurse turned at the sound of his voice.

"Yes, of course. Are you her husband?" Her voice was low pitched and rich with a hint of an accent from somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, although tinged with a hint of suspicion.

"No, but I hold her medical power of attorney. I'm her friend and work partner. I was wondering how much longer she's going to be unconscious. It seems like she's been out a long time."

She checked her watch. "Not really. She was given a dose of sedative at eleven o'clock. Each dose is supposed to last for four hours. So it should start to wear off in about an hour."

"All right. Thank you."

She continued. "If you'd like to eat, it might be better if you did so now, she'll probably want to see you here when she wakes."

"That's a good idea. Thank you." He wasn't sure he wanted to leave her alone, but the thought of food was tempting and he could definitely need the coffee - even hospital vending machine coffee was better than no coffee at all.

The nurse spoke again. "When your friend begins to wake, you should talk to her Even though her eyes are closed, she may be able to hear you. The sound of your voice will help, and you should touch her gently, perhaps hold her hand. You want her to know that you are here."

He nods. "I'll do that. Thank you for the advice." He bit his lip and leveled his eyes on the nurse's face. "I've never seen her like this. Is she really going to be all right?"

"Yes, she is. She's strong and healthy. She'll be fine in no time." She smiled in attempt at reassurance. "Now get yourself to the commissary and get something to eat. It's going to be a long afternoon for you. The Marine at the door'll protect your partner while you are gone."

So, Gunny's security detail was still here. That was a comfort, but even so, he didn't feel like leaving Mac alone.

"I'm going." He tried a smile, but it didn't quite come off, and made as if to follow the nurse from the room, but after standing he turned and looked back at Mac, and decided that food and coffee could wait.

"Mac? C'mon, Marine. Wake up and get with the programme. Mac, I need to know you're going to be OK, Mac I need you to tell me you're going to be OK. C'mon MacKenzie, you're a kick-ass Jarhead, you're not going to let a few bumps and bruises throw you like this. C'mon, Mac, please, Mac." For a second there, his heart leapt as he thought she might be starting to wake up, but was then disappointed that she didn't. This was beginning to make him crazy. He wondered if a direct order would work. Then again, when did she ever listen to him?

He rubbed her arm, negotiating a path around and between the tubes and IVs and monitor wires. He thought that constant beeping of all the fancy machines would have woken her up. And although he'd thought their humming had soothed him to sleep earlier, he now found that the noise was beginning to get on his nerves.

"Mac? C'mon Ninja-girl, please wake up. You're beginning to scare me, Mac."

She seemed to be sleeping, although with her eyes forced short by the swollen flesh of her face it was hard to tell, but she wasn't tossing and turning or muttering. True, her hand had been clinging on to his as if he was her lifeline, but she had clutched him so fiercely before he had fallen asleep that her grip was no guarantee of her condition. However, when he retook his seat and placed his hand on hers he was as reassured by her resumption of her grip as he was by the nurse and the various machines that hummed, whirred, beeped and clicked and the displays on the monitors that showed that Mac's body was still functioning. His own experiences as a patient taken together with his curiosity had gained him some familiarity with the less esoteric displays and he was comforted to see that Mac's blood pressure, although slightly elevated was within what he felt were acceptable limits, as were her heart rate, and if he was reading the display correctly, her oxygen saturation levels. Although determining to get confirmation from trained medical staff, he felt slightly reassured and Harm was able to relax slightly as he studied the visible damage done to Mac.

Now that he had overcome the initial shock caused by his first sight of her lying unconscious in the hospital bed, he was able to take a more dispassionate view of her injuries, but not, his anger roared afresh, of how she came by them. The strength of his rage made him blink. Why did he feel so outraged by what had happened to Mac? He was over her, in any sort of romantic sense, her behaviour since their return from Australia and the constant ache of seeing her cosying up to that... that... Australian had effectively killed any love he might have felt. So why was he so blazingly angry at what had happened to her? It was the righteous anger he told himself that he would have felt if any of his co-workers had been so brutally beaten. Or was it? Would he have been so mad if it had been the Admiral, or Bud lying in that bed, of course he would... no, actually, he wouldn't. He'd be mad, sure, but not feel the tremendous rage that he felt now... but what if it had been Harriett, or Kate, or Megan? Yes, he would have been incandescent. So, he was angry because it was a woman co-worker that had been attacked. Dammit! He knew better than that, that sort of chauvinism was, or should be, long dead! But Mac, wasn't just a co-worker, she was a friend. Despite recent events, despite the arguments, despite her antagonism, they had so much history between them that an attack on her was bound to affect him. It would affect him just as much if...oh, God, what if it _had_ been Loren...? He closed his eyes as that thought struck him; he could not, would not even think of that possibility.

"Commander?" The soft voice brought his head whipping around to the doorway. Harriett Sims stood there, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and an uncertain smile on her face.

"Hey, you," he smiled at her, "Where's Bud?"

Harriett's face fell, and her eyes took on the sheen of excess moisture, "Oh..." she faltered, "You're still mad at me, I guess. I'll get Bud for you..." Her voice trailed off and she turned to leave.

"Harriett! No! Wait, please!" Harm gave himself a savage mental kicking. He had been so focussed on Mac and his thoughts that he had genuinely forgotten the discussion he had had with Harriett just the previous day. God! Was it only yesterday? No, it was Sunday now, so it was the day before yesterday, but even so...

Harriett Sims heard the appeal in what could have been a command, and stopped, turning back to face him, "Sir?" she quavered.

"Harriett, I'm sorry, that wasn't meant to be a snub... I'm not mad at you," he dragged a hand down his face, "I guess, I'm still a little short of rest and then..." he indicated in a vaguely helpless manner the still form lying under the hospital blanket, wishing that he could find the magic words that would bring Harriett's usual sunny smile back. "I just wasn't expecting to see you here without Bud is all..." He let his voice die as he fumbled to explain what Harriett had taken as a crashing set-down. Huh, some smooth-talking lawyer I turned out to be, he castigated himself, when will I ever learn to think before I speak?

"Oh, Bud's with Little A J sir," Harriett sniffed, "we didn't think it would be good for him to see his Aunty Mac looking like... looking like... well, like that..."

"No, you're right. It wouldn't be good for him at all. So, sit down Harriett, it's not far off fourteen-hundred hours, and there should be some sort of doctor coming round soon..."

Harriett managed a watery smile, as she pulled one of the plastic chairs nearer to Mac's bed. She knew deep within herself that Harm hadn't meant to be cruel, and that she should have remembered that he didn't react very well to surprises, especially when, and she looked at him more carefully, he was so tired. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Sir, have you been here all the time since the Colonel's been here?"

"No, we were in Charlottesville when I got A J's, Big A J's," he clarified with a tired grin, "call at about oh-two-thirty hours, so about oh-four-hundred, I guess, by the time we got here."

"And you've been here, right here, ever since?"

Harm grinned somewhat sheepishly, he had a feeling that Harriett was about to burst into her famous 'supermom' mode. "Uh, yeah, well... more or less..."

Harriett's sizeable bosom swelled with maternal indignation, the hard words between her and one of her oldest friends, who was also her son's godson, not forgotten but definitely forgiven. "Right! Then I will take the liberty to tell you Commander, that you look like crap, and if the Colonel were able to see you just how you look now, she'd be thinking that you were the one who should be in a hospital bed!"

Harm grinned, just slightly embarrassed, although Harriett could be infuriating, her instinct was always to nourish and nurture, even if she had to scold to achieve her object, and he could almost guess what her next words would be.

"You stay right where you are Commander! I'll be back in a very few minutes!" she abjured him as she bustled out of the door past the Marine sentry.

Harm grinned again, Harriett was so predictable, and while he waited for her promised return, he squeezed the icy water from the sponge and gently, oh, so very gently, laid it across the bruised and swollen face of his partner, all the while repeating his mantra.

His urging of Mac to wake up was interrupted by the arrival of a Surgeon Commander, accompanied by the same Southern nurse who had checked on Mac just a few minutes before. "Hi, I'm Commander Pike, and the Colonel is my newest patient. I understand that you're her medical POA?"

"Yes," Harm stood, "Commander Harmon Rabb, JAG Corps. Doctor..." Harm studied the man, like most Naval Doctors he wasn't quite as squared away as a line officer, his sandy brown hair was just a shade too long and his shoes, although clean, weren't spit-shone, and the khakis under his white lab coat would have brought a sulphurous suggestion that the iron needed heating before use, from any self-respecting CPO. But Harm had long since come to the conclusion that Naval Doctors' medical proficiency was in direct inverse proportion to their military aspects, and despite the long fringe of hair that flopped over Command Pike's forehead, he felt reassured by the other man's presence.

"Sit down, Commander, and I'll tell you firstly what we know, and then what we've done, and then what we think and hope is going to happen." He cocked an eyebrow at harm and waited for the JAG officer to sit down again, noticing that as Harm sat, his hand navigated its way through the maze of tubes and wires attached to Mac's unconscious body. "Lieutenant Beauregard, here, tells me that you're concerned that the Colonel's still under sedation; is that right?"

"Yes. I mean, I know she's taken a battering and needs rest to help her recover, but..."

"Yes, well. While you were sleeping earlier, she started to come round, but she was very agitated and kept crying 'harm, harm'. We told her there was no real harm, but her agitation increased and she tried to pull out some the tubes, so we had to knock her out again."

"Uh, she was probably asking for me, Doctor..."

Pike looked at him in incomprehension for a moment and then said, "Oh, yes, of course, Harmon - Harm. Anyway, we put her back under and she should stay that way for about another hour or so. If she gets agitated again, it might be a good thing if you were here to keep her calm."

Harm nodded his understanding and his agreement. But inwardly he was furious with himself. How could he not have woken up when Mac needed him to be there! This was just another time when he had let her down! What sort of friend was he that couldn't even sit by her bedside and stay awake when she needed him. Oh, God, Mac, I'm so, so sorry. He returned to the present as the doctor asked, "Are you alright, Commander? You looked zoned out there for a minute or two."

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Go on, you were saying?"

"Well we've reduced the fractures to her nose, her cheekbone and the eye-ridge. We're hopeful that there will be no malformation, but only time will tell. According to her ID photo, she's a beautiful woman, so we'll try and keep that going for her!"

Harm just grinned. While he wouldn't want Mac to be disfigured, he just wanted her whole and healthy

Harriett's return interrupted the doctor's explanation and in response to his silent question, Harm made the introductions, "Commander Pike, this is Lieutenant Harriett Sims, another of our co-workers. Harriett, Commander Pike is Mac's attending Surgeon. He's just filling me in on Mac's condition and treatment. Please, go on, Doctor."

""Well we've reduced the dislocation to her left shoulder, and set the fractures to her left wrist and forearm. Her ribs have been bound, and we've wired her jaw together - there were two fractures there, you know. Whoever did this to her was a very angry man, and probably a very strong one, who knew how to hit."

"A boxer?"

The doctor looked startled. "Yes... a boxer would be strong enough and would certainly know how to punch through... do you have someone in mind?"

"Yeah, I do, Harm muttered grimly, "If it's who I think it is and we're in time to stop him leaving the country, I might want to call you as a witness for the prosecution. Would you have a problem with that?"

"Testifying against someone who did this?" He indicated Mac, "Not in the slightest, Commander!"

"Thanks, Doctor. So... what's the treatment plan?" Harm wanted to know.

"Well, once she's awake, and we're happy that she's stable, she'll be on liquid nourishment for about a month, until her jaw heals sufficiently for her to be able to chew, and even then it'll have to be soft foods for another couple of weeks." He noticed Harm's wince and asked, "Something wrong with that?"

"Yeah..." Harm's grin reflected real amusement, "Mac is notorious for her appetite... I really don't know where she puts it all and how she keeps her figure. She just says she's got great metabolism!"

Harriett's giggle from the corner of the room was all the confirmation the doctor needed to cement his opinion that while the Commander and the Colonel might be work partners, their relationship went beyond just that of co-workers.

"Yes, well, we'll start her off with clear liquids; she'll probably be very thirsty when she wakes. That's just a side effect of the sedative. We've got her on a rehydration drip, but she'll feel better if she has something 'real' to drink. We'll monitor her condition once she's awake and see how she copes, and then we can start her on slightly more substantial liquids, beef tea and soups maybe..."

"How about chocolate milk shakes?" Harriett interrupted with a grin.

"Well, Lieutenant, no at first, but after a few days maybe..." Commander Pike noticed Harm's broad grin and his forehead creased asked, "Am I missing something here?"

"The Colonel is addicted to Beltway Burger meals," replied Harm as Harriett nodded her agreement, "and her favourite drink from there is their chocolate milk shake!"

The Doctor grinned in his turn, and casting a quick glance at Harriett as if to judge what her reaction might be, asked Harm "What is it with the ladies and their love affair with chocolate?"

Harm shrugged, "Beats me, Doctor! Harriett, would you care to explain?"

Harriett regarded the pair of them with a fulminating glance. "No."

Both men burst into laughter, leaving Harriett feeling very much left out and very much offended.

"Back to business, if we may Doctor?" Harm requested.

"Yes, of course... Well, the prognosis... the bruising will eventually die down in about ten days or so, I doubt if there will be any sign of it. The CAT scan showed no signs of brain injury or cerebral haemorrhage, so that looks fine..."

Harm heaved a sigh of relief, but then held his breath again as Commander Pike held up a warning finger, the expression on his face showing that there still might be some cause for concern. "What we don't know yet, and what we won't know until the Colonel can open her eyes is whether there is any damage to them. I'll be quite frank with you. The force needed to cause the injuries could quite easily result in a detached retina, possibly both. But we won't know this for a while. I estimate two to three days for the swelling to reduce sufficiently for her to be able to open her eyes and then another day or two before she can see clearly. It will only be then that we'll be able to tell if she'll need eye surgery."

"So... if her retina is detached, it can be fixed?"

"Yes, it's not quite a routine procedure but it's certainly been done enough times, here and across the country. But I'm also worried about any possible psychological effects... A beating like this can produce all sorts of reactions, guilt, paranoia, untoward aggression, hyper vigilance, withdrawal, and these are just some of the reactions, and they could be suffered in isolation or in any combination, and unfortunately only time will tell if the Colonel is to suffer any of them. In any case, some form of counselling will probably help."

Harm looked at the Doctor, thinking that getting Mac to attend counselling was not going to be the easiest task ever, but rather than go into that now, he merely asked, "So what can we do to help?"

"Just keep on what you've been doing, keep bathing her face with cold compresses, but gently of course, keep talking to her, and when she wakes up, call the nurses and try to stop her ripping her feeds out!" And getting to his feet in preparation for leaving, continued, "Other than that there's not much of anything we can do but wait. If you need me, or if you think the Colonel needs me, just pass the word and I'll be here, OK?"

"Yeah, thanks Doctor. That sounds totally inadequate, but thanks, really."

"That's OK, Commander. All part of the service." And with a final farewell smile at Harriett, the Doctor eased himself out of the room leaving a still not quite pacified Harriett alone with Harm and Mac.

With a slight pout Harriett bent down, picked up and handed him a brown paper sack, "Here, sir, soap, washcloth, shaving cream, razor, toothbrush and toothpaste. Get yourself cleaned up, while I sit with the Colonel, go sir, use her bathroom, I'm sure she won't mind!"

In some ways it felt good to be directed, to be told what to do, it prevented him from having to make decisions, prevented him from having to think, but... just a moment: If Harriett was here and Bud was with Little A J when he was supposed to have been with Loren... then where was Loren? He had sent her to the crime scene with Bud...

Hastily finishing his freshening-up process, he returned to Mac's bedside, and immediately felt the tension in the atmosphere. Harriett and Loren were both on their feet, confronting each other over Mac's bed.

Standing in the doorway to the bathroom his eyes switched backwards and forwards between the two blonde lieutenants. Harriett's face showed heightened colour and her blue eyes were like chips of ice, her stance was rigid and her hands, although hanging at her sides were curled into fists; Loren in total contrast was relaxed, calm and collected, the only obvious signs of heightened emotion were the slightly raised, cynical eyebrow, and a certain pinched, closed expression on her face.

"Uh, ladies, is everything OK here?"

The response came in chorus, "it's fine!"

"Good!" The insincere bonhomie of his reply was matched by the falseness of the awkward smile he mustered up, and pushing a chair forward for Loren, he lounged against the door-frame and said to Harriett, "Loren and Bud went to check the crime scene, earlier; but then you knew that. And that was one of the reasons I asked about him earlier. So, Loren?"

Loren gave a disdainful glance at Harriett and then turning her shoulder to the other woman, answered, "Nothing much, sir. There was no sign of a break in, a coffee table had been overturned and there was what looked like some blood splatter on the floor."

"Blood?" An alarmed Harm asked.

"Yes, sir. Not a lot, probably from the Colonel's nose, sir."

"Anything else?"

"Well, it looks like whoever did the scene of crime investigation had fun ransacking the Colonel's apartment, and there's fingerprint powder on practically every surface."

"Has the crime scene been released yet?"

"No, sir. There's yellow tape everywhere and two NCIS agents still there rooting around..."

"Well, how did you..."

"Oh, that was Lieutenant's Roberts' doing, Sir. He told them that if they didn't get out of our way, he'd file charges against them for obstructing a JAGMan investigation."

Harm smiled, the first real smile since he'd first heard the news, "Well done, Bud!" and turning towards Harriett, he added "The boy done good, Harriett!"

Harriett's bosom visibly swelled with what Harm considered could only be pride, "He does have hidden depths, sir!"

Harm chuckled at the sight of Harriett's face, pink with pleasure at his praise of her beloved husband, but Loren was not quite so sure, although she was forced to confess to herself that she wouldn't have thought to bluff the NCIS pair, and she admitted that she was surprised at both Bud's determination and the success of his ruse. What she hadn't taken into consideration was that Bud hadn't been bluffing.

Harm was still not quite comfortable with the strained atmosphere between the two female officers, and thought that he might, just might, find a way to help them over the bumps in their road. If they had both been litigators he would have suggested to the admiral that they be chaired together on a few cases, but as Harriett was an Admin Officer, that couldn't happen, but...

"OK, we're pretty sure what happened." He ran his fingers through his hair, "All we can do now is wait until Bugme is picked up. I have no doubt that A J is talking to the Australian Embassy right now, to find out where and when Bugme is moving, and if he's already gone, to start proceedings to get him back." He looked down at the pathetic, bruised figure of Mac, and without noticing began to rub gently the back of her hand with his thumb.

He may not have noticed what he was doing, but Loren did, and her heart sank. The man whom she valued over all her other acquaintances, and who had become a friend and had worked so hard getting away from the Colonel's hold over him, and now it looked like her injuries were to be the cause of his being drawn back into her clutches. It just wasn't fair! He deserved so much better. He deserved... Oh, no! Loren Singer, do not go there! There it was that damn little voice in the back of her mind. You know it's useless, Loren. Look at him. He's gorgeous. He's never going to bother with an also-ran like you, not if the Bitch-Colonel wants him back. Suck it up, sailor. But he was speaking again.

"Loren, you just said that Mac's apartment was a mess?" She nodded. "Well I figure, that Mac's going to be here for a couple of three days at the very least," he leaned forward, his right hand still holding Mac's and his left elbow supported on his knee, "how about, we round up a posse and put her place back together for her, so she's not faced with a disaster area."

Harriett's immediate agreements was enthusiastic, and although Loren was not particularly enthralled at the prospect of either working with Harriett Sims, or helping the Bitch-Colonel in any way, she couldn't, not with those bright blue eyes fixed on her, find it with herself to refuse, and after a few moments she reluctantly nodded and said, "Yeah, OK, I s'pose."

Harriett bristled indignantly, it was a good job Harm thought that she neither played poker nor litigated. Every emotion was reflected on her expressive face and in her huge blue eyes. And although he had hoped for a bit more enthusiasm from Loren, he was not entirely without sympathy for her position, and stepping forward, he placed a hand on her cashmere-clad shoulder and squeezed gently, she looked up into his face and without willing it, her hand came up to rest on his. "Thank you," he murmured.

Harriett almost went into shock on the spot. The last time she had seen the Commander look like that at anybody it had been when he looked at the Colonel, the only other time she had seen anyone look like that was when Bud had proposed to her and then again when she had told him that she was pregnant. And the look on his face, she thought in outrage, was entirely matched by the look on Lieutenant Singer's!

This cannot be happening, she thought, the Commander and Lieutenant Singer, it was just so wrong, in so many different ways! Unable to deal with the situation as it developed in front of her, she stood, and somewhat shakily said, "Bud collected a few items from the Colonel's apartment. Her toilet things, and a sweater, some joggers and trainers... you know... that sort of thing. I need to be getting back to Bud and Little A J, so..."

"Of course, Harriett," Harm said, holding out his hand for the duffle bag, and then drawing her into a brief hug. "I'm sure Mac will really appreciate all you've done for her. Tell Bud, thank you, from me, and I'll see him tomorrow, and give Little A J his Unca Harm's love."

"Yes... yes... of course... I... I must be going. Commander, Lieutenant."

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 1435hrs Local, Parking Lot A, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (251935ZFeb01)**

Inside the Roberts' family minivan Lieutenant Bud Roberts was quietly enjoying himself playing with Little A J, and a pair of plastic model X-Wing and TIE Fighters, complete with the appropriate 'whooshing' and 'zapping' noises as he manouevred the little toys around and away from A J's grasping hands, while toddler chuckled with the pleasure generated by playing with his dada.

Playtime was rudely interrupted by the irruption into the minivan of a distressed Harriett. Bud, who was not always so quick on the uptake, this time, noticed his wife's demeanour, and quickly placing his cherished Star Wars models out harm's (Little A J's) reach, turned to Harriett and asked, "What's wrong, sweetie, the Colonel isn't...?"

"No... No, it isn't the Colonel... it's the Commander..." Harriett managed.

A now totally confused Bud queried blankly, "The Commander... I don't understand...?"

"Oh, Bud, it's awful! He's fallen in love with that horrible Singer bitch!"

"Harriett!" Bud protested in alarm.

"And she's looking at him like the cat that got the cream! Oh, Bud, it's all too horrible! What's going to happen at work, now?"

A now seriously alarmed Bud, reached over Little A J and took his wife's upper arms in a firm but gentle grasp and gave her a little shake, "Harriett! Listen to me!"

Harriett stopped her diatribe and looked at Bud. "Harriett, whatever is going on in the Commander's life is his business. It is not our concern. And we do not talk about it. Ever!"

"But, Bud..."

"No, Harriett, there's no plea bargaining on this one. If one word of your suspicions gets loose in the bull-pen then both the Commander and Singer could end up facing a court-martial on fraternisation charges! Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't mind seeing Loren Singer taking a hit, but Harmon Rabb is, and always has been, a very a good friend to us, and I'm sure that you wouldn't want to see him kicked out of the Navy or do time in Leavenworth. Think about it Harriett, with all the people he's successfully prosecuted now doing time in Leavenworth, how long do you think he would survive?"

Harriett's eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'O' of shock, "Bud, oh, no, of course not, but would it come to that...?"

"Harriett, despite what you just think you saw... or heard...?"

"What I saw Bud, I didn't think I saw it, I saw it!"

"OK... OK, if you saw it, you saw it. But despite that, we don't know for certain what the relationship between Harm and Singer is, do we? Don't forget, she saved his life, and no matter what we think of her, that's bound to change the way he thinks about her. And don't forget, all the time he was in hospital, she didn't miss a day."

"But, Bud, what about the Colonel, he and the Colonel have always been so... They have always cared so much about each other" Harriett protested

"Well, Harriett, there didn't seem to be much caring on the Colonel's part when he was sick, did there?"

"I... I'm not sure what you mean..." Harriett looked at her husband as if he'd committed the worst kind of heresy.

"Harriett, how many times that we know of did Mac visit the Commander while he was sick?"

"Well... she was away for a week on that investigation, and then when she got back she had all her paperwork and case-work to get caught up on and..." Harriett was almost babbling as she tried to find reasons for Mac's neglect of her sick partner, as her thoughts whirled that Mac couldn't have neglected Harm to that extent, no, it was impossible, she must have visited him when no-one else was there. Yes, that would make sense. If there was no-one else there then tales couldn't have gotten back to that... that... Brumby!

"And she's always been there for him!" she finished defiantly.

"Always, Harriett?"

"Yes! Always!" Harriett's defence of her friend was fierce.

"Even after she put Brumby's ring on her finger?" Bud's question was gently put

"That was a mistake! And look how that's turned out!" Harriett's eyes were again beginning to flood with tears.

"Yes, I know, sweetie. But we really need to take a step back from this one. We can be there to support and to help the Colonel, but we can't and we mustn't get ourselves involved in their personal lives. The Colonel's antics over these last couple of weeks nearly saw both of us facing charges of conduct unbecoming!"

The urgency in Bud's voice stopped Harriett's incipient protest cold. "Charges? Us? How... I mean, why...?"

"Harriett, the Colonel really lost it these last few weeks. It was like she had changed into someone else when nobody was looking. The Lord knows I have very little liking or sympathy for Loren Singer, but the Colonel was picking on her, bullying her, and you were helping. Did you know that?"

"No... No, I wasn't, I wasn't!"

"You may not have thought so Harriett. Maybe you just thought you were supporting a friend. But there comes a time when we have to stop and look at what our friends are doing. Why do you think the Colonel was badgering the Lieutenant? Just because of dislike? Or was it spite? I don't think so; she was trying to provoke Singer into insubordination against herself, or by using you trying to provoke Singer to do what? To attack you? Either way it would have been the end of Singer's career, and that would have suited the Colonel just fine, wouldn't it?"

"Well, wouldn't you be happy to see that bitch go?" Harriett pouted, her forehead wrinkled in frustrated concern.

"Harriett, I'm not saying I wouldn't be sorry to see her out of our lives completely, but not that way, and besides, if you're right about the way the Commander feels about her, and I'm not saying you are right, or that you're wrong, but if he does feel that way about her, how do you think he'd feel if you were part and parcel of fitting her up to face disciplinary charges? Harriett, he's Little A J's Godfather, if you, if we were the cause or any part of the cause of Loren Singer suffering, do you think he'd ever even look at us again? Is your unwavering support for the Colonel really so much more important than the Commander's friendship? I know it's hard; they've both been our friends for so long, and I've a sneaky suspicion that without them running interference for us, there wouldn't be an 'us' today! Remember Ensign Nestor and the NATO Ball?" He finished his peroration on a humorously upbeat note to try and lighten the atmosphere between himself and the woman he loved with all his heart, but at the same time he earnestly hoped that he had got his message across to his wilful spouse that whatever problems the Colonel, the Commander and the Lieutenant might have, it was up to them, not their friends to get them sorted out. Especially not, he reflected when interfering between the two long term partners threatened both his and Harriett's careers, and he really hadn't wanted to scare Harriett by making those dire consequences seem as close as they had been! Mind you, he told himself, I do hope that doesn't mean a relationship between the Commander and the Lieutenant is on the cards; that really would put them in the position of making hard choices!

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 1435hrs Local, SICU, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (251935ZFeb01)**

Harm resumed his seat at Mac's bedside and once again threaded his hand through the maze of tubes and wire so that he could take Mac's hand in his, and looking across at Loren he noted that she had a slight frown on her face, "Hey, I know that wasn't easy for you, agreeing to help Harriett to sort out the mess at Mac's place. But it won't be just the two of you, you know, Bud'll be there some of the time, and I'll be there too, and I'm pretty sure we can persuade Gunny to give a hand too, all in the cause of '_Semper Fi'_"

Loren couldn't help responding to the humour in Harm's voice and she managed a half-smile as she replied, "Oh... it's not that, well not precisely... It's that the Colonel and I aren't the best of friends, and I'm not sure how kindly she'd take to me poking through her stuff..."

Harm continued to study her. Her reservations were, on the face of it, entirely reasonable, but he had the feeling that there was more going on in Loren's head than she had given voice to. Well, if she had further concerns, then she'd tell him when she was ready... Oh, no! No! I'm doing that again! I damn nigh lost Mac as friend because I didn't want to interfere between her and Bugme, and now look what's happened! If I'd only spoken up earlier!

"Uh, Loren... that's not going to work."

"Excuse me?" Loren's face was a picture of shocked amazement, matched only by the tone of surprise in her voice.

"This... act... whatever it is. It's not going to work. There's something bothering you that isn't connected to cleaning up Mac's apartment. So, c'mon, what gives?"

Loren's brain slipped three gears to go straight into overdrive. He wasn't supposed to be this perceptive. He was the one who had the reputation of standing back and not interfering with other people's lives! And he wasn't supposed to press people like this, not unless they were on the witness stand, and she was damn' sure she wasn't going to let him cross-examine her, not on this subject anyway. Not today. Not ever! "Sir, you're quite wrong... It's just that the Colonel and I are not friends, and even if she was happy that I was going through her apartment, I don't know that I would be..." but even as she spoke she could feel the betraying blood rushing to her face, and hastily rising to her feet, she added in a strangled voice, "I'd best be going now, sir. If the Colonel was to wake up now, I don't think she'd be all that happy to find me here! I'll see you at work tomorrow, sir!" and she turned towards the door.

She had almost made it and felt a deep sense of relief as she stretched her hand towards the door handle, "Loren. Don't. Please."

Oh, Damn! He just _had_ to use just that tone of voice didn't he! "Don't what, sir?" she uttered in a choked voice, her back still turned toward him and her head lowered.

"Don't run away, Loren. Please, don't do that to us." What! What the hell did I just say! Rabb you freaking idiot! Just watch her dust, now!

Loren froze. Did he just say 'us'? He can't have said 'us', there is no 'us'. But, oh, how I wish there were! Slowly, oh so slowly, she let her hand drop to her side and turned to face Harm. He was struck by how white her face was and how wide and anguished her eyes were.

"Why... Why did... Why did you say that?" she breathed, "there is no 'us'"

He let go of Mac's hand and carefully retracing his arm's path through the network of wires and tubes, he stood and took two steps towards her. "Don't say that, Loren, please don't say that."

"But," her voice shook and her eyes flooded with moisture, "there isn't an 'us'. We're friends, we have fun together, we like football and bikes and flying and..." Her voice died and she looked at him in trepidation as he took a further step towards her, "And besides, you love the Colonel." The last sentence was spoken in a flat monotone.

"No, Loren. No, I don't."

"But you do! Everyone knows that!" Her protest although vehement was low pitched and husky as she fought to keep her throat open.

"Then everyone is wrong!" He closed the distance between them by one more step.

Loren was now frantically on the defensive; he was so close, she could smell the faint antiseptic smell of the soap he had last used, and could tell that he wasn't wearing any cologne. Of course he's not wearing any cologne, he left it at his apartment, and you know that because you've just been there to get his washing and shaving kit for him; and you idiot, you haven't told him yet that his go-bag is by your chair and... Everyone is wrong? Did he just say that everyone is wrong, and that he doesn't love the Bitch-Colonel?

"They are? No, they can't be!"

"Yes, Loren they are wrong. Loren, sit down, please."

Numbly she allowed him to lead her back to a chair and to help her to sit down. Harm looked at her gravely for some moments before he began to speak.

"When I first met Mac, she took my breath away. She was the spitting image of Diane - you remember I told you about Diane, my friend from the academy?" Loren nodded in recognition. "Well, Mac and I met in the Rose Garden at the White House..."

"The White House?" Loren was surprised. She hadn't thought that Harm moved in such exalted circles, "what were you doing at the White House?"

"Oh, nothing really, I just had to stand still while President pinned a DFC on me..." his voice trailed off in embarrassment. "It wasn't that long after the Tailhook report had become public, and the White House needed a Navy aviator as a poster boy, and I guess I just happened along at the right time..."

"Anyway, like I said, Mac was the image of Diane, and with the history that I had with Diane, and her murder, and all, then I guess I started to think I was in love with Mac. Then the Admiral assigned us as partners and we started our first assignment - with Bud Roberts and Clayton Webb, almost immediately. We got that one wrapped up pretty damn quick and we found that we could work together, and we became work-friends, but something always stopped us going any further forward than that, although certain other people were convinced that we were somehow destined for each other. Well, maybe we could have made a go of it, but when Mac suggested that when we were in Sydney, I misunderstood what she said, and I said 'not yet'. She misunderstood what I said and heard 'no'. The next I knew was she turned to Bugme and was wearing his ring. It hurt, but it was her choice. She'd decided that I wasn't worth waiting for, so she moved on. It hurt that she moved on the very next day, but like I said, it was her choice. Now I've chosen to move on. And," He drew a deep breath, "I'd like to move on with you, Loren." He fell silent but fixed his eyes on hers and waited, holding his breath for her answer.

Loren's eyes filled with tears. Dammit! This was supposed to be the man who couldn't let go of his feelings! And he'd just come right out, right out of the blue almost, and told her just how he was feeling! Dammit! What was it about this man that tied her emotions in a Gordian knot. He'd just come right out into the open and said that he wanted to move their friendship onto a new level, something she had been dreaming about for weeks, and now she couldn't find her voice, not even for the two words she was desperate to say, 'yes, please'. She wanted to say them, she needed to say them, but they just wouldn't come!

Her mouth worked and the tears ran silently down her face, "Harm," she finally got out, "Don't say that; don't, please, please don't spoil our friendship. I want that more than I could ever say, but it can't work between us, Harm. Not like that, I'm not good enough, I'm just a screw up. I'm a failure at everything I've tried, romance, work, family, everything, and I don't want to screw up our friendship!"

Loren almost leapt to her feet and practically fled the room, leaving Harm sitting and gawping in amazement. How could Loren, one of the brightest young attorneys he'd ever known, a young woman with drive and ambition and a natural pilot, ever think she was a failure? His attention was diverted by a noise from the bed, and turning he saw to his dismay that Mac was making shooing-away motions with her right hand, and was trying to say something.

Putting his hurt behind him, he turned to her and trying to take her hand in his he said, "It's OK, marine, I'm here!"

"Noooogerrfterer"

"Calm down, Mac, I don't understand, what do you want?"

Mac pulled her hand free of his grasp and jabbed it in the general direction of the door. "Go. Finer, gerrafterlorn! Gooo!"

Harm's forehead creased in a puzzled frown. "You want me to go after Loren?" he asked.

"Yegerrfterer. Idiofybo. Gooo! Ifyuluverteller!"

For some reason he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and taking hold of her hand for a moment he gave it a gentle squeeze, and stooping placed a soft kiss on her bruised forehead. "Thank you, Ninja-girl", and leaving her alone for a while, and stopping only to remind the Marine PFC to let only JAG or medical staff into the room, he fairly ran down the hallway to the elevator bank.

Mac lay in the darkness of her own personal hell and wept bitter, silent tears for all she had been stupid enough to have thrown away.

Harm was thinking on the run, if he had to wait for an elevator, then it was a dime to a dollar that Loren would be long gone. His long legs had to be useful for something, so taking to the stairs he placed a hand on the railing and took them headlong, vaulting four and five steps at a time. Later he would shudder at the risks he had run, at the speed he was moving, a missed step, a twisted ankle, hell, anything could have sent crashing headlong down the stairwell! But for the moment his all-consuming desire was to catch up with Loren before she had a chance to get away from the hospital parking lot.

For once, he prayed, let all the little gods and goddesses be with him. Let him find Loren before she found the exit. Skidding to a halt between parking lots B and C he looked frantically about, searching for her blue Miata convertible and was then forced to leap aside as the sound of high-revving engine and the blast of a car horn came from behind him. Spinning out of the road he saw that the car that had just missed him was the very one for which he had been searching, and that it was a shocked Loren Singer behind the wheel. Thanking those same little gods and goddesses that she had the top down, he didn't even think about what he was going to do before he had taken two running steps and grabbing hold of the door top, sprang into the air and landed with an audible thump and crack from his abused spine in the passenger seat.

If nothing else would have worked, his attempt at acrobatics had almost all the effect he could have desired. Loren stamped on the brakes and the MX5 skidded to a halt. Her face white with a combination of fear and fury she turned on him, fists clenched and fresh tears in her eyes, "Don't, don't you ever do something so fucking stupid ever again! You fucking idiot! You could have killed yourself! I could have killed you! And I couldn't have stood that!"

He tried to salvage some dignity out of the situation as he struggled to achieve a more equitable position in the tiny bucket seat, "Hey you did what I asked you not to, you ran away! What? You didn't expect that I wouldn't come after you? Loren, I danced that dance with Mac before I woke up and smelled the coffee, and I'm not about to have a reprise of the whole nauseating mess with you. One of Mac's many complaints about me was that I was too cryptic, and that I had trouble letting go of my emotions. Well, she was awake while we were talking in her room just now, and after you ran away, she threw me out. She told me to go after you, and if I understood what she was trying to say, she said that if I loved you, then I should tell you. Loren, I love you!"

Loren sat there in the driving seat, totally oblivious to the fact that she had caused a tail-back and that the more impatient drivers behind her were beginning to lean on their car horns. Her eyes were huge and her mouth again open in a silent 'O' of stunned amazement.

Harm looked at her anxiously. "Did you hear what I just said, Loren?"

She nodded, still numb with astonishment.

"Uh, Loren," Harm was beginning to hear the growing uproar to their rear, "can you pull over into a parking lot, please? We're blocking the exit route here."

Nodding, but with the vacant look still plastered over her face, Loren engaged the Miata's drive and rolled the convertible into a parking spot in the lot, where she turned the key in the ignition and killed the engine.

Turning in her seat to look squarely at Harm, she swallowed twice, her face still white and her eyes still enormous, "Did... did you just say what I think you just said?" her eyes anxiously searched his face looking for something and hoping that he wasn't practicing some weird cruel deception on her. He wouldn't do that to her, of that she was sure, but she had followed her heart down this path before, only to have it all end in tears and heartbreak, she was confident that he told her the truth, she wasn't confident that she deserved his truth and was still convinced that she'd screw up a relationship with this wonderful man, the same way she had always screwed up her relationships before.

Harm looked at her unsmilingly, "If you think you heard me say I love you, Loren, then you heard me correctly. I don't know when it started, but I do know when I knew. That was just after we landed from your first flight with me, that weekend when I made you hand-pump the engine oil into Sarah! You were so beautiful, you were still half covered with oil smudges, you had so many layers of clothing on that you looked like the Michelin man and your hair, where it had escaped from that ridiculous knitted pixie hat was a total mess - and you were beautiful. But that was only the half of it. You were so... exalted by that short flip we took, and your eyes were dancing, and I knew that we had something... I didn't know how you felt, and that was why I backed off, I thought it was all too soon, and that you might think it was just gratitude for what you did for me, but Loren Singer, what I felt for you that day, and have ever since is far stronger and far purer than I have ever felt for Mac."

As Loren looked at him and listened to his words colour started to come back into her face, and by the time she had heard him out she was glowing a delicate pink and her eyes had dropped to a minute examination of her fingernails as her hands lay in her lap. She still made no reply to Harm's speech and he sat there in a welter of trepidation and anticipation. Eventually she turned the key in the ignition and said, "Buckle up, Sailor. We need to find somewhere better than this to have this conversation."


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 1455hrs EST, Parking Lot C, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (251955ZFeb01)**

Harm looked across at Loren, "OK. We do need to have this conversation, but give me a few moments, please."

Loren waited until he pulled his cell 'phone out of his pocket and speed-dialled. A few seconds later she heard, "Hey, Bud... Yeah, great. Listen Bud, where are you now...? Are you with Little A J...? Uh-huh. And is Harriett with you...? Oh, Good..." Harm drew a breath. "Bud, listen, something's come up, and I've had to leave Mac... Can either you or Harriett go and sit with her...? She was conscious and coherent when I left her a few minutes ago, but the doctors think that someone ought to be there with her. Yeah... Yeah, I'll be back later, or I'll get hold of Carolyn Imes or Alan Mattoni to come and relive either you or Harriett... How long...? Oh... I dunno... an hour... maybe two?" He checked with Loren, who nodded her head. "Yeah definitely within two hours... OK... Thanks Bud, give Little A J my love, and tell him that the doctors are fixing his Auntie Mac's big owie... Thanks, Bud, I owe you."

He closed his 'phone and locked the seat belt into place. Loren engaged drive and eased the Miata back out into the Bethesda traffic circuit. Once rolling along the exit road, he asked her, "Where to counsellor?"

Loren bit her lip; she hadn't thought about the need to go somewhere, she had just felt the need to get away from the hospital and, her stomach turned, the need to get away from Harm. She felt a rising tide of hysteria and barely stifled a giggle, as her mind locked on to a stupid cliché, to get out of Harm's way! "I don't know, Harm, have you got any ideas?"

"Your place, my place?" he suggested.

Loren thought for a moment, "No... Somewhere neutral, perhaps. Somewhere quiet..."

"Potomac Park? It's not the season for it, not quite yet, so there shouldn't be too many tourists..."

Loren considered for a few seconds, picturing what Potomac Park should look like on a somewhat chilly February afternoon. "Yeah, that works for me," she eventually agreed, and turned towards the Rockville Pike.

Harm fished his cell 'phone out of his pocket again and once more speed-dialled, and waited for the 'phone at the other end to be picked up. "Hello, Carolyn, it's Harm... Yeah, pretty good, thanks... Yeah, I know I don't normally call you on a weekend, but I need a favour... Well, I've been sitting with Mac up at Bethesda, and something's come up, and I've had to leave. No... No nothing alarming, just some really important stuff that came up... unexpected? Yeah, I guess you could call it that... No... No... It's OK. Not bad news, at all, just the opposite I hope..."

The smile in his voice caused Loren to shoot him a quick sideways look, and the smile on his face and in his eyes almost made her gasp with its intensity, but Harm was still talking.

"So, as I was saying I need a favour, Carolyn. Bud and Harriett are with Mac now, but they've got Little A J with them, and we don't want him to get too upset... Yeah, Mac's a mess, that bastard did a real job on her... So... can you get across to Bethesda and sit in for me until I get back... a couple of hours, I guess. Yeah, well I thought of calling Alan but now that he and Jackie have finally adopted DarLin, I didn't want to drag them up to the hospital; DarLin still has some issues... Carolyn, thanks... I'll owe you big time... yeah, again... Oh, I'm sure you will! Thanks again Carolyn, see you later."

Loren quirked an eyebrow at him as she wove her way down the Rockville Pike.

"Carolyn's headed over to sit with Mac," he offered.

"And?"

He looked at her, trying to figure out exactly which question she was asking.

"And so you'll owe her 'big time'" she prompted him.

"Oh," he chuckled, his brow clearing, "Yeah, when I said that, she promised she'd collect!"

Loren said nothing, but felt jealous anger rising in her breast. Damn Carolyn Imes! It was that little voice again, scolding her, nagging her. Right, Carolyn always had a thing for Harm. How could he be so... so... blind! The way she looked at him at times was the way a hungry tiger looked at a tethered goat! And he never seemed to notice. Well, at least he never seemed to react to her. Of course, he didn't react to Carolyn, any more than he had reacted to you. He was so damn' fixated on the Bitch-Colonel! Furious thoughts that she used to whip herself up into a defensive fury kept her occupied for the rest of the drive down to Potomac Park, fortunately it was a straightforward route and a wide street and for a Sunday afternoon there wasn't too much traffic around. Almost slamming to a stop, she parallel parked opposite one of the many batting cages that dotted the park to their left, and the footpath and the Potomac river to their right.

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 1525hrs EST, Ohio Drive South West, Potomac Park, Washington DC, (252025ZFeb01)**

"Well, that was certainly an emphatic stop." Harm remarked non-committally, and shifting in his seat he half turned to look at her. Loren turned the key in the ignition and replaced both hands on the steering wheel, kept silent, determinedly not looking at him and staring straight ahead.

Harm watched her for a few seconds, waiting to see if she was going to make a response, and when she failed, or refused to do so, he asked her, very gently, "What's wrong, Loren?"

"You are," she told him flatly.

Harm felt his stomach knot. "How... how do you mean?" he asked nervously, surely he couldn't have been that badly mistaken. The gentle, intimate friendship that had grown up between them over the past few weeks, their shared jokes, their mutual love of... of... of so many things, and then, was it only this morning that she had cupped his face in her hand, that wasn't the act of just a friend, surely...

"You... you just can't come out with that sort of crap and not expect it to have an impact!" she said.

"What crap?" he asked her, honestly surprised and hurt. Dammit! He had just told her he loved her and she was saying that his admission was crap. Hurt was on the verge of giving way to anger, and his hand was on the door handle and he was just about ready to get out of her car and get out of her life. When he remembered that he wasn't going to do that anymore; he'd learned that lesson the hard way with Mac, he wasn't going to run away from intimate discussions anymore.

"What you just unloaded on me at Bethesda!" she protested.

"The crap bit where I said I wanted to move on from Mac? Or the crap bit where I said I love you?" he demanded.

"Harm! Stop! Don't! Don't keep saying that!"! Loren almost wept.

After several deep breaths to control his hurt and anger, Harm found his voice, "Loren... Loren... Loren, look at me!" he eventually insisted.

She turned towards him, her mouth half open and her eyes... her eyes showed a curious mixture of hope, love and fear.

"Loren," he repeated what he had said in Mac's hospital room, "Don't... don't do this to us, don't run away, don't shut me out. I love you, and can you honestly say that you don't have some sort of feeling for me?"

She looked down at her hands wringing each other in her lap. "No, Harm, I don't, you've been a friend, a good friend to me, but that's all."

Harm looked at her. "I don't believe you," he said bluntly, "you're lying," and he waited for her rebuttal of his accusation. She had once told him that she was neither a liar nor a thief, and he had believed her then. He did not believe her now. "Loren, look me in the eye, and tell me straight, face to face, that you have no feelings, no regard for me."

Loren looked back at him, her eyes were swimming with tears, and she bit her lip, cleared her throat, and said determinedly, "Harmon Rabb, you are my friend, my very good friend but..." and her voice choked.

For an instant his heart seemed to turn to a lump of lead, and then she continued, "but I wish you weren't. I wish you had never come into my life, because then I wouldn't have fallen in love with you."

"And just exactly how is that a bad thing?" he asked her quietly, although a part of him wanted to jump up and down and scream to the heavens that Loren Singer had just told him that she was in love with him.

"Because I can't let myself fall in love with anybody. I can't let anybody mess with my life again. I have a focus, I have an ambition, a target, and I can't afford to have any distractions. I cannot let myself fail, this time."

"This time? Why do you think you have failed before?"

"Because I'm a total screw-up," she said, "and everything I touch falls to pieces, and everyone I touch either wishes they were dead, or that I was. I'm damaged goods Harm, I'm rotten and I corrupt everything I touch, and I fail at everything I try, and I fail everyone with whom I get involved."

Harm was jolted by the bitterness and self-loathing in her voice. "That's not true Loren. You're a good lawyer, and with time you'll be a great a lawyer. And I certainly don't regret being touched by you, and I haven't fallen to pieces. Well, I nearly did," he added trying to lighten the atmosphere, "when I thought you were going to say that you didn't love me! But you did say it Loren, and I've said that I love you. You say you can't afford to be distracted from your ambition; I say, so let's not think of love as a distraction, let's try to think of it as having support and companionship, and someone with whom to share your doubts and your worries. Someone who more than just accepts you despite your self-doubts, and your negative perceptions of yourself, but someone who loves you because all those slight imperfections are what go together to make up the person you are."

Loren turned a wan face towards him. "Let's walk while we talk," she suggested, "it's getting a bit chilly just to be sitting here."

They got out of the car, and by mutual, unspoken consent they turned their backs to the wind and walked south along the path that bordered the river. Harm stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the chill, while Loren hugged her arms around her body and walked with her head down.

Harm longed to put his arm around her and draw her in to share some of his body's warmth with her, and to offer words of comfort and love, but something held him back, something told him that the time wasn't right. Yet.

At last Loren spoke, but when she did it seemed like a total change of subject. "I grew up in a small community in rural Ohio, my father was a lay preacher for the local church, and a farmer. I've got six sisters. One of them is my fraternal twin. Her name is Magdalena. Magdalena Singer. She's better known these days as Magda Vogelsang." She waited for his reaction.

He shrugged, sure the name seemed kinda familiar, but so what? He wasn't interested in Loren's sister, no matter what she called herself. He was interested in Loren.

When, out of the corner of her eye, she saw his shrug, she understood that her message had been lost on him. She sighed and tried again, "She was quoted in the newspapers about five years back, saying that she wouldn't get out of bed for less than twenty thousand a day."

Harm's forehead creased in a frown, he seemed vaguely to remember, some woman, some clothes-horse fashion model making some such absurd claim... "Magda Vogelsang?" He queried Loren. Sure, now he remembered her, half the guys in the squadron had photographs of her, cut out of newspapers and magazines, stuck to the doors of their flight-lockers.

"Yeah. Magda." The bitterness in Loren's voice was unmistakable. "Magda, the super-model. How tall am I Harm?"

"Uh... five-four, maybe five-five, I guess."

"Yeah, about that. Magda's five-ten, maybe five-eleven. Magda didn't graduate High School, but she earns more in a week than I do in a year. Magda's a financial and fame success story, I'm not. Magda and I are numbers four and five out of the seven of us, and she is definitely the number four. Eloise is my eldest sister. She didn't graduate High School either, but she's been married since she was nineteen and has five kids of her own. She's a successful mom and homemaker, I'm not. My next sister, Katerina, she's a lawyer. She did graduate High School, and she got a scholarship to Harvard, and then went on to Harvard Law. She's a corporate attorney. She bills about forty hours a week, at six hundred dollars an hour. Katerina is a successful lawyer, I'm not."

"That's nonsense, Loren. I haven't met your sister, but I'll bet she's not half the lawyer you are!"

"No, that's where you're wrong, Harm. You see, I'm only a navy lawyer. And that doesn't count. I'm only playing at being a sailor, because I'm too worthless to make a real contribution to society. And then there's Maria, or Mary Cochrane, as she's called now. She works under her husband's name. Maria's a success; she hasn't had her name out of the twenty top selling classical performance artists in five years. Maria's a successful music star. I'm not. Then we come to Erica. Erica's two years younger than I am. She's a surgical resident at Seattle Grace and Mercy, in line for the next open attending surgeon's spot. Erica's a successful neuro-surgeon. And finally there's dear little Ulya; Ulya is some sort of forensic computer analyst at MIT. She's a success too. It doesn't matter that no-one else in the family understands what she does, just that she does it at MIT and gets well paid for doing it."

Harm was appalled at Loren's recitation. "Loren, even if your sisters are all successes at whatever they've decided to do with their lives, it doesn't diminish your choices, your career. Where the hell did all that come from?"

"My father was a great believer in the power of education. He wanted nothing but the best for his girls, because the better they did, the more reflected glory he could bask in. He could strut around the community and be pointed out as the model citizen, the model father who did his best to ensure that his children had a better life than he'd had. I was a slow developer, academically," she told him ruminatively, and as if her answer had absolutely nothing to do with his question, "when I was in second grade, my report card didn't have a single 'A' on it. My father took me out to the barn, he ripped my dress off and he took his belt off... and he strapped me with it and he kept on strapping me with until I bled, and he told me then that I was too stupid to ever amount to anything, and he left me there, until I got enough strength back to crawl to my bedroom. While he was hitting me, I screamed and screamed and screamed, but no-one ever came to help me..." As she recounted the days of her childhood, the so-called happiest days of her life, Loren's wept, she didn't sob, she just walked along the path, head down, avoiding Harm's eyes, her tears flooding her face and her arms wrapped around her as if warding off the cold, but the chill she felt came from inside, not from the wind or weather.

Loren continued speaking, her voice a dead, flat monotone, "And ever since that day, nothing I did at home or at school was ever good enough. My room was never tidy enough, or ever clean enough. My clothes were never neat enough; my bed was never properly made. If I tried to cook, it was declared unfit to eat and I got strapped again for wasting the food God had provided us with. My grades were never good enough; if I somehow got an 'A' on a school report it was plain that I only got it because I must have cheated. And the punishment for failure was always the same, I'd get dragged to the barn and my father would take his belt off, it happened so often that I got used to it. In the end it got to be a matter of pride, a weird, horrible contest between us, I would refuse to scream and he'd keep on until I did. If I ever wanted to try out for a school team, I was told that I was never going to be fast enough, agile enough, strong enough or smart enough, so there was no point in my dad signing the permission slip. And then, when I was fourteen I stopped growing, while my sisters all grew taller than I am. Erica is the next shortest in the family, she tops me out by nearly four inches. And that was sufficient proof to my family that I was a failure. I didn't need proof, I knew I was a failure, everybody who was supposed to have loved me had been telling me that since I was seven years old. And do you know? If you tell a child something, time after time, year after year, that child ends up believing it. Then when I was fifteen, I met a boy; he was two, maybe three years older than I was. He was kind, funny, and he seemed to think that there was something worthwhile about me, and I got to feeling that perhaps I wasn't a total failure. It felt good to have someone say he loved me, even if we were too young to understand what we were saying, what love was. It felt good to have someone hold me, and touch me without wanting to hurt me. Well, we were both pretty dumb, and the next thing I knew was that I was pregnant. His parents whisked him out of town, hell; probably clean out of the state. I was terrified, but my father never laid a hand on me that time. He pulled me out of school, and made me stay at home, and eventually my mother taught me the rudiments of cooking. I was a disgrace to the family, to the church, to the community. I was the stupid slut daughter who was too dumb not to get knocked up; my sisters were all taught to look at me as an object lesson in how not to live their lives. Then I had the baby; I don't even know whether it was a boy or a girl, it was taken from me at birth, and I never saw it again. The one person in my life that might have loved me unconditionally was taken away from me, before I even saw him, or her. Then I went home, and I could feel it coming, it was only ever going to be a matter of time and then one day, after I'd been home about a month, my father stormed into the kitchen and dragged me out to the barn..."

"Oh, God, Loren, no... Please no," Harm whispered.

"Yes," she said in her seemingly disinterested monotone, "that's what I prayed too, but God wasn't listening that day. So, as soon as I could walk again," she continued in the same flat voice, "I packed a bag and headed for Cincinnati. I lied about my age, and I got a couple of jobs, waitressing, and even dancing - yes, topless and hanging on to a pole to stop the punters dragging me off the stage - that's why the pole's there, you know, but it was finally something I could do, the dollar bills stuffed into my bikini bottoms were proof of that, and it paid the bills, and I could afford a small, one room apartment, I dodged CPS and Social Services, and I went back to school and graduated, and as an Ohio resident, I got tuition paid at Ohio State, and then for extra help with living costs, I joined the NROTC and graduated. My GPA and LSATS scores were high enough, so I applied for law school and passed that, but I failed my first attempt at the Virginia State Bar, but my family expected that, but hey, even I was sort of expecting that, I'd found a boyfriend of sorts, and I guess I didn't study hard enough, but again it was kind of nice to have someone say he cared for me, even if he was a lying son-of-a-bitch. So, when I told him we needed to cut down on our time together, he cut me out completely. But it had its benefits, I passed the bar my second time round, then I went on to NJS and from there I went to Pearl, where I met my next so-called boyfriend. Everything was great; he was gentle, kind, loving, funny and married - which I didn't find out for nearly a year. So that was strike two - strike three if you count the boy back home in Ohio. Then I met yet another guy, but this time I was so paranoid, that if he was five minutes late for a date, I'd be straight on to his cell 'phone. I needed to know where he was, what he was doing and who he was with every minute of every hour of the day. In the end, he couldn't take it, and he dumped me. But, I figured now I'm a lawyer, now I'm a navy officer, I've made something of my life. So I took some leave, and I went home, but my family just laughed at me. I was a failure as a woman, so I was trying to do a man's job; well they just knew that I'd be a failure at that too. I wasn't a real lawyer, not like my sister; if I was a real lawyer then I wouldn't have to hide in a navy uniform. So you see, Harm, I'm poison, I was a failure as a child, I was a failure as a lover, and I was damn' nigh a failure as a lawyer, and anybody at JAG'll tell you that I'm a failure as a human being, just because I don't want to fail anymore; just because I want to succeed in my career. So, I don't want you to love me, because I can't let myself be distracted from my aim, and I don't want to love you, because I couldn't stand it if I failed you and hurt you too."

Harm was horrified at the history Loren had just told him, but as incredible as it had sounded, the note of defeat, despair and plain matter-of-factness in her voice told him that he was hearing the plain, unvarnished truth, and Harm, who had felt his own throat closing and his eyes tearing as Loren had recounted her story stopped walking and said, "Loren..."

She too stopped and for the first time since she'd got out of her car looked at him. Her face, even in the fading light was deathly pale and disfigured with multiple tear tracks. She read the expression on his face and whispered, "No, please, no Harm."

For once in his life Harm refused to take no for an answer from a woman, and he closed the two pace distance between them and took her into his arms. For a few seconds she stood stiff, passively resisting his embrace, and then with a shuddering gasp, she seemed to collapse against him, her cold little hands balled into fists against his chest and her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder.

"Loren Singer," he told her, his voice husky with the still-felt emotion her story had whipped up, as he rubbed what he hoped was a comforting hand in circles on her back, "You are not a failure. Do you realise how much courage it just took for you to tell me all that, let alone how much guts you must have had to have been able to survive it? What you went through would have broken most women, and a lot of men I know. So, in addition to being smart, wise, a born pilot, a talented cook, a very smart lawyer, and a beautiful person, as well as being a beautiful woman, you are also one hell of a brave woman, and although my heart was breaking when you told me how you grew up, it was also swelling with pride."

"Damn, it Harm," she said furiously, her voice muffled against his jacket as she managed a couple of feeble punches against his chest, and made a half-hearted and unsuccessful attempt to pull free of his embrace, "I don't want your damn pity or sympathy!"

"You have neither of those Loren. What you have is my love, and my pride in you for having beaten what was done to you. And, Loren, no matter how bad it was, and however much you were made to feel responsible for what happened to you, _it was never your fault_! I can't promise that I will never hurt you, because I can be the clumsiest, most insensitive klutz that ever walked this earth. But what I can promise you is that I will never intentionally hurt you. And I can promise you that I will never let you hurt me, and when we fight - because we will, we're both too stubborn not to knock heads once in a while - I promise you I will never let us go to bed still angry at each other. I promise you that when we fight I will never walk away until we have sorted out whatever we're fighting about. I promise you that I won't run away or hide from my emotions, and that I will always be honest with you about the way I feel. And I promise you that I am here, and I will stay here for as long as you want me, and I promise I will support you in all your choices, and I will do my best to help you achieve your ambition."

"Harm, that's a lot of promises. Please don't make them unless you mean them."

"If I said they were Pinkie Promises, would you believe me then?"

Loren leaned back against the support of his arms and looked up into his face, "Pinkie Promises!" she protested uncomprehendingly through the remnants of her tear-storm.

"Hey, don't knock Pinkie Promises! They're a very important part of life!" he admonished her, holding out his right hand to her, his fist closed except for his extended little finger.

She looked at him in disbelief, "You really mean it, don't you?" she asked him, sniffling through the last of her tears.

"Damn' straight I do," he told her, "Now, come on, give me your Pinkie!"

"I must be crazier than you are," she protested damply as she hooked her little finger around his.

"Well, I don't know how crazy you are," he grumbled, turning her to face back in the direction from which they had come, "but I'm not crazy enough to stand out here in the cold for any longer!"

Loren said nothing, but allowed him to put his arm around her waist as he led her back towards the car, and after a few steps, she slid her own arm under his around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 1745hrs EST, SICU, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD, (252245ZFeb01)**

As Harm and Loren approached Mac's room they could hear the low murmur of Carolyn Imes' voice, and as they arrived at the door, and acknowledged the marine sentry's salute, it seemed that she wasn't just talking, she was reading aloud and as they entered, she looked up, and held up for their inspection the latest novel by Tom Clancy, an author Harm knew whose work Mac really enjoyed.

Loren, very quietly took the empty seat against the wall, while Harm perched uncomfortably on the narrow window-sill, while they listened for the next fifteen minutes as Carolyn finished the current chapter.

Once she'd finished reading, Carolyn spoke "Well, that's it for now Mac, but I'll come back tomorrow evening, and we'll get through another couple of chapters."

Mac raised her right hand, forefinger and thumb forming a loop, while her other fingers stayed straight, the SCUBA divers' 'OK' sign, Harm remembered.

"In the meantime," Carolyn continued, "you have another couple of visitors: Harm and Lieutenant Singer have just come in. So I'll leave you alone to talk for a while." She got up as she spoke, and laid the book down on the nightstand next to Mac's bed. Walking around the end of the bed she passed through where light fell on Loren's red-rimmed eyes and unmistakably tear-stained face, and raising her eyebrows, whispered a good night to them all.

Harm took Carolyn's seat and again threading his hand through the maze of wire and tubes, again took hold of her hand, "Hi there, Jarhead, how's my favourite marine doing?"

"be'er".

"That's good. Now listen, Loren's had a bit of a day and needs to freshen up a bit, can she use your bathroom?"

Mac nodded, and Loren who had been listening indicated the door past the head of the bed and Harm nodded agreement and said, "Yeah, there's soap and towels in there, Harriett brought a bunch earlier." He waited until Loren had locked herself into the bathroom, and then turned his attention back to Mac.

"Have NCIS been back to see you Mac?"

Mac wriggled her hand free and made an emphatic 'thumbs down' gesture.

"Uh-huh, that's good!" Harm enthused; at least the Keystone Cops seemed to have learned one thing today. "Uh... Mac, do you know who did this to you?"

Mac didn't move for a second or two, but then as tears forced themselves through her swollen-shut eyes she managed a weak nod.

"Brumby?" he asked softly.

More tears ran down Mac's face and again she nodded weakly.

"OK, Mac. We'll find him, and when we do I'm going to make sure he spends a long time behind bars." Although Harm had kept his voice quiet, and even dispassionate, Loren who had emerged from the bathroom with freshly washed face, was shocked by the expressions of anger and hatred that had revealed themselves on his face. Her soft gasp gave away her presence, and Harm looked up at her, his murderous scowl instantly replaced by his smile which seemed to promise her friendship, warmth, safety, security, refuge and love. Loren Singer was incapable of responding to his smile with anything but a matching one of her own. Drawing her chair nearer to the bed, she sat opposite Harm, and gingerly grasped Mac's finger where they protruded from the cast on her left arm.

"Good evening, ma'am. I am glad to see that you are feeling a little better." With the best will in the world, and as much as she hated to see any woman in this condition, the feud that Mac had been carrying on against her was too recent for her to be anything other than stiffly formal.

Mac turned her head slightly towards her newest visitor and ground out between her teeth, "Ree'y?"

Loren understood despite Mac's mangling of the word, "Yes, ma'am, I am sorry. No...Uh... Nobody should have to be injured the way you were ma'am, it's inexcusable..."

"She's right Mac..."

"'Ow?"

"Hey, Marine, you think it's alright for anyone to end up like you are, right now? 'Cause if you do, I'm going to get the doc to have another look inside the head of yours!"

Mac tried grin, gave a coughing laugh and immediately groaned, her hand pressing against her tender ribs. "'On't ma'e me 'augh," she wheezed.

"OK, OK, power down, ninja-girl." Harm smiled, but at the same time looked across the bed at Loren, so she could see the worry in his eyes. He looked around the room and his eye fell on the bowl of ice water and the sponges on the treatment trolley. "I'll tell you what," he suggested, "I'll get a cold compress and bathe your eyes again, OK? The sooner we get the swelling down, the sooner you'll be able to open your eyes. Once you can see again, then maybe things won't seem quite so bad, OK?"

Mac nodded, "'Kay."

Harm pulled the trolley nearer to the bed, and then to Loren's surprise, he handed her the Tom Clancy paperback from the nightstand and indicated that she should read, while he bathed Mac's face.

It seemed to Loren that she had been reading for hours; her voice had become scratchy, but despite herself, she found that she was becoming absorbed in Clancy's story, although it was almost as absurd as any of her favourite historical fictions. So despite her growing fatigue she was quite disappointed when Harm quietly interrupted her with a whispered, "Hush, Loren, Mac's asleep now. We should go too, if we are going to be any good tomorrow."

Loren nodded her agreement, and handing the book back to Harm, she stood and stretched, and it was only as she did so that she realised just how desperately tired she was. The benefit of the few hours' sleep she had snatched earlier had been totally wiped out by the emotional storm of the afternoon. And she realised with a feeling of dread, she and Harm still hadn't really brought that to a resolution. As she turned to leave the room her foot caught on something, and looking down she saw Harm's go-bag, the one she had brought from his apartment earlier, the one that she had forgotten about until now. The bag suddenly assumed importance, as if it were a symbol. If she should give it to him now, and he were to take it, it would seem that he was walking out of her life, and despite her earlier words about not wanting him to love her, and not wanting to love him, she knew that she had been lying. And so, she remembered, had he.

She was jolted from her thoughts, "Hey Loren, where did you go?"

"Oh... Uh... nowhere, I'm just a little tired and distracted, I guess..." she blushed as she became aware of just how closely he was studying her.

"H'mm... OK, well then if you're ready?" She was lying again, he was sure of it. But it wasn't like her to lie, so why...? What was she hiding...?

As if she had read his thoughts, she picked up his bag and held it towards him, "Here, you forgot this earlier..."

He raised his brows, "How did that get here?"

"I... uh... still have the spare key to your apartment, and I... uh... sort of dropped by earlier, and I figured you might need to freshen up a bit... but... but I... forgot to give it to you. You don't mind?"

"What I don't mind that you forgot it? That you kept my key, that you thought I might need something?" Harm's face split into a full-blown jet-jockey smile that made Loren go weak at the knees, "Hell, no Loren. I don't mind at all... well, maybe just a little bit, for forgetting to tell me about it." He carelessly slung the bag over his shoulder, and turning back towards her, he held out his hand, "Walk with me?" he asked.

It was a simple question, one that was heard thousands of times every day, yet this time, that he had turned back towards her, the suggestion of a plea in his voice as well as his extended hand made it special. Tentatively she took his hand in her own and misty-eyed, whispered, "Yes, I'd like that."

**Sunday 25 February 2001, 2045hrs EST, ****Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (260145ZFeb01)**

Harm and Loren had walked out of the hospital hand in hand as far as the parking lot. Turning towards Loren, Harm took both of her hands in his and asked, "Are you OK?"

"I'm tired, Harm, probably too tired to think straight, and possibly even too tired to sleep."

He smiled, he knew that feeling all too well, "OK, here's a suggestion. Why don't I follow you home, just to make sure you get there in one piece? I can order in a couple of portions of soup, and we'll have soup and crackers. I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten all day, and my stomach's starting to think my throat's been cut, but I'm too tired to even think of eating a proper meal."

Loren looked at him doubtfully, "Harm, I know we've said a lot today, and I do want to explore what we've said, but I don't think tonight…"

He silenced her with two fingers laid against her lips. "Loren, there is no question of discussing anything tonight. We've both had enough to process for one day; all I'm suggesting is a quiet bowl of soup with a friend. For me, a very good and very special friend, and then once you've relaxed enough to be able to sleep, I'll head on back to my place, and we'll see each other at work tomorrow. And once we've had our night's rest, we can then start to think about where we want to go, how we want to get there, and how fast we want to make the trip. OK?"

"Harm… Where we want to go?"

"Loren, I know where I want to go, but I don't know where you want to go. No, don't try and answer that question now. We can tackle those questions when we're rested enough to make sense of our own and each other's answers."

She half-smiled at him and unconsciously echoing Mac, said "'Kay."

Once in the comfort of Loren's apartment, she'd said that she planned to get into something a bit more comfortable, while Harm 'phoned in the food order. The ordering done and his 'phone back in his pocket, he became aware of the hiss of running water and sighed enviously. Loren had obviously taken advantage of the moment to grab a shower, and for an instant he had a mental image of her twisting and turning under the jet, and for a split second he wondered what it would be like to join her in the shower. Shaking his head, he told himself to power down, there was a long, long path ahead of them before ideas like should even enter his head.

He was relieved when she returned to living room dressed in a pair of blue flannel pajamas decorated with the Disney versions of A A Milne's Winnie the Pooh and his friends, Rabbit, Tigger and yes, even Eeyore. His face split in a delighted grin, and Loren who was walking across the room towards the couch as she finished drying her hair with a towel, scowled at him, "What?" she demanded.

"Oh, Loren, I just never figured you for a Winnie the Pooh devotee," he chuckled.

"I'm not! She denied, but blushing furiously, and plugging her hair dryer into as wall socket. "It's just that I needed some pajamas in a hurry one day, and these were the only ones in that jerkwater store that were the right size!"

"Yeah, right," he answered, the light of amusement still shining in his eyes, "What jerkwater store was that?"

"The base exchange at Camp Le Jeune." She saw the question in his face. God! Would this man ever be satisfied with a simple answer, or must he always probe like a damn lawyer? Oh, wait. He is a damn' lawyer. "Alright, then," she said in accents of great patience, "I was sent with Commander Imes on an investigation to Camp Le Jeune. When we got there we found we'd have to double up in the VOQ. After the first night, I wasn't quite comfortable sleeping less than fully dressed in the same room as the Commander, so I grabbed an opportunity to get some pajamas, and these were the only ones available in my size! There, satisfied now?"

"Why were you uncomfortable with Carolyn Imes... oh."

"Yeah, don't ask, don't tell. But since then, I think I maybe got it wrong anyway." She stood in front of the wall mirror, her back towards Harm, hair dryer in one hand and hairbrush in the other, unconscious or uncaring that every time she lifted her arm to make a brush-stroke her pajama jacket rode up, exposing a strip of honey coloured skin above the waistband of her pajama pants.

"How so?"

"You are kidding, right? I mean have you ever seen the way she looks at men? The way she looks at you, sometimes when she thinks nobody's looking?"

"Carolyn Imes? Really?" Harm was amazed. Sure, he got on with Carolyn, and they'd even flirted a little from time to time, but it was only a little mild flirtation, and neither of them had ever felt it had gone so far as to warrant even a joking yellow light.

"Uh, Harm? Why are you looking at me like that? It's a bit weird!"

"Oh, sorry, I was miles away. I was thinking about what you said about Carolyn Imes. No, I can't say I've ever noticed her looking at me in that way..."

Loren contented herself with a sceptical look, and Harm beginning to feel the colour mount in his face had never been so grateful for an interruption when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of their supper.

The distraction of getting bowls and spoons laid out on the table and the process of a quick re-heat of the soup allowed Harm to regain a measure of control, and having eaten his offer of washing and drying the dishes was accepted gratefully, while Loren made two mugs of hot chocolate. Sitting side by side on the couch, Harm was highly conscious of the light herbal smell of Loren's recently applied shampoo or conditioner, or whatever it was women used on their hair. He longed to put his arm around her and just let her lean against him while they drank their chocolate, but it was still, he felt, too soon for that sort of physical intimacy, and besides, although she'd showered, he was acutely conscious that he stank like a polecat.

Eventually, he could drag out his drink no longer, so standing, and picking up both mugs, he placed them on the work-top next to the sink and reluctantly said, "I don't want to but, I've gotta be going, Loren. It's been a long day, for everyone. It's been kinda tiring too. I'm sorry we didn't get to fly today..."

"Harm, do you think we could have gone flying today, knowing that the Colonel was in the state she is? I love flying with you. I love flying, but if you had suggested we'd gone back to Charlottesville, and as much as I dislike the b... as much as I dislike the Colonel, I wouldn't, I couldn't have gone with you."

"No, I know you couldn't, and that's why I'm sorry we didn't fly today."

Loren looked at him solemnly, "If we had flown today, we wouldn't have talked so much. I'm not sure yet whether that was a good or a bad thing."

"I'm sure it was a good thing, Loren." He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, a mirror image of the way she had touched him this morning. God, he thought, was it only this morning? But she surprised him, she held his hand to her cheek, and then stepped forward to lay her head against his shoulder, once again her closeness filling his nostrils with her light herbal fragrance. She didn't lift her face for his kiss, but neither did she freeze or object when he dropped a gentle kiss on the crown of her head.

"Goodnight, Loren," he whispered to her as he stepped back from her and reached backwards for the door.

"Goodnight, Harm," she whispered in reply, and then as he closed the door behind him, she added in even more hushed tones, so it was barely more than a thought, "Goodnight, my love."

**Monday 26 February 2001, 0830hrs EST, JAG Ops, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, ****(261330ZFeb01)**

Harm felt unsettled, so far he'd only managed to get a couple of glimpses of Loren as she bustled across the crowded bull-pen and he wanted to grab a few quiet words with her, they still had a hell of a lot to discuss, and he wanted to make arrangements so that they could discuss it, somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful, somewhere… intimate, somewhere he would like to go with her if they were on a date. That was it! Yes, he wanted to go on a proper date with Loren Singer, and explore the possibilities of having a full, mature relationship with her. But it almost seemed as if she was avoiding him, twice he had gone to her office only to find it empty, and it seemed that the one time he had caught her eye, she had deliberately not responded to him. Damn it! It didn't make sense, not after that incredibly sweet goodnight of last evening - crap! Talk about sending mixed messages!

But there was no mix in the message that Tiner just brought him, "Sir, the Admiral wants to see you, now sir, in the conference room."

**Monday 26 February 2001, 0842hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, **** (261342ZFeb01)**

Harm accompanied Tiner to the Conference Room, where to his surprise, after opening the door for him, Tiner assumed the 'Parade Rest' position, evidently with the intent of posting the door, which he closed as soon as Harm had entered the room**.**

"Commander Rabb, reporting as ordered, sir!"

"Come on in Rabb, take a seat," A J Chegwidden still sounded tired Harm told himself. "Have you seen Colonel MacKenzie this morning, Commander?"

"No, sir, I was with her up until twenty-two hundred hours yesterday evening, and when I left she'd gone back to sleep. She'd been awake and pretty lucid, and the medicos don't think that there'll be any lasting head trauma."

Chegwidden grunted his satisfaction.

"Has she spoken to NCIS or Metro PD, or anyone else about the assault, Commander?"

"It's a bit difficult sir. Her jaw is wired and her eyes are still swollen shut, so she can't really talk or write yet."

"Did she say anything to you?"

"Yes, sir… but…"

"But what, Commander?"

"I don't think we could use what she said to me, sir. Because of her difficulty in speaking, I had to lead her. If she'd been on the stand then any presiding judge would have disallowed her testimony."

"Damn it, Rabb!" Chegwidden sounded exasperated.

"I'm sorry, sir, but what else could I do?" Although Harm didn't quite spread his hands and shrug his shoulders, it was evident that he wasn't far off committing such an open act of insubordination.

"What exactly happened?"

"I asked her if she knew who did it. She nodded, and then I asked if it was Brumby and she nodded again."

Chegwidden propped both his elbows on the table's surface and dropped his face into his hands for a few moments, before sighing and calling "Tiner!"

The door almost flew open, and Tiner appeared almost like a jack-in-the-box Harm thought, with a humourless grin.

"Tiner, my compliments to our guest, and escort him here please."

The short hairs on the back of Harm's neck rose. If this was Brumby, he didn't know whether he'd be able to prevent himself from knocking the bastard's teeth so far down his throat he have to stick a toothbrush up his six to clean them. Fortunately for the sake of his future career and to his mingled relief and disappointment he saw that the guest to whom the Admiral had referred was not Lieutenant Commander Brumby, but a captain, no less. An Australian Captain. Suddenly Harm felt a tingle of anticipation.

"Captain Andrews, this is Commander Rabb, he's Colonel Mackenzie's partner - work partner that," is he added hastily, seeing an expression of confusion crossing the foreign officer's face.

"Rabb, Captain Andrews is the Australian Naval Attaché at their embassy here in DC, and as such is pretty well Lieutenant Commander Brumby's CO."

The two junior offices nodded their acknowledgement of the admiral's introduction, as Chegwidden kept talking. "Thanks to Captain Andrews' quick response to our questions yesterday morning regarding Brumby's travel orders, we were able to issue a warning to Metro PD and Brumby was arrested while attempting to board his authorized flight at Dulles. He is now, I am glad to say in metro PD custody."

Harm nodded. While it would have been highly satisfactory to have Brumby incarcerated in a Navy brig, there was no legal way for that to happen. He could instead take some grim pleasure in the realisation that Brumby would not be enjoying his time locked up with some of the less savoury elements of DC society.

"Now, Australian military personnel on duty in CONUS are covered by a SOFA, and the Australian authorities are keen that they should exercise jurisdiction in the case of this assault by one of their members on a US citizen."

"That's an alleged assault, Admiral." Captain Andrews interrupted.

Chegwidden glared at the Australian officer, but was forced to acknowledge that legally Andrews was correct, "Alleged assault," he corrected himself. "However, it is the position of this office that in this case the US authorities should request the Australian authorities to exercise their waiver over the SOFA."

"Why would you want to do that, sir?" Andrews queried. His tone wasn't hostile, but it was clear that he was uneasy with Chegwidden's stated position.

"Captain, unfortunately the Australian Defence Force's record in cases of sexual harassment, and sexual assault is not a particularly good one. And although this is not per se a sexual crime, it does reflect a misogynistic view, and quite frankly, even at levels higher than this office, there is a great degree of doubt that an Australian court-martial would impose the level of sentencing that the victim's injuries indicate as being appropriate."

"And what sort of levels would those be, sir?"

"If the perpetrator is found guilty by a US federal court, then he could in this case expect to serve between eight and twelve years in a Federal penitentiary."

Andrews was stunned, "Twelve years! And why a federal court, for God's sake?"

Chegwidden opened the folder in front of him and pushed half a dozen photographs towards the Australian. "This is Colonel MacKenzie's official ID portrait, taken last year on her promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. The rest are photographs of the same officer, taken this morning at Bethesda! The degree of those injuries alone warrant the length of the sentence. If Brumby was a member of the United States Navy, he would be facing additional charges of striking a superior officer - only one step in rank I grant you - but a superior officer nevertheless, and for that crime alone would be looking at up to twenty years confinement at hard labour, reduction in rank to E1, loss of all pay and benefits, and a dishonourable discharge on completion of his sentence. Unfortunately, as an attorney who has successfully prosecuted US navy personnel now confined in Leavenworth, his very poor chances of survival for more than a month would mean that he would probably never finish his sentence. He would face a Federal Court, because Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie is a Federal Officer, and the assault, the alleged assault that is, took place in DC. Captain, Colonel MacKenzie weighs about one hundred and twenty, maybe one hundred and twenty five pounds. Lieutenant Commander Brumby weighs, at a guess, around two hundred and twenty to two hundred and thirty pounds, and is an accomplished boxer, a fleet champion, I believe. Don't you think that such a vicious bully deserves everything that can be thrown at him? Of course, if we have to travel to Australia to participate in an Australian Court-Martial, then I'm sure the Australian Press - I am sure that there must be some element of the fourth estate that isn't entirely pro-military - would love to publish such beautifully coloured pictures"

Andrews looked at the photographs in front of him and was horrified. He had come to JAG this morning with the full intention of arguing for Brumby to be released into Australian military custody, whisk him out of the country under the SOFA, and have him court-martialled and reprimanded. He had expected to see photographs of a woman with a black eye, or a fat lip and had assumed that the bloody yanks were making a mountain out of a molehill, but these photographs… the woman in the hospital bed had been so badly beaten that she was almost unrecognisable as human. While he accepted that the cultural differences between the USA and Australia, made them view domestic violence in a different light, this was worse, far worse, than anything he could have imagined. He braced himself for the storm that was going to break around his head when he returned to his office and spoke to the ambassador and then to his superiors at ADF Navy HQ, "Very well, sir. I'll speak to my superiors and recommend that in this case we waive our rights under the Status of Forces Agreement."

Chegwidden stood, the two junior officers following suit, "Thank you, Captain Andrews. I do realise that this may put you on the spot, but if they might be any use in persuading your superiors to see things our way, then you are welcome to take those prints with you, together with a copy of the ER report which catalogues the Colonel's injuries! Captain, Commander." Chegwidden nodded to each in turn and left the room as the US and Australian naval officers braced to attention.

Andrews relaxed as Chegwidden left the room, and as he started to gather up the file the admiral; had indicated he might take with him he said, "Strewth, when I'd heard Brumby had hit his girlfriend, then I assumed he'd given her a black eye, or a split lip, but this…" he shook his head in disgust.

"And a black eye or just a split lip would have been acceptable to you?" Harm asked his quiet voice masking his rage.

"No, Commander. It wouldn't have been acceptable, but it might have been understandable. One slap in the heat of an argument might have been… but not this, never this…"

Harm clenched his fists and placed them on the table, leaning his whole upper body weight stiff-armed on them. "Let me tell you something else, sir," the words may have been respectful, but his tone wasn't, "Colonel MacKenzie is not only trained in US Marine Corps unarmed combat techniques, but she is also an accomplished martial artist. For Brumby to have been able to inflict this much damage on her, he must have taken her totally by surprise, incapacitated her with one of his first punches, and then continued to beat her long after she was able to defend herself. A fine exemplar of an Australian Naval officer, don't you agree Captain, sir?"

Andrews finished collating the contents of the file and was preparing to slip into his briefcase, but he paused, blushing with the embarrassment brought on his service by one brutal officer, but tried to salvage some dignity as he replied, "No Commander, he is not a fine example of any sort of Australian, or any sort of man, and speaking off the record, Commander, I hope I _can _waive the SOFA, and I hope the bastard gets twenty bloody years, not twelve!"

**Monday 26 February 2001, 1050hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Ops, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, ****(261550ZFeb01)**

Harm closed the file in front of him. He was supposed to be formulating his opening argument for tomorrow. Master Chief Barrow was facing charges of insubordination and disrespectful conduct towards a commissioned officer. Barrow didn't deny being insubordinate or disrespectful, he didn't even argue that the Lieutenant (jg) with a fraction of his service wasn't his superior officer. What he did argue was that irrespective of the difference in ranks, the navy had no business interfering in the way a father spoke to his son!

But it was no good. Harm could not concentrate, all his available brain-power was occupied with thoughts of a petite blonde lieutenant who just yesterday had admitted the she loved him and was now frustrating his attempts to talk to her by playing least-in-sight! Damn women! And damn their freaking mind-games! He'd had enough! Locking the file away, he left his office and crossed the bull-pen towards the admiral's outer office, "Tiner!"

"Sir!"

"Pass the word for Lieutenant Singer to report to the Law Library, ASAP, please!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Harm left the Ops floor heading up for the Law Library. If he couldn't track down Loren by fair means, then in this case he was quite happy to use foul. Oh, wait, wasn't it said that all was fair in love and war? He did attract a few curious glances as he headed for the stairwell whistling 'Anchors Away'.

**Monday 26 February 2001, 1105hrs EST, Law Library, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, ****(261605ZFeb01)**

Harm had appointed the Law Library as the RV with the, he hoped, unsuspecting Lieutenant Singer, because, yes it was quiet and generally unfrequented, and would allow them as much privacy as was possible anywhere in the building, but also because he had a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that there was somewhere on record a precedent for the Barrow case that might help him in his defence of the master Chief.

He hadn't been at the reading table for many minutes when the door opened and the object of his determined pursuit entered the room, "Lieutenant Singer reporting as… Oh, that's not fair, sir!"

"What's not fair, Lieutenant?" Harm queried, fighting to keep a straight face.

"This! I managed to keep out of your way all… oh, crap!" Loren turned fire engine red, and frantically fanned her face with both hands, and shot a look at Harm that seemed to be composed of equal parts anger, helplessness and laughter. "Oh, now look what you've done!" she said, slumping in a chair on the opposite side of the table.

Harm, much to Loren's indignation chuckled, "It's not funny!" she protested, although her own eyes were beginning to dance, and the threat of a giggle wasn't too far from her voice, as his laughter threatened to overwhelm her fast vanishing reserve. "You are a bad man!" she complained pettishly.

"Guilty, your honour," he replied, "and I'd like one more offence taken into consideration!"

"What might that be?" she almost smiled.

"I'm a bad man who loves you," he told her.

"No!" She started to get up, all vestiges of humour vanished from her face.

"Loren, sit down, please. I don't get it. You said you loved me, and now you can't stand to hear me tell you that I love you. You're making my head spin. Please, we really need to talk about this!"

"Yes, alright, I agree. We need to talk, but… but not here, not at JAG!"

"Good! We're agreed on that much at least!" he told her.

Loren looked at him her eyes wide with astonishment, "But… you… I… here… all morning…"

"Loren, the only reason I asked Tiner to get you here is because you've been dodging me… no don't deny it, you know you can't lie to me! Your ears go red! But all I wanted to say to you this morning is that we need to talk, so how about we go out to dinner, this evening, I'll make reservations, and we can sit and talk on neutral ground again, and maybe, just maybe, we can enjoy each other's company, and see how we can move forward, with whatever we've got between us."

"Yes… OK, then… shall I meet you?"

"No, I'll pick you up at say, nineteen thirty hours?"

"Yes. Nineteen thirty hours."

"In the meantime, Lieutenant Singer, I need your help with the case I'm opening tomorrow, master Chief Petty Officer Barrow is accused of being insubordinate to, and disrespecting a superior officer, a Lieutenant (jg) Barrow!"

Loren blinked, "A family member?"

"Yes, his son!"

"And you would need my help, how?"

"I seem to recall a very similar case, from years ago, only that one was a bit more complicated, you see…"


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

**Monday 26 February 2001, 1900 Local, Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (262359ZFeb01)**

Harm was well content. His ambush of Loren had worked even better than he had hoped. Once she'd got over her initial prickliness, anyway. The intricacies of the Barrow case, and the necessary search through the archives to find and research the decisions on the oh, so very similar Warren case had broken down her reserve as her interest had been engaged, and by the time they had snatched a working lunch and roughed out an opening argument and defence strategy their former friendly intimacy had been restored.

As he finished knotting his necktie, Harm smiled even more broadly, he hadn't had a chance yet to tell Loren, but after they had left the library and had gone to secure their offices for the day he had met the Admiral on his way out, and on impulse had told him how helpful Loren had been with the Barrow case, and had asked if she might sit second chair with him.

Chegwidden had glared at him suspiciously, "Why? Why would you need a second chair on a simple insubordination charge?"

"Uh, because the officer the Chief is alleged to have been insubordinate to is his own son. It's an unusual sort of case; we've only found one similar case - the Warren case back in '78 - and it'll be good trial experience for her, sir."

"And if you win, it'll also look good on her résumé, huh?"

"There is that, sir. But more importantly, I see it as contributing to her moral education, sir. Lieutenant Singer is a good attorney, but she needs to focus a little less on winning and losing, and a little more on justice, sir."

"Alright, Rabb. You can have her as second chair, but don't think for a minute that you're fooling me!"

"Yes, sir! Uh, I mean, no, sir… I think…"

A J Chegwidden grinned, a tight-lipped grin that his intimates would have known indicated that he was really enjoying himself as he watched the normally highly articulate hot-shot attorney in front of him floundering for words.

Harm didn't mind being discomfited by his CO; he'd got what he wanted this time, so he could live with being made to feel like a fool for a few seconds.

Now, as he finished his last second preparations he checked his reflected image. The wine-red shirt and grey slacks he had bought while shopping with Loren had been augmented by a navy-blue necktie with narrow crimson stripes and a lightweight jacket bought on the way home today, in what he called a flecked cream, but which the sales clerk had assured him was unbleached linen. Whatever it was, he decided the effect was pretty damn good. Snatching his keys off the side table next to the door he locked the apartment behind him and headed for the stairwell. There was no way he was going to risk getting trapped in the old, unreliable elevator. Not tonight of all nights.

**Monday 26 February 2001, 1930hrs Local, ****Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (270030ZFeb01)**

Loren opened the door to Harm's knock, and for about thirty seconds there was silence as they took in each other's appearance. Harm, Loren thought, looked perfect, the shirt and slacks she recognised, and was just a little flattered that he had chosen to wear on their first real date, the clothes that she had picked for him. And the tie… well, maybe, but that linen jacket really looked good on him, it just about hinted at what he might look like in dress whites.

Harm was even more impressed, "God, Loren, you look fantastic!" he blurted as soon as he'd recovered from the impact of her appearance. From her softly waved and shining blonde hair, worn loose to frame a face that only just hinted at the application of a minimum of make-up to the low heeled light blue pumps that matched the simple light blue spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress that in turn brought out the colour of her eyes, she looked like every dream he'd ever had of her.

"I uh… brought you these…" he proffered a wrapped bouquet, which she accepted with a slow smile of pleasure and as she brought it to her nose she saw it wasn't the roses or the orchids that she would have expected, but a variety of vibrant and delicate woodland flowers, skillfully arranged amongst fronds of dark green forest ferns. She realised that the bouquet's delicate scent almost perfectly matched the light, floral but expensive French perfume that she reserved for special occasions and that she was wearing tonight.

"Th… Thank you," she whispered, the ready colour rising to her cheeks, but for once she didn't care, this wasn't something he could have picked up at a superstore or a 7-11 anywhere, he had had to have made the effort to go out and arrange to have the bouquet especially made… for her… "I'll just put these in water, Harm, and I'll be right with you."

She wasted no time, but opening the walnut cabinet that stood next to the door that led to her bedroom, she selected a crystal vase, and crossing to the kitchen area poured cold water into it, and then carefully, so as not to disturb the arrangement, she lifted the bouquet out of its protective cellophane and paper wrapping and placed it in the vase. She stood back and considered for a moment, and then with a dazzling smile, she turned to Harm and said, "Harm, it's beautiful, thank you. I'll figure out the best place for it later."

Harm seemed to detect a catch in her voice and casting a swift, searching look at her, wasn't quite sure whether or not there was a glimmer, as if of extra moisture, in her eyes. Loren gave him no time to be sure, but she caught up an ivory cashmere wrap and an ivory clutch purse, and turning towards him, she gave him another of her smiles and said, "All right Mr Rabb, I'm ready for my dinner!"

Even Harm caught that movie reference, and grinned down at her, "I am entirely at your service, Miss Singer."

He stepped aside and as she turned after locking her apartment door, he gently placed his hand at the small of her back, and even with that light touch he could feel the play of her muscles through the soft fabric of her dress. She looked up him with that quirked eyebrow that he was finding irresistible, and for a moment he thought she was going to object, but she smiled and asked, "Am I allowed to know where we're going this evening?"

"Umm… well, it's just around the corner… sort of…" Harm looked slightly sheepish, "The Sea Catch on 31st NW… is that OK with you?"

"Yes, that's fine… I've seen it of course, but I've never been there to eat…"

Harm cocked an inquiring eye.

"Well, eating out alone, it's not something that most single women feel comfortable with…" Loren tried to explain.

"No, of course not, stupid of me…"

"Well, I don't suppose it's something you've ever really had to think about…" Loren broke off, suddenly flustered as it seemed she was on the point of accusing him of not caring, of not bothering, when she had never met anyone who so obviously cared so much, "Um… what I meant is that you're so comfortable cooking your own meals that you don't really need to bother about… Oh, crap! I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"No you're not. And it is something I do understand. I don't go to restaurants on my own either… it's just too weird. And since I haven't had a date since Renee left, this is the first time I've been out to dinner for months, except of course when we were at the Boar's Head. So, Miss Singer, I too am ready for my dinner!"

Harm's warm smile and the gentle pressure of his hand as he helped her up into the Lexus were strangely reassuring and Loren was left with the hope that she hadn't already, through her social clumsiness, screwed up an evening that had begun in such a promising manner.

**Monday 26 February 2001, 2000hrs Local, The Sea Catch Restaurant, 31****st**** Street NW****, Washington, DC (270100ZFeb01)**

The restaurant was fast becoming a fashionable place to eat, and even so early on what would normally be a quiet Monday evening was crowded. Harm knew he had been lucky to be able to make a reservation for two at such very short notice, and hoped that the food and service would come up to expectations. He really wanted, no, he really needed this evening to go better than just well.

Approaching the Maitre d'hôtel's lectern, Harm spoke, "Rabb, party of two, eight o'clock reservation."

The kid, he couldn't have been more than twenty, Harm thought, gave a supercilious smirk, and ran his finger down the columns of the booking diary, "Robb… no, sir… No reservation in that name…"

Harm sighed. He was no tourist, neither was he some wet-behind-the ears college kid trying to impress his date. Well, yes, he was trying to impress his date, but he had played this game before. Suggestively patting his jacket in the region of where an inside pocket, or a shoulder holster, might be, he smiled at the kid, and invading his personal space, and in a quiet, neutral and level voice suggested, "Why don't you look again… or better yet… why don't we look together, and this time look for the right name, Rabb, R A B B, not Robb?"

The maitre d' gulped, somehow the tall man in front of him had lost that affable air he'd had when he walked into the restaurant, and those sleepy eyes had suddenly become hard and sharp. "Yes, sir, let me just check… Oh, yes, you're right, I… I must have misheard your name. Let me show you to your table, sir." Inwardly he was seething, that jerk had just humiliated him in front of a roomful of customers, and worse had ruined his scheme for extorting a hefty tip in return for 'finding' a spare table.

Loren was not surprised to find Harm holding her chair for her, and helping her seat herself at the table, before walking around to his own seat. She gave him a calculating look before asking, "What was that little performance all about?"

Harm grunted, still slightly annoyed. "It's one of the oldest restaurant cons in the book. The maitre d' pretends that there's no reservation, the guy knows there is, but doesn't want to make a scene in front of his wife, girlfriend… or date," he added hurriedly, "so he forks over an extra tip, maybe twenty, maybe fifty bucks, and the maitre d' suddenly 'discovers' a table that's been left vacant by a late cancellation." He grinned cynically, "How to rip off tourists, 101."

"You dealt with it, though," she reminded him, "You didn't get loud, or snarky, or… anything, you just suggested that he looked again and…"

"No, all I did," he looked a little sheepish, "was get in his face and use my height to…uh…"

"Convince him of the error of his way?" she suggested with a smile on her face.

"Uh… yes… you could say that I suppose," he looked down at the table setting and made a minute adjustment to his fork, "But I was going to say, intimidate him."

Her delighted laugh was loud enough to draw attention from the nearby tables, and after a first flush of chagrin, Harm realised that he didn't mind her laughing at him. In fact he kinda enjoyed it.

The approach of their waitress ended any discourse on the iniquities of restaurant deceit. Harm looked up at the young woman as she neared the table and with a professional but attractive smile she said in a slightly nasal New England accent, "Good evening, I'm Megan, and it's my job to make sure you have a good evening." She handed each of them a menu and placed the wine list and a basket of fresh bread rolls on the table, "Can I get you anything from the bar while you're deciding on your food order?"

Loren looked across at Harm and raised her eyebrow in a silent question, which he answered with a nod. "Just a pitcher of iced water, please Megan," Loren said.

Megan had enough wit not to confirm the order with Harm and replied, "Yes, ma'am, I'll get right on it."

Harm and Loren spent about ten minutes before making their choices, at which time Megan had returned with their pitcher of iced water, and stood poised with pen and pad ready to take their order. Noting their choices, she read them back to confirm and was about to turn away when Harm surprised her for asking for a bottle of Muscadet and a large bottle of mineral water.

Loren looked across at him as Megan left and asked, "Planning on going flying tomorrow, Harm?"

"No, not flying but," and although there was a warm smile on his face and his eyes reflected that smile while somehow also conveying an air of gravity, "tonight is way too important for me to screw up, Loren. I need to stay in control, and cutting the wine with water would help. But if you want more, then don't let my fears stop you."

"Fears, Harm?" Loren dropped her gaze and concentrated on drawing invisible circles on the table cloth with a finger-tip.

"Yeah. Loren, what you told me yesterday, down at Potomac park… it made me angry… it made me feel sick… it made me sad… and it made me think about how it affected you. Not just the way your childhood went, but the losers with whom you tried to have relationships. And it made me afraid. Afraid that if I don't make a real attempt to show you that I love you, you'll think I don't care. Afraid that if I push too hard, you'll shut me out. Afraid that if I screw this up, then I won't just have lost the woman I've come to love, but I'll have lost a very good friend as well. And I don't have so many friends that I can afford to lose any of them. Especially not you…"

Perhaps fortunately for Loren's peace of mind, Megan returned to the table with the wine and the mineral water. Loren took advantage of the pause to pour both Harm and herself a glass of fifty-fifty mix, and took a sip before answering him.

"Harm, whatever you do, don't confuse pity or sympathy with love, please."

"I'm not. Remember, I told you that I love you before you told me about what happened to you. The only thing that's changed is that I will not let anyone hurt you again. Ever. You've already suffered enough. All I want is to love you, and keep you safe…"

"Harm, I meant what I said too, I do love you, but I'm such a screw-up that the thought of this… whatever it is we have or might have… the thought of it going belly up and me hurting you is almost enough to make me feel physically sick… I can't do that to you…"

"You won't." Harm said flatly. "I won't let you. Look, we've both got issues. We know that. Like I said, I'm an emotional klutz who shuts down when he gets stressed or scared, and believe me Loren, I'm scared right now. Hell, I'm terrified…"

Loren's eyes searched his face, he was sort of smiling at her, encouraging her, but there _was_ something else in his eyes, she'd seen them express concern, she'd seen them warm with affection… no, with love, but this, this was different, there _was_ a shadow there, and she suddenly realised, he was telling the truth; he was afraid, but whether he was afraid that she might reject him, or that she might hurt him, or… yes, she was almost sure of it now, he was afraid of the strength of his own emotions, and that fear made him so very vulnerable.

"Harm, you can't possibly be more scared than I am. You say you shut down your emotions when you feel you can't handle them, well… I do the same, but I do worse too… I run and hide, and I deny that I feel anything. I keep telling myself that I don't want a relationship, that I don't need anybody in my life, and that I can't afford to let myself be distracted by anybody if I'm ever to…" she stopped as she realised she'd almost said too much. And then as Harm spoke, she knew that she had already said too much!

"If you're ever to do what, Loren?"

Thank God, Megan was back with their first course. The necessary adjustment to the place settings and the serving of the food should give her a chance to neatly change the subject, but that damn'… lawyer on the other side of the table wasn't letting go!

"So, what is it this 'if ever' you're going to do?"

Loren bit her bottom lip, she hadn't meant to let that slip, but now she had, she couldn't think of a way out the corner she'd painted herself into. "If I'm ever to be the first female JAG." There, she'd said it. She surreptitiously gathered her purse and wrap on to her lap; one hint of a snigger, just one hint of mockery and she'd be out the door so fast he'd think she'd had afterburners fitted. And then after she'd killed him, she was going to kick him so far out of her life that he'd come down in Keflavik!

Harm nodded gravely, "Well, that's a hell of an ambition. You've got the professional potential to make it too, and you've got the drive and the determination…"

"If you're trying to pull a snow job on me Harmon Rabb…" she glowered at him.

"No, I'm not trying to snow you. Back in the day, when most women didn't work, there used to be a saying that behind every successful man was a strong woman. These days, women can be strong in their own right, and you are plenty strong enough to achieve your ambition, and I suspect you know that. So why would I, why would anyone, try to flatter you in an area where you don't need any flattery?"

Loren nodded, Harm's recognition that he thought she could achieve her goal had temporarily silenced her, and she hugged the knowledge of his faith in her close to her heart, but, "Do I hear a 'but' in there?"

"Only a very small one," he told her gently, "loosen up a little at work. Don't treat everyone as an enemy. You're here at JAG HQ at a pretty early stage in your career, and that looks good on your record. The only other female JAGs at HQ are Mac and Carolyn. Carolyn is a twenty and out, I reckon, and from what Mac's said in the past, I've a feeling that she'll be looking for a move to the judiciary sooner or later. Look, some people have already commented that you're less stiff and unfriendly than you have been, and they like you better this way, and they're more prepared to help you… hadn't you noticed things had been getting a little easier, all round?"

"Yes. I had. And it ticked me off," she answered, surprising the hell out him, "It was like they were being nice to me and it was all down to you, because I was your friend, and you'd asked them to be nice!"

"So, you got snappy with them again, and they backed off again?"

"Umm… yeah."

"And it never occurred to you that they were being friendlier to you because you were being nicer to them? That you had a little smile on your face when you spoke to them, that you weren't being so snappy all the time?"

Once again Loren felt the warmth as the blood rushed to her face, "Umm… No."

"Loren, I swear I have not asked, and I will not ask anyone to change the way they interact with you, or with anybody else at work, other than to let them know that I will not welcome adverse comments made about you in my hearing, and no man would let anyone make derogatory remarks about the woman he loves."

Dammit! She blushed, there he goes again! But, she had agreed that they would talk this through tonight. "Harm, I'm too damaged and I'm way too high risk for you to love…"

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that Loren? Look I know you're scared - you've told me that. But you've also told me that you love me, and when you said that I just wanted to howl it to the moon that Loren Singer loves me."

Loren pushed a mussel-shell around on her plate and turned pink, but this time with pleasure, not quite daring to meet his eyes because she suspected that they would be so full of warmth and feeling that she would drown in them. With some trepidation she asked, "If… if we decided to explore this thing that we might have… how do you see us doing it…?"

"Pretty much the same way we've been going on since we first decided to be friends, quiet dinners, at my place, or yours; we're both pretty good cooks. Sunday nights watching NFL during the season, weekends flying together, maybe an occasional evening at Benzinger's or McMurphy's, just generally sharing things that we have been doing, except that I get to hold you every once in a while, and maybe, if I'm very lucky, I get to kiss you every now and then. In other words Loren, we stay friends and we make haste slowly, we don't push too hard, we're honest about how we feel."

"M'mm, not Benzinger's. Not for a while, anyway. There are too many people from JAG who drop by there, and I'm not sure that I want to be under a microscope. Which leads onto another thing, what about the Admiral, and fraternisation and…"

Harm put his knife and fork together on his now empty plate, and pushed it to one side, "Loren, provided we let the Admiral know that we're dating, and we keep our personal life out of the office, the only time he would have to act is if we ever decided to formalize things… and neither of us are even in a position to think that far ahead yet. And if it ever did come to that, then one of us would have to leave Falls Church for another assignment, and that is going to happen one day, anyway. We're not going to be able to stay at JAG HQ forever. In fact, I've been there so long that I'm surprised that I haven't been re-assigned already."

Loren stared at him, formalize things… was that Harm-speak for… no, it couldn't be, yet he'd said that neither of us should be thinking about that right now, but if it's alright with you Mr Lawyer-man, I'll hold that thought.

"So, there'd be no pressure?" she asked him slowly, "no making a song and dance, no huge public displays… OK, I guess we _could_ take things slowly… kinda run it up the flagpole and see if anybody salutes sort of thing."

"That suits me fine, Loren, don't forget, I'm feeling my way forward just as cautiously as you are. You see, I don't want to hurt you either; I don't want to let you down. My own record at relationships isn't exactly Blue Riband material. I really want this to work." His eyes crinkled at a memory from yesterday, "And don't forget, we made a pinkie promise!"

Loren giggled, her forehead losing its frown and her eyes dancing, "Yes… yes we did!"

His answering full-blown smile coincided with the reappearance of Megan to clear the dirty dishes from their table, and although she only caught the tail-end of his smile as he turned his head towards her, she felt her stomach flip-flop, and she felt a twinge of totally unjustified jealousy towards the admittedly pretty blonde sharing the table and life of the man with that incredible smile.

**Tuesday 27 February 2001, 0030hrs Local, ****Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (270530ZFeb01)**

Loren unlocked the door to her apartment with a sigh. She was tired, but pleasantly so, not only was it long past her usual bedtime, but after dinner Harm had taken her to the One Step Down on Pennsylvania Avenue, where he'd proceeded to dance her off her feet to the accompaniment of some of the softest jazz blues she'd ever heard, courtesy of Allyn Johnson and the Steve Novosel Quartet.

She hadn't thought about whether Harm was a good dancer or not. Even after more than two and a half hours on the dance floor with him she still didn't know. She supposed that the feeling she had of having had a wonderful time, and that her toes were still unbruised seemed to indicate that he could dance, but her overwhelming impression had been one of warmth, security and safety.

When they had first reached the club and had moved onto the dance floor he had quite formally taken her right hand in his left and placed his right hand on her waist as they'd moved to the music. But at some stage during their dancing, she wasn't quite sure when, both his hands had settled on the upper curve of her hips and her arms had gone around his neck and her face had nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, and it had all seemed so natural. His hands hadn't wandered, and he'd made no attempt to kiss her, but it had been fantastic, she could feel his warmth and smell his smell, a mixture of soap, fresh perspiration and cologne, and feel his breath gently disturbing the hair on the top of her head.

He had insisted on walking her up to her door, and now stood a good pace away from her, not crowding her, as he waited for her to open the door. She turned the key in the lock and turned to face him, her face slightly clouded, "Harm, please don't take this the wrong way, but, I don't think I want you to come in tonight..." She held her breath, desperately hoping she hadn't offended him by implying that after an intimate evening he couldn't be trusted, but the truth was, she couldn't trust herself, and she so did not want to screw this up!

To her relief, he smiled, and said, "Thank God for that, for the last few minutes I've been frantically looking for an excuse that wouldn't offend you, not to come in. So, that's fine Loren, I'll see you tomorrow - no I won't - I'll see you later this morning. Good night."

Loren smiled in relief, it was alright. "Yeah, goodnight, Harm, and thank you for a very special evening," she stepped back and closed the door, and then quickly opened it again, he had already turned towards the stairwell, but now he turned back, the soft smile on his face being replaced by a look of concern. Loren quickly crossed the carpeted hallway and placed both hands on his shoulders and standing on tip-toes raised her face to his, and as he lowered his face she kissed him gently on the lips and stepped back. "This time," she smiled, "I mean it. Good night, Harm."

Her smile grew broader as he placed two fingers on his own mouth and with a look not unlike a rabbit caught in a poacher's lamp he stuttered, "ye...yeah... good... good night Loren..."

Loren smiled and slowly backed away into her apartment, where closing the door, she turned and leaned against it with a smile and breathing a silent "Whew". Yeah, that's great, really great, said the little voice that sounded just like her mother, feeling pretty good about yourself right now aren't you. So, how long's this one going to last before you screw up? No, she told her voice, this time I am _not_ going to screw up, he's far too important, far too precious and far too fragile for me to allow myself to hurt him. This time, _I am not going to fail!_

**Tuesday 27 February 2001, 0750hrs Local, ****Main Entrance, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (271250ZFeb01)**

Harm climbed out of the Lexus and reached the top of the entry steps, returning Corporal McLeod's salute as he did so, just as Loren reach the bottom of the steps. He paused, holding the door for her as she returned the marine's salute and with a muttered, "Good morning, sir," headed for the CP to sign in and collect her building ID tag. Harm waited until she had finished and followed suit, catching up with her before the elevator car arrived. Standing back until she had entered the car, he stepped in and took up a position alongside her, and waited until she pressed the button to close the door and take them up to the Ops level. As the car rose smoothly he kept looking straight ahead but said in a tone of good-natured resignation, "You did that deliberately, you minx!"

"Sir, the Lieutenant has no idea to what the Commander is referring."

Harm risked a look at her, and said "The Commander's compliments, Lieutenant. You actually managed that with a straight face."

That was too much for Loren and she burst into a giggle, which she just managed to quell before the elevator sighed to a stop and the doors slid open. Her _sotto voce_, "That was so not fair, sir!" was met by an ironic look from Harm.

"Well, Lieutenant, you know what they say about pay-back. And I haven't even started yet!"

Loren shot him a quick glance which combined horror, dread and amusement all at the same time, "You said we were going to keep this out of the office," she objected in a whisper.

"I did, and we will," Harm agreed, "But first, we'd best go and beard the lion in his den!"

"Harm, I'm not looking forward to this," Loren confessed, still in a whisper.

"It'll be OK, sweetheart, uh… Lieutenant Sweetheart," Harm deliberately over-corrected himself in an attempt to ease the worry evident on Loren's face, although to tell the truth, he wasn't feeling quite as confident as he made out to be. "Right then," he said, as they paused before the double doors that gave access to the Operations Section, "With me Lieutenant!"

Harm felt a rush of pride in her as despite her apprehension, Loren squared her shoulders and straightened her back and with head held high replied, "Aye, aye, sir!" as the two of them walked across the bull-pen towards the admiral's offices.

"Good morning Tiner!"

"Sir, ma'am! Good morning!" The Yeoman jumped to his feet, "How may I help you?"

"We need to speak with the Admiral, is he in?"

"Yes, sir, one moment please." Tiner pressed the call button on the desk-top interphone, "Admiral, sir? Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer would like to speak with you…"

"H'mph!" Chegwidden's snort was clearly audible, "Alright, Tiner, send 'em in!"

**Tuesday 27 February 2001, 08000hrs Local, Admiral's Office****, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (271300ZFeb01)**

Tiner opened the door and Harm and Loren marched up to the huge mahogany desk behind which their CO was enthroned. Chegwidden closed the file in front of him, and removed his reading glasses. "Well, what do you two want?" he demanded in a minatory accent, although he had been half-expecting this visit since Sunday morning...

"Sir, the Lieutenant and I need to inform you of a change in our personal circumstances, sir!"

"Just exactly what do you mean by that Commander?"

"The Lieutenant and I have decided that our friendship is getting closer, to the extent that it may well be developing into a romantic relationship, sir."

Chegwidden's beady dark eyes darted back and forth between his two officers. "I take that your joint presence means that I don't have to ask Lieutenant Singer whether this is a fact."

"No sir!" Loren replied.

"And when did this change in your circumstances occur?"

"Sir, we've been kicking the idea around for a couple of days, but we made the decision last night to take the opportunity to explore fully where our friendship may lead us."

"Agreed again, Lieutenant?" Chegwidden passed a hand over his bald scalp, in what Harm was coming to know as an habitual gesture.

"Yes, sir."

"And there was no undue pressure, no suggestion of _quid pro quo_, brought to bear?"

"Sir! No, sir!" Harm was outraged by the suggestion that he might somehow be coercing Loren.

"Be quiet, Commander! That question was for the Lieutenant to answer! Well, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, may I remind the Admiral that he witnessed of my behaviour on Sunday morning at Bethesda, and about which he spoke to me privately?"

"H'mph, you may remind me, yes! And if I recall correctly you protested it was merely a friendly gesture."

"Yes, sir, I did, but that was before I'd had time to reconsider my feelings towards the Commander! And, sir, may I also remind the admiral of his response to me on that occasion?"

"No, Lieutenant, there is no need! I am well aware of what I said!" Chegwidden pinched the bridge of his nose, if he wasn't careful he was going to have the mother of all stress-headaches. Why, oh why, was it always Rabb that gave him the most severe symptoms? "Alright, you two. I will have a record of this conversation inserted in your records. But let me just make a few things clear. While you are on duty in this office, or anywhere else, you will maintain the strictest standards of military decorum. One slip, just one, and I will bring charges against you for Conduct Unbecoming and Conduct to the Prejudice of Good order and Discipline. I will bring the same charges should any personal dissent between you find its way into this office, or if it should set other members of staff at each other's throats. I will not tolerate a repetition of the type of recent events which developed from the Brumby affair. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" The chorused reply seemed to satisfy the old SEAL, who gave a grunt that might just have signified approval.

"One further point, even when not on duty but when in uniform, in public, then exactly the same restrictions regarding your behaviour apply, except that if your behaviour in uniform in public falls short in any way of the strictest standards, I shall also add charges of Service Discrediting Conduct to the charge sheet. Is that also perfectly clear?"

Again the chorus of "Yes, sir!" made the admiral grunt in acknowledgement.

"And if, he continued, you decide at any stage in the future to formalize your relationship, then I expect to be told in plenty of time so that I can initiate the necessary changes in personnel and manning. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And while I'm in a dictatorial mood, if this relationship fails, then I expect the pair of you to suck it up and continue to work as colleagues. I can accept you not being friends, but you will continue to work as members of this headquarters. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Very well, dismissed!"

Chegwidden watched his two officers leave the room, again observing that Rabb opened the door and waited for Singer to precede him, and noted too that Singer gave him the same glare that she had on the previous occasion he had witnessed the same interaction. He might be making a mistake here, but he had the feeling that despite Singer's prickly exterior she wasn't anywhere near as volatile as people thought, and she certainly wasn't as unpredictable as a certain Lieutenant Colonel of Marines! But, still, he was right; he _could _feel a headache coming. Opening his desk draw he saw with dismay that his aspirin bottle was empty. Thumbing the inter-phone call button he said, "Tiner, a mug of coffee, please, and a fresh bottle of Aspirin!"

**Tuesday 27 February 2001, 09000hrs Local, Conference Room****, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (271400ZFeb01)**

"Attention! Admiral on Deck!" Tiner's voice rang around the room as Chegwidden walked through the door his Yeoman held open for him.

"As you were, people, as you were." Chegwidden's voice seemed no more than usually gruff, as he took his customary seat at the head of the table and waved his staff to take their own seats. He cast his eyes around the room mentally accounting for absences, and grunted, satisfied that no-one was UA or unaccounted for.

"First things first," he declared, "I am sure you are all aware that Colonel MacKenzie was involved in an incident over the weekend. So, to confound any scuttlebutt that may be flying around," he stared meaningfully at Tiner, "this is what we know: Late on Saturday evening, the Colonel was assaulted in her home. She is now in Bethesda Naval hospital recovering from her injuries, which as far as we know are not life-threatening. She is not yet fit enough to be interviewed either by NCIS or Metro PD, and although she has tentatively identified her attacker who is now in Metro PD custody, I have ordered her room to be posted by a twenty-four hour security detail. I have also informally asked that you, her colleagues keep her company until she can open her eyes, so that she will not feel as if she was totally alone. I am sure you are all aware that psychological effects of an assault can have as serious repercussions as the physical effects. I don't see Commander Mattoni here this morning, so I take it he is with the Colonel?"

Carolyn Imes replied, "Yes sir, he called me this morning to say he was on the way up to Bethesda. I believe Lieutenant Sims will be taking over from him at some stage this afternoon."

"Yes, sir, Bud interjected, "so unless there is anything urgent or unexpected that crops up today, I'd like to secure at fifteen hundred to collect Little A J from the baby-sitter?"

"Agreed. Now, moving on to business. Commander Krennick is scheduled to arrive from Naples tomorrow. I have arranged that she be accommodated at Anacostia…"

"Restricted Quarters, sir?" Harm interrupted in surprise, "isn't that pre-supposing guilt, sir? After all, she's not been charged with anything."

"No, Commander Rabb, not Restricted Quarters, Commander Krennick will be accommodated at CNIC VOQ, and I thought you had recused yourself from this case?" Chegwidden's face and tone made it clear that further interruptions from Harm on this matter would not be welcome.

Harm's "Yes, sir, sorry, sir" only drew an intensified glare from the admiral

"If I may be permitted to continue," the admiral asked with heavy irony, "With Colonel MacKenzie temporarily _hors de combat_, Commander Imes, you will act as trial counsel, with Lieutenant Singer as second chair. If the review recommendations are upheld, then that same team will continue to work together as defence counsel for Captain Coulter. Commander Mattoni will defend Commander Krennick with Lieutenant Barlow assisting, and again if required will continue as trial counsel against Captain Coulter.

"Moving on, the Barrow case: Commander Imes you'll be trial counsel, Commander Rabb will act for the defence, with Lieutenant Singer as second chair. I would like to see this one go to trial starting next week.

"Now, as I've said, Colonel MacKenzie is out of action and Lieutenant Commander Brumby is no longer with us. That means that all their pending cases will have to be redistributed. I have already spoken to BUPERS to get their detailers talking to suitably qualified JAGs to get at least two replacements at O-4 and O-5 level here ASAP, but until that happens - if that happens, you can all look forward to burning a lot of midnight oil. I will try and keep TADs and out of town investigations to a minimum, but…" he sighed heavily, "So if any of you have any leave scheduled within the next six weeks, consider it cancelled. And no-one, I repeat no-one," he cast his eyes around the table "will be granted any leave until the situation is remedied, so don't even think about thinking to apply for leave until I lift this embargo. Is that understood by everyone?"

A chorus "Yes, sir" and two rows of nodding heads reassured him that his words had been taken to heart.

"Now, first off the dung-pile - Lieutenant Barlow - Two Article 32s, Fire Controlman Two De Rosa, _USS John Deere_, Dereliction of Duty, he failed to ensure routine maintenance on a Phalanx PDW was properly carried out, the weapon premmed and two sailors were injured. And, Seaman Apprentice Scharfmann, from the _Seahawk_, Striking a Superior Non-Commissioned Officer, Drunk on Duty and Drunk and Disorderly. You'll act as trial counsel, Lieutenant Roberts you'll be defence counsel for both cases. Try and get pre-trial agreements on these if you can come to a fair agreement.

"Commander Rabb," Chegwidden slid a file across the table, "Get your teeth into that one as soon as you've wrapped up the Barrow Case. You're trial counsel on this one, Lieutenant Singer you'll defend. Lieutenant Commander Robert Blair, desertion. Both of you check precedent very carefully on this one. Blair was a RIO from Wasp squadron, and went down over Bosnia in '92, his pilot was killed and Blair was captured by Bosniak forces. He stayed with them until six weeks ago, when he made his way to Vienna where he surrendered to the US Embassy there. He's claiming forced socialization to ensure survival. This is a stinking cess-pool of a case, so let's try and get cleared up in as sanitary a way as possible.

"Are there any questions? No? Good, let's get to it people!"

The assembled officer scrambled to their feet as the JAG left his chair. Harm looked helplessly at Loren as she shrugged her shoulders. Carolyn Imes looked at both of them and said, well, that's an interesting pot-pourri, on the same team for Barrow and opposing counsel for this desertion case. Well, I don't envy you on that one."

"Yeah, thanks Carolyn!" Harm said sardonically with an exasperated expression. "When do you expect to be able to go to trial with Barrow?"

"Well, the facts are pretty self-evident. Let me read through the file overnight, and I'll let you know what I think tomorrow!"

Harm nodded his agreement. And as Carolyn left the conference room, he turned to Loren, "Can you get back to the law library before securing and scan in those pages from the Warren case that we noted yesterday? We'll need to secure at sixteen hundred, then over to my place for a quick early dinner and case conference, and then I need to get over to relieve Harriett by nineteen hundred, OK?"

"OK, and sir… I'll go with you to Bethesda. If that's OK, sir?" she added hesitantly.

"You don't have to do that Loren, I mean, considering the way that Mac…"

"It's OK, sir. It looks like we're all going to be damn' busy for the foreseeable future, so if sitting with the Colonel is part of the price I have to pay for spending off-duty time with you, then it's a price I'm happy to pay!"

Harm took a quick glance to make sure the conference room door was shut, before he smiled at her and said, "I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you!"

Loren gasped and went pink, "Harm! Stop it! Not at work, remember!"

"Oh," Harm's faced assumed the expression that an unfairly smacked puppy might have, "There are times Loren Singer, when you take all the fun out life," he whined.

"Sir! That expression and that tone are so… so… so unfair!" Loren protested, half wanting to kiss him and half wanting to kick him.

"Ah," he smiled at her in unholy glee, "remember what I said about payback!"

**Tuesday 27 February 2001, 1800hrs Local, Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (272300ZFeb01)**

Harm piled the dirty dishes in the sink; they would have to wait for later. Right now, he and Loren had about a half-hour left before they needed to head up to Bethesda, and they were still working through the witness statements on the Barrow case.

"I just can't get my head around this, Harm," Loren complained, "Look at Lieutenant Barrow's statement. There's absolutely nothing in that statement that reflects resentment or hostility towards his father. Hell, the incident took place in Chief Barrow's quarters in BEQ while they were both off duty. And look, right here, it wasn't until the next day that 'I warned the Chief that I would be preferring charges against him, for the good of the service'. Does that sound like the logical outcome of a father-son argument, which is what he says was happening?"

Harm could only shrug his shoulders, "Loren, it's no good asking me about father and son dynamics. Remember, my dad went MIA when I was six, so I never got to have adolescent or young adult disagreements with him."

"Oh, Harm, I'm sorry… I wasn't thinking…"

"It's OK, Loren, it's not your fault… but are you sure… I mean after what you said about your father…"

"That's exactly what I mean, Harm. Our life was full of temper and shouting and screaming. I could never have sat down and written something so cool and detached. When my father and I had our… disagreements, I would have been screaming mad at him, and even after a night cooling off, I would still have been too mad to be that… clinical. No, Harm, there's something here that we're missing, something that everyone has missed. I want to re-interview Lieutenant Barrow, ASAP!"

Harm watched her for a moment or two. She had her head down studying the documents in front of her with her forehead creased in a frown and a look of intense concentration on her face. In those moments Harmon Rabb had a revelation, this was the real Bulldog, the attorney who was convinced she had found a chink in the opposing side's armour and was going all out to exploit that chink and win the case for her client.

It was an attitude with which he could to a great degree sympathise. But in his view of the law and justice it still wasn't quite enough to turn Loren Singer from a good attorney into a great attorney. She had the intellect and the potential to succeed as a lawyer, even maybe to achieve her ambition; he mused for a moment, Vice-Admiral Loren Singer, USN JAG. He had to admit, the title and name did have a certain ring to it. But she still needed to realise that it was the concept of truth within the law that turned law into justice.

But, as he looked at his watch he sighed and said, "Come on counselor, I've got to get up to Bethesda otherwise my godson will never forgive me for keeping his mommy out too late to say night-night to him!"

"What's this 'I've got to get up to Bethesda'" Loren demanded as closed the file and secured it in her briefcase, "I thought we'd agreed that I was going with you?"

Harm was shrugging into his brown leather jacket as he turned and said, "You know you don't have to come Loren, you've racked up three late nights in a row now; you should really head for home and get some quality sleep-time."

"And like I told you," she responded pulling on her pea-jacket, "If sitting up with the Colonel is what it takes for me to get some quality time with you, then I'll take the deal. I'll follow you up there, OK?"

Harm knew when he was beaten; there was a hint of the Bulldog in her face, in her voice and in her body language. He flipped a sardonic half-salute in her direction and grinned, "Yes, ma'am!"

**Tuesday 27 February 2001, 2000hrs Local, SICU, National Naval Medical centre, Bethesda, MD, (280100ZFeb01)**

Harm and Loren walked up the now-familiar length of hallway to Mac's room. The broken-nosed Corporal came to attention and saluted as they approached.

"Anything new Corporal?" Harm asked.

"Sir! Civilian cops tried to get in to see the Colonel a bit earlier, but the Lieutenant stopped them, sir!"

Harm blinked, "The Lieutenant stopped them, Corporal?"

"Sir, yes, sir! She just about tore them a new each sir. Sir, I didn't know the Lieutenant knew those kind of words, sir!"

Harm poked his head around the door for a second. Yes, it _was_ Harriett Sims sat beside the bed and bathing Mac's face. "Let me get this straight, Corporal. It was the Lieutenant who is still in with the Colonel. The blonde Lieutenant married to Lieutenant Roberts?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Harm exchanged a helpless look with Loren and shrugged, before saying "Thank you, Corporal, at ease."

"Sir!"

Harm knocked gently on the doorjamb to let Harriett know that they were entering the room, and she looked up smiling to see Harm, but then the smile faded as she saw his companion. Loren said nothing, but a quick glance was sufficient to tell Harm that she had seen the change in Harriett's expression, and he bit his lip in exasperation. It was, he felt, going to be a long, uphill struggle before Harriett gave up her hostility towards Loren, if she ever did.

"Hi Harriett, hi Mac…"

Mac raised her right arm and once again gave the diver's 'OK' sign as acknowledgement that she had heard him. While Harriett said composedly, "Good evening Commander, Lieutenant."

Loren shot a look at Mac before returning her gaze to Harriett, "Good evening Lieutenant," she answered before sitting in the spare chair to the right of Mac's bed.

Harm tried to thaw the atmosphere, "We've come to take over the Mac watch," he joked, "before Little AJ starts to blame me for keeping his mommy from him."

Harriett was still unsmiling, although the lines of disapproval were smoothed away from face as she picked up her purse and cover, "AJ knows where I am, I had to tell him that I was helping to look after his Aunty Mac because she has lots of big boo-boos, and he told me I wasn't to come home until his Aunty Mac was all better." Harriett's voice caught as she related Little A J's concern for Mac, and her eye looked suspiciously moist.

Harm cleared his throat. That ploy had gone well, he told himself sarcastically, next time if I open my mouth just a little wider, I should be able to get both feet in.

Harriett gulped back her emotions, and rising to her feet, she said in a tight little voice, "But I do need to get back home, before Bud stuffs himself full of pizza or potato chips, so if you'll excuse me, sir, Lieutenant."

Harm made a quick decision, "Loren, you'll be OK here for five, maybe ten?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, just slightly emphasizing the honorific, "the Colonel and I will be fine, won't we ma'am?" and again Mac signified her agreement with the 'OK' sign.

"In that case, Harriett," Harm smiled at her, "I'll walk you out."

"Oh, there's no need for that, Commander."

"There may be no need, Harriett, but grant me the pleasure and the privilege." He gave her an almost full blown version of his smile, and married woman or not, Harriett Sims felt herself go weak at the knees. Oh, she groaned silently that is so not fair! But she smiled, weakly, and murmured, "Very well, sir, if you insist."

Harm walked with Harriett down the hallway, and said cheerfully, "There are hidden depths to you Harriett Sims!"

"Sir?" she replied in some confusion.

"Yes, apparently you managed to impress a marine with your unexpectedly fluent grasp of, shall we say, less than perfect English?" His airy delivery succeeded in making Harriett giggle.

"I put it all down to corrupting influence of all those sailors I'm surrounded by," she riposted. "But those cops were so dumb! They wanted to get a statement from the Colonel, and I told them three times that she could neither see to write nor speak to give them a verbal statement, and they just stood there in the doorway arguing with the Corporal and with myself, and all they were doing was upsetting the colonel and…"

"Hey, hey, Harriett, it's alright, it's OK. You done good!" And he slung an arm around her shoulder and gave her a slight squeeze. To his utter confusion Harriett stopped walking and turning towards him threw herself on his chest and burst into tears.

All Harm could do was to hold her gently and rub her back to comfort her while he made vague soothing noises, and cast anguished looks around for someone, anyone to take the weeping Lieutenant off his hands. He wasn't averse to comforting women in distress as a general rule, but this was Harriett Sims, Bud Roberts' wife, and the whole situation was pretty damned embarrassing. She couldn't really have picked a more public spot! But with all these people around, why wasn't anyone coming to help him dammit!

After what seemed like at least a month, Harriett's tears subsided into watery sniffles, and Harm was able to let go of her with one hand and reach into his pocket, thanking all the little gods and goddesses that at least he had a clean handkerchief on him. He led Harriett further down the corridor to a waiting area furnished with the ubiquitous blue plastic chairs and gently made her sit until her spasm had passed. He tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes and smiled gently, "Harriett, it's OK; it's just that these last few days has got everyone wound up tighter than a watch spring."

"Oh, sir, I'm so embarrassed, I don't know what came over me… It's just that Colonel looks so bad, so weak, she's just lying there, she can't speak, she can't eat, she can't even see. How can a man, any man do that to a woman, sir?"

"Harriett, that's a question I've been asking myself, ever since the Admiral called me to tell me to get my six back here, and I don't know, I just don't know. I always knew that Brumby could be violent and that he had a short fuse, but I never thought he'd get physical with Mac, well not like that anyway!"

"Ohhhh! It's such a cowardly thing to do sir, and it makes me so mad!" Harriett's little hands clenched into tight fists so that her knuckles shone white, "I wish, I really wish, just for once, that I was a man so I could make him feel just the way she does!"

"If it's any consolation Harriett, he's been in Metro PD's downtown lock-up since Sunday morning. I doubt he's enjoying himself very much. I'm told that there is an element of society there that doesn't take very kindly to men who beat up on women!"

"Do you mean…"

"I mean Harriett that he's most probably in a whole world of pain already!"

Harriett allowed herself to be comforted by that thought and Harm was able to walk her out to the Roberts' minivan in the parking lot. "Are you sure you're alright to drive Harriett?" he asked concerned that she might still feel a bit shaken.

"I'm fine, sir. Really. You should get back to the Colonel… and to Lieutenant Singer," she finished rather uncertainly.

"If you're sure…?"

She nodded, and climbed into the minivan and slid behind the wheel. "I'll see you tomorrow, sir!"

"Good night, Harriett."

Harm made his way back to Mac's room, again acknowledging the Corporal's salute and pausing by the door as he heard Loren's voice reading from Mac's Tom Clancy adventure. He stepped into the room, and Loren broke off her reading to smile at him, and say "Colonel, Commander Rabb's back now," and as Harm gestured towards the basin of ice water and the sponge, Loren continued, "He's going to put some more cold compresses on your eyes, and I'll carry on reading. Now where were we…? Oh, yes…"

Harm wasn't quite sure what effect Loren's voice was having on Mac, but her low tones took on a different aspect for every nuance of the book she was reading. She brought the book to life in a way perhaps that no screen adaptation could possibly do, and he made up his mind to ask her, later, how she developed such a fascinating reading style, and despite his professed disdain for such pulp fiction, as he termed it, the energy she put into her reading gradually drew him into the story, until she stopped at the end of a chapter and whispered, "Harm, I think she's asleep…"

His whispered, "Mac?" drew no response, so he nodded to Loren and they both quietly got to their feet and prepared to leave. Harm quietly closed the blinds while Loren turned off the main lights, and bidding goodnight to the Corporal, they made their way to the parking lot.

Harm turned toward Loren as they stood between her Miata and his Lexus and took both of her hands gently in his. "Thanks for coming along this evening Loren; I know I said I'd be happy if you didn't, but I was even happier that you did."

"I'm glad I did, Harm, it gave me a chance to catch up on that book I've been reading to the Colonel…"

"Yes, I wanted to ask you about that…"

"Oh, what?"

"Where and how did you learn to bring a book to life like that."

"Why don't you ask me that again, when you've come home with me, and I've made us a cup of tea?"

"Are you sure it's not too late?"

"Harm, it's barely twenty-two hundred hours, I need a cup of tea and a chance to wind down before I'll be anywhere near ready to sleep. I've been on the go all day since oh-six thirty hours, and I've got so much adrenalin pumping around my system that I'm surprised I'm not bouncing off the walls!"

"Yeah, OK. I can understand that, and yeah, I could probably use a cup of tea and a wind down myself."

**Tuesday 27 February 2001, 2230hrs Local, ****Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (280330ZFeb01)**

In obedience to his orders Harm sat back on the couch while Loren busied herself with kettle, teapot and mugs. He took advantage of those few minutes to have another look around her living room, a room he was beginning to know quite well, and he smiled as he saw that the bouquet of wildflowers he had given her the previous evening, was in pride of place on a small round table that she had obviously brought into the living room from wherever she had originally had it placed.

It was only a few minutes he had to indulge himself before Loren brought a tray to the coffee table and poured two mugs of tea before somewhat to his surprise she took her place on the couch next to him and grasping his wrist in her hand brought his arm around so that it draped across her shoulder with his hand resting naturally on her hip. Leaning her head against the hollow of his shoulder, she sighed and said in a dreamy voice, "This is nice."

"Yeah," he agreed, "I like this too. But are you going to tell me all about your reading skills," and he dropped kiss on the crown of her head, taking pleasure in the light floral fragrance of her hair, "or are you just going to drop off to sleep?"

"There's no mystery, about my reading," she told him in a quiet voice, "I've told you what my life was like growing up. The only real friends I had were the characters in the books I read, and I guess I started talking to them, then hearing their words as well as just reading them."

"H'mm," his throat closed up and his heart nearly broke again when she so matter-of-factly confessed to just how lonely she'd been as a child, and so to give his voice time to recover, he managed to snag his mug of tea without disturbing her, and took a sip before saying, "What I don't get, with that marvelous histrionic ability of yours, why on earth you didn't go in to drama school. With that ability and your looks, you would have wowed them in Hollywood! Mind you, I'm glad that you didn't!"

Loren smiled, "I tried drama club for one semester at college, and I couldn't do it. Every time I got up on stage, I froze. I couldn't remember my lines, I couldn't remember where to stand, and I couldn't even remember how to move. Just chalk it up as another one of my failures."

Harm could hardly believe his ears. Loren was one of the coolest, most clinical attorneys he had ever seen in court. She owed her reputation as the Ice Queen not just to her interpersonal behaviour but also to her court-room delivery. If she had really frozen like that during drama classes, then she must have trained ferociously to be able to function in court, yet another example, he was certain, of her courage and determination.

"Umm, Loren…"

As he'd expected, she turned her face up towards him with a questioning expression, and greatly daring he lowered his face to hers and kissed her gently on the lips. For a second she froze and he was about to break contact with her, when her hand came up and around to grasp the nape of his neck as she responded to him.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

**Wednesday 28 February 2001, 0748hrs Local, Parking Lot, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (281248ZFeb01)**

The little blue convertible pulled away from the VCP at the entrance to the parking lot, and Corporal Parker, turning back to face the flow of incoming traffic muttered out the side of his mouth, and without moving his lips, "did you see that, Schirmer?"

"Ah shorely did, Corporal." His cover-man replied, his own face equally still.

Prevented by standing orders for the VCP neither marine was able to express their stupefaction at the most unexpected event either of them had witnessed during their tours at JAG until they could be relieved and free to express their sentiments in the ready room.

Meanwhile the object of their surprise swung her car into its allotted space, and neatly swung her legs out of the cab before standing and collecting her briefcase and cover from the passenger's seat. Clapping her cover on her head at just enough of an angle to be called 'jaunty' she almost bounced across the parking lot to the main building entrance, trotting up the steps and astounding yet another marine as he brought himself up to attention and saluted the blonde lieutenant. She'd returned the salute as required by regulations, but regulations had nothing to do with the laughter lines at the corner of her eyes, nor the dazzling smile that accompanied her return salute, nor even with the cheerful "Good morning, Pfc Salazar!" she had called out as she'd passed him.

Her unusually sunny demeanour and her cheerful good mornings didn't go unnoticed by Corporal Julia Sommers or Staff Sergeant Hernandez at the CP desk, where she signed in and received her building ID badge. Waiting until she had taken the elevator, Hernandez turned to his faithful henchwoman and said, "Well, that's a first!"

Corporal Sommers cocked her head to look up at her senior, who topped her by a good head and a half, and mused, "Yeah, if I didn't know better, I'd say she was suddenly getting some!"

Hernandez spun to look at her, "Careful, Corporal," he cautioned her. Think what you like, but be careful in what you say, particularly on that subject. This place is full of damn lawyers, and there's nothing they enjoy more than a good dose of scuttlebutt!"

"Yeah, but…"

"But nothing, Corporal, that kind of loose talk can ruin careers quicker nor 'most anything else. So think what you like when you like, but keep the talk until we're off duty and away from here! Got it?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant." The Corporal dutifully replied.

**Wednesday 28 February 2001, 0755hrs Local, Galley, Bull-Pen, JAG Ops, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (281255ZFeb01)**

Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez stalked into the bull-pen. He had arrived almost half-an hour beforehand as was his usual custom to ensure that all was ready for the oh-nine-hundred hours staff call, and he now cast his eyes about the bull-pen as the enlisted members of the JAG Ops crew arrived and like starlings, settled at their various desks chattering amongst themselves as they waited for their computers to come on line. Galindez wasn't worried about these couple of minutes, his training methods had ensured that once the crew had settled down they would get through their work with formidable efficiency. He allowed himself a half-smile and let his shoulders relax for a moment. They weren't a bad bunch - for a load of Squids!

He glanced around at the various office doors, no lights on in Commander Rabb's office; no huge surprise there, the Commander had a reputation for tardiness that made it seem highly likely that he would be late for his own funeral.

No light on in the Colonel's office, either. Well that was only to be expected, she still being in hospital. But Gunny was vaguely concerned, there had been some scuttlebutt that she was being sent on a punishment posting, as if somehow her being punched out by that Australian bastard had been her fault! He shook his head, he'd squashed the scuttlebutt as soon as he'd heard it, together with the unfortunate seaman he'd heard giving voice to it, but still… The next office had been occupied by Brumby, and was now waiting for its next incumbent. And… and was that a light in Lieutenant Singer's office? It was sometimes difficult to tell when the blinds were drawn, as they now were. But if Lieutenant Singer was in earlier than usual, then it normally meant trouble for some poor son of a bitch. What the hell was the prickly blonde lieutenant up to this time?

But now, he glanced up at the wall-mounted clock set to EST, he had earned himself his first cup of coffee. Nodding in silent approval as the tumult of arrivals died down and the numbers of active PC screens increased, he turned and made his way to the galley. To his surprise as he drew near the Galley door, he thought he could detect the aroma of freshly-brewing coffee, opening the door he was surprised to see Lieutenant Singer leaning against one of the work tops and waiting for the coffee machine to finish its work and fill the first of the day's many coffee jugs. As he stepped into the room he drew himself into a brace, "Good morning ma'am."

"Good morning, Gunny," she replied with a smile, the power of which rocked him back on his heels, but the surprise he had felt then was nothing to what had happened next, "Straight black for you, isn't it Gunny?" she asked, passing him a mug of freshly brewed coffee. "It may not be quite the liquid tar you seem to prefer, but I think it's better than Tiner's!"

The normally cool, calm and collected Staff Non-Com could only accept the mug of steaming coffee and stammer, "Yes, ma'am, thank you ma'am, no, it's fine, thank you ma'am!"

The blonde officer cocked her head to one side and looked at him closely, and for a fleeting second, Galindez thought he saw concern in her eyes as she asked, "Are you alright, Gunny? You seem to be a little edgy."

"Uh, no, I'm good, ma'am," he assured her. What the hell just happened here? Lieutenant Singer had just inquired about his health. And she was being friendly. This was like the day a couple of weeks ago when…

"Gunny? Gunny!" He became aware that she had called him, and probably several times if the sharpness of her voice and the puzzled frown on her forehead had any significance.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Are you sure you're OK, Gunnery Sergeant? I had to call you three or four times just then."

"No, really, ma'am, I am fully fit… I guess I just zoned out for a moment or two… it won't happen again ma'am!"

She continued to look at him curiously, and to his chagrin he felt his cheeks growing warm, and then once he was aware of that, of course it got worse.

Loren fought back the desire to burst out laughing. It was a rare event for her to be able to set someone blushing, and that it was the normally ever-so-stoic Gunnery Sergeant only made her achievement the more complete, but good manners and good sense demanded that she ignore his momentary discomfiture, especially when she needed him to do something.

"Uh… was it something special you wanted ma'am?"

"Yes, could you get on to your buddies in the motor pool please? I need a car ready for me by the end of staff call, say oh-nine-forty-five hours. It'll' need a full tank. I shall be driving myself to Norfolk to interview a witness. Thank you, Gunny."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Loren left the Gunnery Sergeant with a further smile, and headed out of the galley, back to her office. She really needed to get caught up on some of those damn reports before the chaos of staff call and the rest of the day's business pushed it all back to the bottom of her In-box.

Gunnery Sergeant Galindez almost wandered back to his desk. In a few short minutes his whole world-view had been wrested from his grasp, given a damn good shaking and then shoved back in his face. OK, there had been that morning when she had seemed a bit more relaxed than usual and he had half thought at the time that… Oh, crap! The suspicion that he had squashed back then leaped back into his mind. She had let someone into her life, and if his prior suspicions were correct then it was the Commander who had made the difference. Gunny Galindez drained his coffee mug, and slid into the bottom draw of his desk until he could find a minute or two to return it to the galley. As for the Lieutenant and the Commander, good luck to them. Anyway, despite the feud between the Lieutenant and Colonel MacKenzie, he'd always had a bit of soft spot for the petite, blonde and very feisty navy lieutenant. She'd have made a hell of a marine, he thought, Oorah!

**Wednesday 28 February 2001, 0810hrs Local, SICU, National Naval Medical centre, Bethesda, MD, (2813100ZFeb01)**

Harm acknowledged the Pfc's salute as he approached the door to Mac's room, and was slightly surprised, when the young marine grinned at him, and said, "If you could grab a helmet and some body armour before you go in, sir, it might help."

Harm winced. "Well," he theorized as he pointedly displayed the brown paper sack with the Starbuck's logo on it, "This might just help a little instead of body armour. Is the Colonel unhappy with something, Pfc?"

"Uh, she seems a little fretful this morning, sir. A couple of the nurses almost ran out and almost in tears, just a few minutes ago."

Harm groaned silently, if he was any judge in the matter, he could probably expect to be a witness to an unpleasant visit from the Head Nurse in the near future, and, he contemplated gloomily, it will all have turned out to be his fault, and he'd find himself being held responsible for Mac's future conduct. Sighing with resignation, he opened the door and looked at the decidedly grumpy picture his partner presented to the day. She had persuaded somebody, Harriett at a guess, to bring her some pyjamas from home, and had somehow managed to put them on in lieu of the hospital gown he knew she hated. He recalled on a previous occasion her grumbles about having her six left hanging out in the wind. He wouldn't mind betting though that to get the jacket on, she'd had to detach the tubes and wires from her arms, there, he was certain, could be found the root of the problem with the nurses.

For the moment however she was sat up in bed, and although with the livid bruises and swelling on her face it was hard to work out her facial expression, the obvious tension in her shoulders, the way she held her head and the arms so tightly crossed over her breasts were pretty good indicators that Sarah MacKenzie was a fairly unhappy marine this morning. However, there was nothing for it, he was rostered to sit with her this morning until he was relieved by young Barlow. He winced; he did not envy the lieutenant that job, unless Mac could be cheered up before the youngster's tour of duty started.

"Morning, Mac, how are you fee…"

"Fkkn lay" she growled.

Harm thought for a few seconds, "Well, yeah," he admitted, "but not by much, Mac!" he tried for a degree of mitigation.

Twe'v' fkkn minnis" she snarled, or attempted to snarl through her wired jaws.

"Give me a break, Mac! Georgia Avenue was a total bear. And besides, if I'd tried to be on time, then I wouldn't have been able to pull over and get you… he paused for effect and in a whispered aside "drum roll, if you please, maestro," and then in triumph, he exclaimed, "This!", as he produced a plastic covered large Styrofoam mug bearing the Starbuck's brand, and giving off the, to Mac, heavenly aroma of an Americano with three extra Espresso shots.

"Ohhhh, gimmeplse", Mac whispered.

Amusing as it might have been to make her beg for the coffee, Harm had the sense to realise that one day she was going to be fit and healthy again. Mac had a very long memory too, especially for those little incidents of daily life that any man would brush aside as no more than a minor irritant and forget about them in very short order. So on the whole, it was probably safer and healthier to get her drinking tube, and let caffeine do its best to soothe the savage marine breast

Actually, watching the almost instantaneous effect, it wasn't so much of letting caffeine soothe, it was a case of letting caffeine work its magic.

A loud, inelegant slurping noise gave notice that the mug was now empty, and Mac's disappointment was evident in her voice as she asked, "Smore?"

"No, sorry, marine, I figured one dose was risky enough. I didn't want you bouncing off the walls, if I brought you more than one mug."

He'd half expected a protest, but Mac sighed and sank back onto her pillows, "'sgoo. Thaks."

"Hey nothing to thank me for, partners, remember?"

She groped towards him with her right hand, and leaning towards her, he picked it up and said, "Seriously, Mac, don't worry about it. We've done much harder things for each other in the past."

She nodded, and pulling her hand free, she brought the back of it up to her eye, and gently blotted away the moisture seeping out of the corner.

Harm watched in some concern, but then seized the opportunity. "Anyone bathed your eyes yet this morning, Mac?"

"Uh-uh. I ha' fite wi' nurs," she confessed.

"Really?" Harm could not resist his comment, neither could help the sardonic edge to his voice. But inwardly he was no too displeased. Mac lying so still and so apparently spiritless as she had done for the first couple of days had been deeply unsettling, so a sign, any sign that she was beginning to recover her spirits was very good news. Even if that sign was the fact that she had been terrorizing the nursing staff.

"OK, then," he smiled, "I've got a basin full of ice-water here, and a couple of sponges. Lift your head a second so I can just… put… this… towel on your pillow. Now, marine, you just lie back, shut your eyes and enjoy what I'm going to do to you."

"Gonn' ge' you' for tha!" she muttered.

"Yeah, yeah," he scoffed, "promises, promises!" and despite her lingering annoyance with the liberty he had taken, he would never have dared to use such an innuendo laden sentence if she'd been on her feet, Mac couldn't help the stifled giggle that made her groan and press her hand to her sore ribs.

Harm had been gently pressing chilled, damp sponges against her eyes for about ten minutes, and keeping up a flow of inconsequential chatter, when Mac put up her hand, grasped his wrist and pushed his hand away from her face.

"What is it Mac, did I hurt you? I'm sorry..."

"No no'urr, loo!" And as Harm watched her closely, her right eyelid flickered and peeped open, just a slit opening, but still, it opened.

Harm drew a deep breath, and grinned, a full, complete, happy flyboy grin, "Oh, Mac, that's great, fantastic! Can you see anything?"

"See you fly' 'oy!" she grunted.

Harm fought back his emotion. "OK, Mac, here's the thing. The docs reckon that there' s a chance, a slim chance, that your eyes might be damaged, so I'm going to call them right now, so they can take a look at you. You can't take risks with your sight. You're a lawyer remember? There's all that fine-print that you've got to be able to read!"

Suiting his actions to his words, Harm reached across the bed and pressed the nurses' call button, and still gently bathing Mac's left eye, he sat back and waited for a nurse to answer his call.

A young brunette Nurse Lieutenant appeared at the door and rather cautiously, Harm thought, asked "Is there something wrong with the Colonel, sir?"

"I hope not, Lieutenant. I hope it's entirely the opposite. Colonel MacKenzie has just managed to open her eye, and given that we were told there was a possibility of physical damage to the eye, I figured someone needs to look at it pretty quickly to prevent any further damage, if it is damaged, already…" Crap! He was beginning to sound like Bud Roberts on a bad day!

"Right, sir, thank you! She crossed to the room telephone, and checking a list she pulled from her pocket, she dialed a number, and waited until she heard the ringing tone at the other end. Turning back to Harm and Mac, she addressed her remarks to Mac and said, "I've just paged Commander Pike, he should be with you very shortly, ma'am!" She approached the bed, and calmly twitched the covers into better order while checking the various displays for any irregularities.

Commander Pike, however unwittingly, ensured that the nurse hadn't lied and was at the door within minutes of her call. "Now, what's so urgent that you pulled me away from the crossword I was working on?" he demanded cheerfully.

"The Colonel, apparently, has managed to open one of her eyes, sir," the nurse responded.

"Apparently?" Harm interjected indignantly, "No such thing. I was here, I saw it happen, I saw her eye open!"

"Allegedly," corrected the doctor, with a grin, "I believe you lawyers call it 'facts not in evidence'?"

Harm looked at him suspiciously, uncertain whether to blast him or to go along with his obvious leg pull. At length and still not quite convinced he decided upon the latter course, "What? Where are you from? Missouri?"

"Nope," Pike grinned, "I'm from Kansas, but…"

Harm couldn't resist the opportunity to get in a dig of his own, "We're not in Kansas, anymore!" he interrupted whatever the doctor was about to say.

Commander Pike grinned even more broadly, "OK. If we've finished playing quotations, why don't I have a look at our patient? Good morning, Colonel MacKenzie!"

"Mor'i'g" Mac returned his greeting.

"OK, Colonel, can you manage to sit up again? Nurse?"

With Harm and the nurse's help Mac was propped into a sitting position, and Commander Pike perched on the side of her bed and pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and once Mac had opened her eye as best she could, he very gently used finger and thumb to open it as wide as he could, apologising as he did so for any discomfort, and looked thoughtfully into her eye.

At length, he removed his hand and watched as Mac's eyelids closed until they revealed no more than a slit, grunted in approval, and said to her, "Well, I can't see any obvious damage. The white of the eye is suffused with blood, but after receiving the sort of punishment you did, I would be surprised if that were not the case. All that means is that some of the very small blood vessels in the eye were damaged and leaked blood. They've already repaired themselves, and the blood is already leaving the eye. What I can't tell at the moment is whether there is any damage to the retina or cornea, or to other parts if the eye. So I'm going to call for a consult from an ophthalmologist colleague, and then we can set your mind at rest. In the meantime, just in case there is any damage, I'm going to apply a light dressing. I know it's frustrating, and that you want to see again, but trust me, it will only be for a couple of hours. OK?"

Mac groaned. Her eye felt fine, and after four days of not being able to see, she wanted to do just that, but… "A cu'ala ours?" she queried.

"Just that," Commander Pike assured her, "I'll start kicking butts right away. I promise! Now, Lieutenant," he turned to the nurse, "Just a light gauze shield, double thickness, got it?"

"Yes, doctor!"

**Wednesday 28 February 2001, 0910hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (281410ZFeb01)**

Admiral Chegwidden closed the file folder in front of him. "Everyone happy so far? good! And I'm about to make things a little better, Commander Sturgis Turner, will be joining us on re-assignment from LSO Pearl Harbour, he is a contemporary and old acquaintance, I understand, of Commander Rabb. I have put a priority on his orders, and I expect to see him here ready to start work on Monday. In the meantime, I have arranged a billet for him at VOQ at Anacostia. Commander Imes, please make contact with him and do what you can to help him settle in until he finds his feet and what he's doing. I have also asked BUPERS to get their detailers back to work on finding us at least one, and preferably two O4's, and that should help ease the workload. If BUPERS can't find suitable willing applicants, then I'll start throwing darts at a list of names and cutting orders." He looked around the table, nodding in satisfaction, before asking, "Does anyone have any questions?

"Yes, sir," Loren spoke up, looking at both the Admiral and Carolyn Imes, "We, the defence that is, would like a temporary hold on the Barrow case, please sir."

"Oh, why? I'm not inclined to delay proceedings this late in the day, unless there are very good reasons, Lieutenant!" the admiral admonished her.

"Sir, I only got the case yesterday, as second chair," she amended hastily as the admiral's eyebrow began an ascent to where his hairline should have been, "and reading through the file last evening with Commander Rabb, we found an anomaly that we need to check out. So as soon as you've finished with us here, I need to go to Norfolk to re-interview a witness."

"H'mm… Is this your idea, or is it something that Commander Rabb came up with?"

"Uh, my idea, sir. But the commander said I should run with it."

Chegwidden regarded his ambitious, overly ambitious some would say, subordinate. It was true, he didn't like last minute delays to trials, and he wasn't too sure about how this anomaly had suddenly become apparent. But he couldn't refuse her permission to re-interview the witness. Firstly that might have the appearance of Undue Command Influence, and secondly it would imply that he thought his officer might be lying to him. Even an attempt to corroborate her story with Rabb could completely undermine both him and her.

"Very well, Lieutenant, I'll speak with Admiral Morris, and see what we can do about getting the Barrow case moved down the docket. I imagine, Commander Imes, that a few extra days won't hurt the prosecution's case?"

Carolyn was annoyed, but knew better than to betray that annoyance to the admiral, "Not at all sir, in fact it might help us." She smiled impartially at both A J and Loren.

The admiral looked at each of them in turn, before saying, "Alright, is there anything else I should know?"

The silence that greeted his question seemed to reassure him, and he rose to his feet, sparking a clatter of furniture as his officers rose with him. He looked around the room once more before nodding his head and opening the door.

As they walked back towards the bull-pen, Loren found that Carolyn Imes had manouevred through the group to walk alongside her. Eying the lieutenant with a mixture of respect and amusement, Carolyn asked, "Lieutenant, is there really something that you think is worth re-interviewing for, or is this one of Harm's… uh… Commander Rabb's magic bunnies?"

Loren eyed the older woman speculatively. She'd always seemed so confident, but yet here she was on what felt like a fishing expedition, "No, ma'am. What we've found, is something that was previously overlooked, and that we think is well worth following up. Believe me, ma'am," she grimaced, "a one day return drive to Norfolk, is not something that I really enjoy!"

Carolyn nodded her agreement. If nothing else that Loren had said would convince her, her reluctance to make the trip to Norfolk and back in one day was something with which she could sympathise, and in her own case, it was not something she'd do unless she had a very good reason.

"OK, then, Lieutenant, take care on the road."

Loren stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway. Inquiries about her cases were something that she handled with ease, but for another officer, a senior officer at that, to turn round and show concern over her wellbeing and safety, was not something she'd had to face since… since… forever!

**Wednesday 28 February 2001, 0930hrs Local, Admiral's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (281430ZFeb01)**

The admiral paused as he entered Tiner's cubby-hole. Sitting on one of the chairs was a blonde woman wearing the uniform of a naval Commander of the JAG Corps. As he entered, so she stood, and he was able to cast an appraising glance at her. Alison Krennick had aged well, there didn't seem to be any changes since he had last seen her some six years ago. Her blonde hair was still dressed in the style that he had found intensely irritating, hanging in a curtain so that it mostly hid one side of her face. She seemed to be slightly more deeply tanned than he recalled, but that was probably the result of her exposure to the Italian sun. She didn't seem to have gained weight, and she was still an attractive woman… until, he thought uneasily, you looked into her eyes. Her bright blue eyes, which had at one time held some human warmth now appeared to be no more than chips of blue ice, as unappealing as Lieutenant Singer's similarly coloured eyes - no belay that, Singer's eyes had recently thawed, and had even at some times hinted at a lurking sense of humour, that the woman in front of him certainly did not seem to possess.

"Good morning, sir!" Even her voice was clipped and… yes… glacial.

"Good morning, Commander," he might as well try an olive branch. "You've made good time; I wasn't expecting to see you for at least another hour!"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!"

Chegwidden sighed, it was going to be one of those interviews. He looked around for his Yeoman, and saw Tiner standing by the printer and rather too deliberately not paying attention to what was going on just a few steps behind him, and then thought better of his original idea, "Tiner!"

"Sir!"

"Tiner, my compliments to Gunnery Sergeant Galindez and ask him to pay personal attention to the brewing of a fresh pot of coffee. And when he has done that, you are to bring two cups to my office. Still NATO Standard, Commander?" he asked her in an aside, and as she nodded her agreement, he raised his voice again and continued his orders to Tiner, "One cup for me, my regular brew, and a cup of NATO Standard for the Commander. Got all that?"

Tiner pulled himself into a brace, "Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden opened the door to his office and indicated that Commander Krennick should precede him; he noted that she walked straight to his desk and stood there at attention while he closed the door and took his seat in the big chair. He leaned back and resting his elbows on the chair's arms he steepled his fingers said, "At ease, Commander, take a seat."

"Sir, what exactly is going on?" she asked. "All I know is that there are a couple of questions about my handling of a case some years ago."

"H'mm… How long have we known each other, Commander?" he countered her question with one of his own.

"Oh… about ten, maybe eleven years…" The surprise she felt at his question was evident in her voice.

"Yes, about that, I suppose. Do you remember not long after we met, there was a trial of a Captain Coulter, accused of murdering his wife…?"

"Yes, of course I do, that was one of the first capital trials that I defended on my own!"

"Yes, and you lost the case, Coulter was sentenced to confinement for life, as well as the usual losses."

Alison Krennick, grimaced, "Don't remind me! That case was a slam dunk from the first! I had nothing to work with, and with all the evidence against him, and his own admission that he had assaulted his wife on a previous occasion, he didn't stand a hope in hell of an acquittal and I'm surprised he didn't get the death penalty!"

"You might be glad of that, Alison. He has convinced the Armed Forces Board of Appeal to review his case, the officer who reviewed the case has filed for a retrial."

Alison Krennick went white, and she was forced to make a determined effort to control her voice before she spoke. "But, what grounds for appeal, sir?"

Chegwidden looked at her gravely, he hated what he was about to say, but there was no other way of putting it, "I'm sorry Alison, the grounds for appeal are that you did not supply Coulter with an adequate defence."

"But that's a Professional Conduct Board, review, sir!" she protested.

"Yes, Alison, I'm afraid it is."

"Sir! That's a career killer!"

Chegwidden was relieved of the necessity for finding an instant reply, as Tiner knocked on the door, and entered bearing a tray on which two cups of steaming coffee rested. He handed a cup to each of the two officers, and just as silently as he had entered, he left the room.

Alison smiled bitterly as she tried to grapple with the feelings the admiral's news had stirred, "If that's your Yeoman, sir, he makes a pretty good butler!"

Chegwidden grinned just as bitterly, "Maybe, but he makes a really lousy cup of coffee. That's why I told him to ask the Gunny to make it." He paused, and then drawing a deep breath, he returned to the main subject, "I'm sorry, Alison, I tried to get the Conduct review over before the re-trial, but they've stuck to their guns. They want to see if the original verdict stands or is overturned before they hold your hearing. I've tried to argue that their choice is unfair and that waiting for a fresh verdict is prejudicial to your case, but they have too many precedents in their favour. They, of course, may prefer charges as well."

"They could what, sir?"

"They could recommend to the convening authority that you face charges under the UCMJ for dereliction of duty."

"That would be you, though, wouldn't it, sir?" Her eyes lit with a sudden hope.

"Normally yes, but I would have to recuse myself in this case, and the recommendation would then go to the CNO."

"So what happens if the Board finds me guilty?"

"As you know, it could result in a referral to the State Bar; which State, Alison?"

She shrugged, "Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, DC,"

Chegwidden's forehead creased in sympathetic pain. "Ouch! Still as the trial took place in Virginia, then they are only bound to refer it to the Virginia Bar, if the bar suspends you, you could still practice in the other states."

"Is this your way of suggesting that I should resign, sir?"

"No… merely suggesting that we should take a look at the worst case scenario" he cavilled.

"And if this whole mess goes to Court-Martial?" Krennick insisted.

"I don't really think that it _will_ go that far, but if it does, then I'm sure any penalty would be more administrative than physical." Chegwidden looked at Krennick to see what, if any, effect his more encouraging words had on the woman.

"So… what do you think is more likely, more beneficial?" she asked with irony on the last part of her sentence.

"For whatever my opinion is worth, I would hazard a guess that a punitive letter of reprimand on your file is the worst you're likely to see."

Alison Krennick sagged in her chair, "That's still a Federal conviction. My career is still dead in the water."

"It's a tough one to overcome, Commander, but not impossible. It's one case, to be weighed in the balance against all your other cases."

"Unless of course, they decide to review all those cases as well!" she snapped.

Chegwidden raised his head at that, "Tone, Commander! I realise you are under a lot of pressure, but watch your step!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" She stiffened in her seat.

"Alright, relax," he told her in a conversational tone. "Do you know Alan Mattoni? Commander Mattoni?"

"Well, I've heard the name…"

"Good! Because he is first chair as trial counsel for the re-trial, and when it comes to the Review Board and if it comes to a Court-Martial then he will be first chair in your defence team. He's a good attorney, Alison, he'll do his damnedest for you!"

"Thank you, sir. Sir, who's the other side?"

"Carolyn Imes will sit first chair throughout."

"Ah."

"Is there something the matter, Commander?"

Krennick dropped her eyes to her hands and twisted her academy ring on her finger, "No… not really, sir, I just wondered why Commander Rabb wasn't involved on either side."

Chegwidden regarded her speculatively. Ever since Rabb had recused himself, he had done some discreet, some very discreet, digging into the matter of the personal issues that Rabb had cited, and he had by now a pretty fair idea of just what some of those issues were. "Commander Rabb, has cited personal issues that make it impossible for him to remain impartial and non-judgemental in this case, and has recused himself."

That Alison Krennick thought, might just be the biggest blow yet of the day.

"Now, the only thing we need to do is to decide what to do with you while we're waiting for all these outcomes. I suggest, I strongly suggest that you get your head together with Alan Mattoni and go through that case with a fine-tooth comb, and try and come up with something that will prevent the re-trial from turning the verdict on its head! In any slack time you have, when you can't be working with Mattoni, I'm sure we can find something that will occupy your days here. And you will be here, from oh-eight-hundred until seventeen-hundred each day, Monday to Friday, is that clear?"

"As crystal, sir!"

"Good." Chegwidden stood, but waved the junior officer down as she made to follow suit, and he walked around to perch on the front corner of his desk, before remarking, "Alison, I wish it were under better circumstances, but despite all, it is good to see you again!"

"Yes, you too, A J…"

"Now," he asked casually, "Do you remember my place in McLean?"

"Yes… I think so."

"Have you organised any transport for yourself?"

"I've got a week's rental…"

"Right, well we'll do something about allocating you a vehicle, but in the meantime, come to dinner tonight. I'll cook, and you can tell me all about Naples."

"Yes, thank you, I'd like that, A J, but promise me one thing?"

"What's that?" he asked cautiously. Past experience had taught him that Alison Krennick could drive a hard bargain.

"No pasta!"

"You've got yourself a deal, Commander!"

"Yes, sir!"

**Wednesday 28 February 2001, 1910hrs Local, Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (290010ZFeb01)**

Today had been a good day. No, cancel that. Today had been a very good day! Firstly, Mac had been able to open an eye! Then the ophthalmologist had arrived for a consult, as Dr Pike had arranged, and having carried out a thorough inspection of Mac's right eye, and had given his considered opinion that it was undamaged, and had further ventured that now it was open, even if only just, then the ability to fully open it would be swift in its return!

Even the expected confrontation with the Head Nurse hadn't been as bad as he'd feared. Obviously one strong woman had recognised another, and when neither would give way, the Head Nurse had merely sighed, and turned to Harm requesting that he at least try to control his partner, please?

Then young Lieutenant Barlow had arrived to sit with Mac until the early evening, when it would Bud Roberts' who would come and sit with her until she went to sleep for the night.

And when he had returned to the office, he had received what was arguably the best news of the day. He had missed the arrival of a slim, blonde female officer wearing the uniform of a JAG Commander, and who had been closeted alone with the admiral for nearly an hour, before having a brief meeting with Alan Mattoni and then departing.

His afternoon had been made even more pleasant by a 'phone call from Loren. She had made the trip to Norfolk and had interviewed Lieutenant jg Barrow, and had come up with some very interesting evidence, which although it might not clear the Chief, would certainly, if the panel and Judge had any sense of justice, certainly weigh heavily in favour of leniency, and she would come straight round to tell him all about it, uh… for a case conference, as soon as she got back to DC. And yes, she would drive carefully, and, oh, by the way, had she forgotten to tell him that she loved him?

The growing realisation that it was darker than it should be, even allowing for the time of day, brought him to the window where looking out he could see dark, very dark clouds, threatening heavy rain building up to the south. A few minutes observation confirmed that the storm was moving north, and judging by the way the clouds were reaching out, it was travelling at a considerable speed. Growing anxious, he checked his watch, if Loren had left Norfolk as she had said she intended, at about fifteen-thirty hours, then allowing for her to get back to Falls Church, switch back to her own car and get over to Union Station, then she should be here within the next fifteen to twenty minutes. Resisting the temptation to call her cell 'phone - she did not need that distraction while trying to cope with the early evening DC traffic - he sat for a few minutes in indecision, until he realised he was being more than ordinarily dumb. It took about half an hour to get from Falls Church to the apartment, so if she was only twenty minutes or so away (by his reckoning), then she ought already to have switched cars at Falls Church and handed the keys to the motor pool car to the marine detail at the CP.

No sooner had he reasoned his way through to that conclusion than he picked up his 'phone and dialed.

"JAG HQ, CP, Corporal Martin, sir."

"Corporal, good evening, it's Commander Rabb. Can you tell me whether Lieutenant Singer has gotten back from Norfolk, yet? She's driving a motor pool car, so she would need to leave the keys with you."

"Uh… I don't think so, sir, let me check….."

Harm fretted impatiently for what seemed to be an age before the Corporal's voice once again sounded in his ear, "Hello, sir?"

"Yes, Corporal?"

"No, no sign of Lieutenant Singer, sir. But if she's on her way back from Norfolk, there's a pretty heavy storm, and there's been a multi-vehicle wreck up on the I-95 southbound, so that'll cause an extra delay, sir."

"OK, Corporal, thank you." Harm ended the call, resisting the temptation to leave a message with the Corporal either to call him or have Loren call him the second she arrived at JAG. Leaving such a message would have raised alarm flags and given rise to scuttlebutt that would have permeated the DC naval community in a matter of a couple of hours!

Increasingly worried, he alternated between checking his watch and looking out of the window to check on the approaching storm. Two cups of herbal tea did little to calm his nerves, so when the cell 'phone in his shirt pocket rang he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Rabb!" he snapped into the 'phone after he'd fumbled it out of his pocket and flipped it open without even checking the caller ID.

"Well," said a familiar voice, "that wasn't much of a welcome, was it?"

"Loren! Where the hell are you?" The almost overwhelming sense of relief he felt at the sound of her voice making him overreact.

"I'm still on the road from Norfolk!" Her voice became stiff and cold as she heard what she thought was criticism, but his next words completely disarmed her.

"Oh, thank God!"

"Harm, are you alright?" she asked, an edge of worry now audible in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine now… It's just that when you said you'd be leaving at fifteen-thirty I figured out an ETA for you, and then when you were late I phoned the CP to see if you'd switched cars and then they told me about the wreck on the I-95 and I didn't want to call you while you were driving and…" he became aware that Loren was saying his name, over and over…

"Harm, Harm… Harm! Calm down, stop babbling, it's alright, I'm alright. Breathe, breathe… yes, that's it. In… out…. In… out. Now, are you ready to listen?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harm replied, already beginning to feel a bit foolish.

"Good. Yes, there's been a huge wreck on the 95, but it's on the southbound side. But the police have closed the highway so that emergency vehicles can use the northbound side in either direction… So all other traffic has been pulled off at Southbridge onto the US-1, we're being kept on the 1 until Colchester, and then we get back on the I-95, and so home. But with the weather and the extra traffic we're down to a crawl, that's how I can use the phone. I've just passed through Woodbridge, so I reckon another hour and a half."

"OK, then here's what you do. You keep the pool car, and you come straight here, never mind about switching out at Falls Church until tomorrow. I'll have something ready to for you to eat, and then we can go over the new evidence, OK?"

He could hear the smile in her voice as said, "Yes, sir!"

"And," he added sternly, "if there are any more delays, call me!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" And again he could hear her barely suppressed laugh.

Harm closed his phone and ended the call, and then felt an overwhelming need to sit down, as his knees threatened to give way under him. What on earth had gotten into him, he wondered. He had never felt so scared for anyone else in his life. Not even when Mac had been at risk had he ever felt this way. He had been imagining the worst, imagining Loren lying in a crumpled wreck of a car, and he had flashed back to the horror he had felt when he had imagined for an instant that I was Loren and not Mac lying badly beaten in a hospital bed. Well, thank God that Loren wasn't a crazy gung-ho marine who would deliberately court danger.

Shaking his head, he went to check-out the contents of the refrigerator. There wasn't much there, just a few mushrooms, some sweet corn, an onion or two, a quart of milk, and some butter… but, that might be all he needed. He could step out to the store and buy some bread…

By the time he had finished, a huge pan of sweet corn and mushroom soup was simmering gently on the hob, and a bottle of his favourite dry Muscadet wine was chilling in the fridge, and by the time shown on his watch, Loren was only a few minutes away.

Setting the table, except for the soup bowls which he placed on the stove top to warm, Harm opened the wine and placed that on the table together with a pitcher of ice water should Loren prefer that. But tonight, he felt he could really enjoy a glass or two of the crisp white wine. Standing back, he surveyed the table and nodded approvingly, just as a knock on the apartment door signalled a visitor.

Crossing the room in three swift steps, a smile lighting up his face, he swung the door open and without giving her time to move or say anything, he scooped Loren up in his arms and kissed her, trying with that one embrace to let her feel some of the fear and desperation he'd experienced and his overmastering relief and love that she had come back safely to him.

"Wow!" Loren breathed as he eventually released her, and she sagged against his chest, "where did _that_ come from?

"Oh," he said casually, as he laid his hand on the small of her back and guided her in to the apartment, "I just thought I'd try and let you know how glad I was to see you."

"H'mm," she eyed him cautiously as she unbuttoned her rain coat, letting him turn her so he was behind her and helping her off with her coat. "Don't turn into me, Harm."

"Excuse me?" he said turning back to her after hanging up her coat and putting out his hand for her cover.

"Remember what I told you about my ex-boyfriend in Hawaii. How I drove him crazy with phone calls every time he was five minutes late? Don't do that to us, please."

Harm drew a couple of deep breaths. "Yes, you're right. I did overreact this evening, I just got so worried when I saw the storm, and then I heard about the wreck. I guess I just lost it for a few minutes. But I'm better now, see?" He flashed a full-strength grin at her, and Loren immediately forgot her annoyance at his being over protective.

"OK, so… shall we just put it down to a one-off panic attack?" she teased him gently.

"Yeah, I guess I can live with that. But it's still OK if I worry about you a little bit, just quietly to myself, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess _I_ can live with that," she admitted, and walked into his arms and raised her face for another kiss, this one more loving and gentle and not nearly as desperate as his greeting had been.

They stood for nearly a minute afterwards, her hands on his shoulders and his hands on her waist, his head bowed even as hers was raised so that their foreheads lightly touched each other.

Eventually she dropped her hands and stepped back, "Something smells good, but I don't know if I can eat, my stomach's still a little tense from the drive…"

"Look, it's OK, it's only soup, it'll keep. Why don't you have a rummage though my drawers and find a sweat shirt or T-shirt, and get changed out of that uniform. Then when you're more comfortable, we can go through this evidence you've discovered, and we can eat whenever you're ready.

A shadow crossed Loren's face. "Uh, I dunno Harm… I know your T's and Sweats are plenty long enough, but…"

Harm looked at her quizzically, "But what, I've seen you in my sweatshirt before."

Loren turned pink, "Yeah, I know, but it's different now."

"How is it different, sweetheart?"

"You called me that in the car!" she giggled.

"So you weren't quite as fast asleep as you pretended then?" He challenged her.

"Oh, so you remember," she half-gasped.

"How could I forget?" he asked simply, "that was the first time I acknowledged, even to myself, how I'd been feeling about you for weeks!"

"Oh." Was the only answer Loren could find.

"Yes, 'oh', and nice deflection by the way. But it doesn't get you off the hook. Why is you wearing my sweats now any different than it was last month?"

"We weren't dating then." She mumbled.

Harm nearly burst out laughing, but stopped himself from doing so as he realised that for Loren this wasn't a joking matter.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I get the feeling this is a big deal for you, but I don't see that that makes any difference. In fact, it would seem to make it easier."

"I don't really know why, either, it just does." She managed a small rather shamefaced grin as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading for understanding.

"OK, then, if that's the way you feel about it, then we'll play it your way. But at least, let me hang your jacket up for you?"

Loren smiled her silent thanks at him, and unbuttoned her jacket, and as he stood she realised what he was about to do, and turned so that he could once again help her. Now clad in skirt and blouse, she undid her neck tab and opened her top button before picking up her briefcase and taking it to the coffee table. Harm waited until she was looking back at him, before he held up the wine bottle and lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes please!"

Harm grinned at the enthusiasm in her voice and brought two glasses with him when he joined her at the table.

Loren pulled the Barrow file from her case, and extracted two close-written sheets of legal pad from the file folder, and handing them to Harm, said "Read these."

Harm read them through in silence, and then re-read them, before he turned to Loren and said, "Wow! This not only shoots down Carolyn Imes' case, it puts this Lieutenant Commander Quinn right on the spot. Undue Command Influence, Conduct Unbecoming… and that's before we even look at the UCMJ. This is great work Loren! This is what you felt was missing, wasn't it? The real motive! Uh… Loren, are you OK?" he asked as he noticed she was twisting and turning and seemed to be trying to rub her back against the uncooperative design of the couch's arms.

A slightly pink-faced Loren hastily disclaimed, "No, I'm fine Harm, really… But… if it's not too late, I think I'd like to take you up on that sweatshirt deal?"

"Go ahead, you know where everything is," he told her, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent him from bursting into laughter. "I'll turn up the heat under the soup, and we can eat in about five minutes, OK?"

Loren smiled gratefully and flitted into his bedroom while Harm re-heated and served the soup, hearing the sound of his washing machine starting to fill as he did so. When Loren emerged she did so wearing the same academy shirt that she had worn on a previous occasion and was almost as long on her legs as her uniform skirt, which she now carried on a hanger she had purloined from his closet. Harm again said nothing but allowed himself a quick smile as he busied himself at stove and table, absurdly pleased that Loren felt sufficiently at home that she could use his appliances and 'borrow' his coat hangers at will - he had a feeling that it would be a very long time, if ever, before he saw that particular hanger again.

Loren picked up both wine glasses, neither of them barely touched, from the coffee table and brought them to the dining table, where she sat and waited for dinner to be served. Dinner consisted solely of the soup and a broken apart crusty baguette and the wine.

The soup was delicious, she decided, unusual but delicious, "Where did you get the soup, Harm?" she inquired.

"Made it myself," he told her truthfully, but with such an innocent air that she immediately felt he was kidding her.

"No, seriously, where did it come from?"

"Seriously, Loren, I made it myself."

She looked at him and then nodded, convinced that he wouldn't lie to her about anything, especially not something as trivial as claiming credit for a meal that he hadn't cooked himself.

Their soup finished, they stayed at the table taking occasional sips of wine as they discussed the possible impact of Loren's newly discovered evidence. Harm was all for disclosing it to Carolyn and giving her the opportunity to drop the charges, while Loren argued for a more aggressive approach. "Let it come to trial," she said, "and then when this Quinn is on the stand, we bring up all this under cross, and expose him for what he is."

"Yes, we could do that, if the judge lets us take cross that far. Remember Quinn's a witness in this case; he's not the one on trial - even if he should be. But more importantly we can get much the same the result with the same evidence and avoid publicly humiliating Carolyn Imes while we do it. Loren, a pre-trial dismissal of charges against Chief Barrow may not go down in your personal ledger as a big win, but it will win you a lot more good-will than rubbing another attorney's face in the dirt. Besides, didn't you tell me that you were sitting second chair to Carolyn in the Krennick debacle? If you kick her butt with this case, how much do you think she'll let you do on the Krennick thing? Now, those are the self-serving reasons for trying for a pre-trial dismissal, but more importantly again, Loren, it is the right thing to do!"

"That really is important to you, isn't it Harm?"

"Loren, I like to think that it is my sense of what is right that makes me the man I am and the attorney I am. At this stage in my life, I don't think I can exactly separate the two." He ended looking slightly embarrassed as he tried to explain succinctly just how he felt about the law, justice and the role he played.

"Yeah… is that the sort of feeling that makes you go that extra mile sometimes? I mean I heard a story about you tracking down a little girl's killer and saving her sister…"

"It is," he admitted, "and you've met that little girl's sister."

"I have?" she sat up puzzled, "When, where, how?"

"She's called Dar Lin," he told her, and then when she still looked puzzled, he added, "Alan Mattoni's little girl, he and Jackie adopted her."

"Oh, do you mean that little girl I saw with Jackie, so small and with such huge eyes?"

"Yes, that's her," he nodded, "So you see Loren, I know that there's more to being an attorney than just winning big cases in court."

"You, Harmon Rabb, she said standing and extending a hand to him, "are a good man," as she led him towards the couch, where gently pushing him down against the squabs, she sat next to him, draped his arm around her shoulder, and settled her head in the hollow of his shoulder sighed and let out an "Ummm" of contentment as he dropped a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. He was finding that the light floral shampoo that Loren used was rapidly becoming one of his favourite perfumes.

Harm was content to just sit and hold her for a while. They were adults, for God's sake, they didn't have to make out like hormonally charged teenagers every time they were alone, although it would be kinda fun, and dammit! he wanted to act like a hormonally charged teenager; he hadn't much of a chance to be one since he'd turned fifteen, ever since his mom had caught him with his hand up Barbara Hanrahan's T-shirt when he thought she was safely down town at the gallery. And then the following year his summer vacation had taken him Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, and there he'd met Gyn, and that kind of put a stop to all the normal teenage activities. When he'd been brought back to La Jolla, almost under arrest, his mom had made damn sure he didn't have much leisure time at all and somehow the girls at school had all become scared of him.

Harm sighed; brooding on the distant past wasn't going to make him a very cheerful companion for Loren. He'd have to tell her someday soon, but not tonight. She'd looked wiped out from the trip, and he'd nearly freaked her out with his over-protective crap. H'mm, maybe Mac was right after all, maybe he did need to take a step back. Well, it was too late for that this evening, but he could at least apologise to Loren for being such a dumbass.

"Loren," he said softly, and waited for her reply.

"Loren?" he repeated even more softly, she still made no answer. He craned his head away from her and dropped his shoulder so that her face tilted towards him. Her eyes were shut and she was breathing slowly and softly. For a moment he considered waking her, but if he did, he knew she'd insist on going home, and she was too tired and would probably still be half asleep and in no condition to get behind the wheel. Besides, he rather liked the thought of Loren Singer feeling so secure in his arms that she could fall asleep. But she couldn't stay like this all night. Well she probably could, but if he tried to sit up all night like this, he almost certainly wouldn't be able to move in the morning, so easing his arm from around her shoulder he gently let her lie back against the squabs before he gingerly got to his feet and almost silently drifted into the bedroom, where he turned down the coverlet. Then returning to the couch, he slid his arms under her and gently picked her up, her arm in an instinctive move going around his neck. Just as gently he carried her into the bedroom, where he let her slip from his arms onto the bed. He had just reached up to disengage her arm from his neck, when she tightened her grip and pulled his head down to hers kissing him gently on the lips and sighed, "G'night, Harm."

"G'night sweetheart," he breathed as she smiled and let go of his neck. He drew the comforter up to her shoulders and watched with a smile of his own as she curled into a ball and buried her face in the pillow. Sighing, he pulled the sleeping bag from his closet, and turning off the bedroom light, he headed for the couch and his battered copy of Dickens 'Bleak House' while he waited for the washing machine to finish its cycle. After all he still had a blouse to iron before he could even think of getting to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

**Thursday 1 March 2001, 0524hrs Local, Harman Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (011024ZMar01)**

Loren awoke with a strange feeling of comfort, and fell back into a peaceful drowse which lasted all of about five seconds before panic set in and her eyes flashed open. She was in a strange bed and she could feel the weight of someone else on the mattress behind her! Quickly taking stock of her situation she realised that she was… well, if not exactly decently dressed, she was covered, and her underwear was in place, but she was wearing a sweat shirt that was far too big for her… one of Harm's sweatshirts, and as that realisation dawned, her memory of the events of the previous evening fell into place. The last thing she remembered was snuggling up to Harm on the couch, therefore she must have fallen asleep on the couch, so Harm, she reasoned, must have carried her in here, and put her to bed. All well, and good, but she was a little concerned that he could think that he could just share the bed with her. Right, they were dating, but she wasn't ready to start sleeping with him yet, even if all they did was sleep. She determined that once he woke up then she'd let him know, in no uncertain terms, exactly how she felt!

In the meantime, she needed to get dressed, so moving as quietly and as smoothly as he could, she slid out from under the comforter and trying not to make a sound she gingerly stood and turned to glare at her sleeping companion, her mouth dropped open and her eyes became round as she saw that Harm, while _sharing_ the bed with her, had not been _in_ bed with her. He was lying at the furthest reach possible from where she had been sleeping, and was lying on top of the comforter and well zipped into his sleeping bag. It was such a ridiculously… Harmish thing for him to have done that she couldn't prevent herself from breaking into a giggle that quickly became a full-blown laugh, and she plumped back onto the bed, sitting so she could watch him as her amusement woke him from his sleep.

Her reward was a bleary eyed, grumpy face that surfaced from the depths of the sleeping bag and glowered at her unappreciatively, "Oh, God, _must_ you be so damn' cheerful so early in the morning?" he demanded in an aggrieved tone. Loren could only continue to laugh while he eyed her in seemingly marked distaste.

"There is a bathrobe on the back of the shower room door," he told her pointedly, "and in the shower is a bar of some sort of scented soap, a bottle of shampoo and a selection of towels, and there are a couple of new toothbrushes in a mug in the medicine cabinet, help yourself. Your uniform is hanging in the lounge. While _you_ are getting cleaned up and dressed,_ I_ am going for a quick run," he tried for dignity, but in Loren's opinion failed miserably and achieved only a childlike petulance instead.

"Yes, sir!" she mocked, flipping him a satirical salute as she stood again and moved towards the shower room while privately considering that the disgruntled face he was presenting to her was totally adorable. Of course, she said to herself, while he had provided almost everything she needed for her morning shower, he had forgotten one, just one, teensy-weensy item. He hadn't got a hair dryer, or a shower cap, and bearing in mind this was the second sleepover she'd had at his place, then she might as well get either a second hair dryer or a box of shower caps. Plus, if she was going to be dressed before he returned from his run, then she needed to get a wiggle on, as she had a blouse to iron and a skirt to press before she could wear them.

Harm found her when he returned some fifteen minutes later sitting on the couch with a wad of Kleenex in her hand and still in her bathrobe.

"Hey, get a move on lazybones," he joked as he headed for the shower, his singlet already half over his head, but an audible sniff stopped him in his tracks.

"Loren… Loren, is something wrong? What's up sweetheart?"

"Damn you, Harmon Rabb!" she sniffled with a damp smile.

"What? What did I do?"

"You pressed my uniform!" she accused him.

"Well, of course I did. It needed pressing and you'd fallen asleep. I wasn't going to wake you up for that, and I was awake anyway, and I needed to get the iron out for my own shirt and pants, it's no big deal."

"Yes, it is!" she protested, "no-one's ever done anything like that for me before!"

Harm squatted in front of the couch and took both her hands in one of his and cradled her cheek with his other hand, using his thumb to smooth away a stray tear, and although his face and eyes reflected his love, he was incapable of seeing why such an ordinary act should have such a profound effect on her.

"I… I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"Well… just a bit. I mean it's silly to sit here dressed in my old bathrobe, when part of the point of me going running was to allow you enough private time to shower and get dressed. It's especially silly to sit here in my old bathrobe instead of getting dressed if you want time to grab a coffee before we have to head in for duty."

Loren half giggled, although she still felt choked, and then realised that while she'd pulled on the bathrobe before leaving the shower, that's all she'd pulled on. Oh no… here it comes…, yep, she was right, her cheeks flamed red, surely to God, Harm must be able to feel the heat radiating off her face. Mom, there are times when I really, really hate you!

Harm saw her flush crimson and not knowing why, or what he'd said to have such an effect, he decided that on this occasion that discretion was the better part of valour, and began a retreat to the sanctuary of the shower room.

Loren waited until she could hear the running water in the shower and rammed herself into her uniform at least as quickly as she'd ever done before, if not even faster, and grabbing her comb and a handful of pins from the depths of her purse, with the speed and ease of long practice twisted her hair into its severe on-duty bun at the nape of her neck. Harm, she could hear was still in the shower room, probably shaving by now, she thought, as the sound of the shower had stopped, so in an attempt to make up for her earlier time wasting she filled the old-fashioned percolator he seemed to prefer and set the coffee to brew, and rummaging in his kitchen cupboard she found a loaf of bread - organic she noticed, well of course it was - and cut four slices to make toast. A freshly shaved and showered Harm found that all he had to do to make his contribution to breakfast was take the carton of orange juice from the 'fridge and pour a couple of glasses.

Loren watched for a minute or so as he ate, and then asked, "What was with our sleeping arrangements, last night?"

Harm looked a bit sheepish, "Well, I put you to bed, and did the ironing, then I put the sleeping bag on the couch, but it's not the most comfortable bed I've tried to sleep in, and by about two o'clock, I couldn't stand it any more, so I put the sleeping bag on the bed, and crawled into that."

Loren just looked at him, sighed gently and mournfully shook her head, and them smiled at him. "Such a gentleman!" she teased him. Which she reflected was vastly different from she'd had in mind to tell him in those first few panic-stricken moments when she'd first thought he was in bed with her!

Finishing her breakfast Loren said, "I hate to cut and run, but," and she indicated her bare legs, "I need to make a quick stop on the way in, and then when I get there I've got to hand the car back."

"Well, all that's fair enough," Harm agreed affably, still cradling his half-full mug of coffee, "as long as you don't forget the most important thing you have to do before you get to Falls Church…" he smiled suggestively.

"Oh, and what might that be?" Loren asked him, the beginning of a smile tugging at her lips.

"Well, if you were to come over here, it would be easier for me to show you than to tell you…"

"That, kind sir, is the best offer I've received all morning!" Loren said as she walked over to him and placing her hands on his shoulders raised her face to kiss him and to be kissed.

"But now," she said sorrowfully, "I've really got to go... See you later." Oh, I'll see you alright, but will I be able to keep my hands off you! Loren Singer! Where did that thought come from! And to Harm's surprise, she blushed again as she retrieved her purse, raincoat and cover and even giggled as she let herself out of the apartment.

**Thursday, 1 March 2001, 0800hrs Local, SICU, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (011300ZMar01)**

Bud Roberts walked swiftly as he could up the corridor; he had been well briefed by Commander Rabb and cautioned not to be late in taking up his shift at Colonel Mackenzie's bedside. The Colonel, Commander Rabb had told him was now able to open one eye, and was already feeling well enough, not just to terrorise the nursing staff but to try and tear him a new six just because he had been a lousy twelve minutes late yesterday.

"Oh, and Bud," the Commander had suggested, "leave home about ten minutes earlier than you think is necessary. You pass a Starbuck's at the top of Georgia Avenue; an Americano with three extra shots of espresso does marvels in taming the marine beast!"

Bud had laughed but on seeing the expression on Commander Rabb's face, he'd swallowed, and asked "Are you serious, sir?"

"Never more serious in my life, Bud, believe me!"

Bud smiled as he neared Colonel MacKenzie's room until he saw that there was no Marine guard posted at the door. Increasing his speed until he was nearly trotting and ignoring the pained look from a Nurse Lieutenant who had to side step to avoid being mown down he reached the door to find the room empty, the bed made and all signs of occupancy vanished.

Spinning on his heels he rushed down the hall to the nurses' station, barely brushing past the same Nurse Lieutenant he'd already nearly run down, and leaving her stock still in the middle of the hall, with her hands on her hips and a distinctly unhappy expression on her face.

Red of face and beginning to perspire Bud gasped at the nearest nurse, "Colonel MacKenzie, where is she? What happened to her?" Is she alright?"

The Nurse Lieutenant behind the desk looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye, "Calm down, Lieutenant and watch that blood pressure, or we'll be looking after you! Colonel MacKenzie… H'mm… ah, yes, she was moved up to the female orthpaedic wing… room 1121. Take the elevator to K deck, and turn… left that'll take you to the Nurses' Station up there."

"Thank you, Lieutenant!" Bud said, having regained some control over his breathing, and turned around to find himself confronted by a slim dark haired and vaguely familiar looking Nurse Lieutenant in peanut butters who glared at him in a manner he found uncomfortably like Harriett… or the admiral… when he'd managed to upset one or the other of them. Painful, but not as bad as having the Colonel mad at him!

He looked at her doubtfully, "Uh… Can I help you, Lieutenant uh…" he squinted at her name tag, "Tiner. Tiner! Do you have a brother, Lieutenant?"

Bud's question seemed to have thrown the Nurse off balance, she swallowed and stuttered, "Ye… yes… I… I do, but… but that's not important right now!"

"No, no, of course not!" Bud agreed, "But it would be normally, if this wasn't more important… Oh, I'm sorry; I… I don't mean that you and your brother aren't important, Lieutenant, of course; it's just that while you and he are relatively important… I mean you're important as relatives too, but that's not what I meant in the scale of things… So, if you'll excuse me, I need to get up to K deck. Nice to have met you Lieutenant Tiner!" With a smile directed impartially at both Nurses, Bud turned on his heel and at a brisk walk headed back off down the hallway towards the elevator bank.

Lieutenant Tiner stood by the Nurses' Station with her mouth slowly opening and closing as her colleague nearly collapsed against the desk, her eyes brimming with tears of laughter as she desperately tried not to giggle, "Oh, Helen, she finally gasped, "Your face!"

Helen Tiner felt her anger fading fast as she too saw the funny side of her encounter with Bud Roberts, "Yeah," she was forced to agree with a reluctant grin, "he blew me away there, game, set and match! And do you know the funniest things, Sandie? He didn't even know he was doing it!"

"Yep, and he was kinda cute too," Sandie offered, "especially when he started get his tongue all tied up!"

**1 March 2001, 0810hrs Local, Female Orthopaedic Ward, Surgical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (011310ZMar01)**

Bud made his way along the busier hallway of K Deck, following the room numbers on the doors until he saw the marine posted outside room 1121. Bud acknowledged the marine's brace and then knocking discreetly on the door frame, waited until he heard what might possibly be a mangled, 'come in', and then popped his head around the door where to his relief he saw an IV, wire and monitor-free but pajama clad Colonel Mackenzie, sitting up in bed and staring in what seemed to be discontent at her reflection in a small hand-held mirror.

"'Morning, ma'am," Bud offered as he entered the room.

"Morig, Bu" Mac replied, and even with her jaws wired the unhappiness in her voice was evident. "Loo a' me, fa'e li'e a ba'oo's ass!"

Bud wasn't prepared to delve into any of the possible reasons for Mac's, 'look at me: this is me not happy with world,' mood, so fishing carefully in the bag he'd brought with him, he held up the large Styrofoam cup with the Starbuck's logo on it, and with a grin tried to change the subject, "Breakfast, ma'am?" he enquired.

"Oh, Bu', youra li'es sa'er" Mac grimaced at him - the nearest she could manage to a smile - and picking her glass drinking tube from her nightstand said, "Gi'ee please…"

Bud passed the container of coffee, and smiled discreetly at the look of pure pleasure that seemed to overlay her bruised and still-swollen face, Commander Rabb's comment about soothing the savage marine beast looked like it was based on experience, and then sat and unpacked the remainder of the bag's contents, three paperback novels, a fresh pair of Mac's pajamas - liberated by Harriett from Mac's apartment, together with a bottle of her own shampoo and conditioner and a flask of her favourite shower gel. By the time he'd laid out his offerings on the side of the bed, Mac had sucked the last of the coffee from the Starbuck's cup, and handing the empty container back to Bud she said, "Gorra ta'e, it away, Bu', gorrin trou'al, yestday."

"Oh, I'm sorry ma'am, if I'd known you weren't supposed to have it…" Bud caught the glare from her one open eye and finished, "I'd have still brought it anyway, ma'am!"

"Goo' ans'er, Bu!" Mac congratulated him, "Was't your idea, or Har's?"

"The Commander did suggest that it might not be entirely unwelcome, ma'am." Bud admitted. "Now, Harriett raided your apartment, and sent along some fresh PJs, and some toilet stuff, and Gunny sent along a couple of books. He said you liked murder mysteries and thrillers, and if you've already read these, he's got a shelf full, he'll be quite happy to send along, and…"

Bud's ramble was interrupted by a knock on the door, and as they looking around he and Mac were addressed by the marine sentry, "Ma'am, sir, two officers want to speak with you?"...Visible behind the marine they saw NCIS Agents Gibbs and Owens.

Mac looked across at Bud who shrugged helplessly, and then back at the two, to her, strangers hovering in the doorway, before nodding to Bud, "Alright, marine, he said, hoping he'd understood the Colonel's unspoken message, "let them in."

"Good morning, Colonel," said the male agent, whose body language proclaimed him to be the senior of the two, as he flashed his badge and ID, an action copied by the tall African American woman standing to his right rear. "Special Agents Gibbs and Owens, NCIS, ma'am. We're investigating the attack on you, and we were told that you'd been moved out of ICU and might now be able to help us."

"'Ow?" Mac wanted to know.

"Well, we really need a statement…" Gibbs answered, "if you can see well enough to write?"

"Yeah. Ca' do."

"I'll… uh… leave you to it, then, ma'am," Bud interrupted feeling uncomfortable with the presence of the two Federal Agents.

"No, Bu'! Si', Stay! Lawyer!"

"Uh, you want me to be your lawyer, ma'am?" Bud couldn't see why a witness would want a lawyer present, but he'd been asked to act, so act he was bound to do.

"Yeah, ha' bro'en jaw las' year, hel' me now!"

Agent Gibbs had raised an eyebrow at Mac's words and cocked his head towards Bud.

"The Colonel said that because I had a broken jaw last year, I might be able to help out now. Right ma'am?"

Mac nodded her head emphatically.

"Ok, Colonel." Gibbs said and turning to his partner asked for a legal pad and pen, both of which he handed to Mac. "Ma'am, before you write your statement itself, I need to ask you to write a preamble which I will dictate. Are you OK, with that?"

Mac nodded again, "I rea so ma'y these, pro'lly know pre'ale by hear'!"

Gibbs smiled, and said "You probably do ma'am, but humour me, please?"

Mac gave a one shoulder shrug and picked up pen and pad, as Gibbs cleared his throat, "'I am' - write your rank, name, and duty station, please ma'am - 'I wish to make a written statement.' Gibbs paused to give Mac time to write, 'concerning the assault that was made upon me on the night of 24th to 25th February 2001. I am making this statement, of my own free will' - now please sign at the end of that preamble Colonel. Thank you. Now write in your own words what you can remember of what happened to you, and in particular the identity of your attacker, if you know him."

Mac nodded again and for some twenty minutes there was no more sound in the little room that the almost silent scratch of pen on paper and the creak of bed or chair as the occupants shifted their weight. At last Mac sat back against the pillows with a sigh of relief and offered the pad back to Gibbs. Her scanned through the two pages and saw that each page had been signed and dated by Mac and that she had added the customary closing caution to her statement, and signed and dated that too.

Satisfied that the legal minutiae had been completed, Gibbs read through her statement, and then looking at her said, "Are you quite, quite sure that the man you have named in this statement is the man who attacked you in your apartment on Saturday night?"

"Corse, am!" Mac stated indignantly.

"I'd like a look at that statement, please Agent Gibbs," Bud requested, holding out his hand.

"Uh… that's not really necessary, Lieutenant," Gibbs replied, "The Colonel isn't being interviewed as a suspect, and she hasn't needed to have her Article 31 rights read to her…"

"I am aware of that Agent Gibbs, but nevertheless, as the Colonel's attorney, if she had made a verbal statement, I would have heard it."

Gibbs looked at Mac and saw that she agreed that Bud should read the statement, and reluctantly passed it to him.

Bud read the statement through with grim satisfaction as he read aloud the name "Lieutenant Commander Michael Brumby, Royal Australian Navy". He turned to Gibbs, and said, "That's exactly whom we believed to have been the perpetrator, and unless you've already taken him into Federal Custody, he's being held by Metro PD!"

"No, Lieutenant we have gotten hold of him yet. But with the Colonel's statement, we can get a Federal Judge to sign a warrant for him, and we'll have him in Federal custody by this afternoon! Colonel, thank you for this! And Colonel… Semper Fi, ma'am!" Gibbs drew himself up into a brace for a second before turning to his still silent partner and saying, "OK, Owens, let's go and wake up a judge!"

Mac had not been impressed with Gibbs farewell and growled, "Se'er Fi, my ass!"

"Uh… ma'am, Gibbs is an ex-… uh… I mean a former marine!" Bud felt compelled to tell her.

"Oh…" Mac gazed thoughtfully at the empty doorway for a fee moments and then relaxed again, "Te' me Bu', whass ha'enning a' JAG?"

"Well, ma'am…" Bud settled down to bring Mac up to date on th latest news and scuttlebutt from the bull-pen, trying to avoid what he was sure was the sensitive topics of Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer, two topics that were rapidly becoming as tempting as Bluebeard's forbidden room to his hapless bride. Safer ground was the news of Commander Krennick's arrival, although Bud tried to steer clear of the scuttlebutt that she and the admiral had some sort of relationship in the past. So it was with relief that after about twenty minutes Bud and Mac were interrupted by a young woman wearing the polo shirt, jogging bottoms and badge of a physical therapist.

"Good morning, Colonel Mackenzie?" she said cheerfully - too cheerfully thought Mac ash glowered at the younger woman. Mac nodded in agreement of her identification.

"Good, I've got the right room," the PT said again with the cheerful voice. Why is it, Mac thought, that these people are always so damn' cheerful? And always so damn dumb! I've got the right room! For God's sake, she must have a schedule somewhere with the damn' room number written on it!

"Wha you wan?" Mac demanded

"I'm Suzie, your Physical Therapist, Colonel, and I've come to take you for some PT on that shoulder of yours. It's OK Colonel, you won't have to walk, I've got a chair for you…"

"No."

"But Colonel…"

"No. Am no' gerrin' inna chair!"

"Colonel, please, you need to get PT for your shoulder."

"Fine, no pro'lle'" said Mac swinging her legs out of bed.

"But you've got to have a chair," the young woman said, "it's hospital policy."

"No' gerrin' inna chair!"

Bud thought he could see where this was going - nowhere, fast! "Ma'am, I think I'll leave this one to you, and I think that I'd best head back to Falls Church?"

"OK, Bu', lo'e to Harriett an' AJ!"

"Yes, ma'am. See you tomorrow!" Bud gratefully gathered up his cove and slipped out of the room leaving the PT and Mac glaring at each other, while he wondered how long it would be before the Head Nurse was summoned to put Mac in her wheelchair, and although he was glad to be out from under, he still wished he could be a fly on the wall for that head butting contest!

**Thursday, 1 March 2001, 0855hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (011355ZMar01)**

Loren eased herself into her seat, waiting for the Jag to arrive to start the daily Staff Call and smiling cheerfully at the other officers seated around the table, totally oblivious of the curious and startled glances covertly shot in her direction.

Alan Mattoni exchanged a startled look with Carolyn Imes as the Wicked Witch of Washington buried her head in her briefcase as she rummaged for some papers. Was Loren Singer actually humming something under her breath? Incredible as it seemed, it sounded like… no… it couldn't be… but it definitely sounded like the Johnny Mathis hit, 'Chances Are', and by the look Carolyn sent back to him she'd heard it too, and a swift glance around the table showed the rest of the attending officers looking at her in, and he smiled at the thought, shock and awe. All that is, except one officer, Commander Rabb, who had a strange, strained, almost fearful expression on his face.

Loren found the file for which she'd been searching and looked up as she closed her briefcase and placed the folder in front of her, becoming conscious as she did so of the fixed attention of her colleagues and brother and sister officers. Her face flushed crimson under their scrutiny, and her mouth dropped open slightly, "Is there something wrong?" she asked waspishly, "Have I got spinach stuck in my teeth, or something?" But never had she felt so relieved when hard on the heels of her question, the conference room door swung upon and Tiner's voice announcing "Admiral on deck!" relieved her of having to fend off questions, or trying to explain herself.

Admiral Chegwidden closed his file and gave a small tight lipped smile as he looked around at the woebegone faces of his officers, each of whom now had three or four new case files sat in front of him, or her, certainly enough work there to keep them occupied for the next few days anyway!

"Is there anything I need to hear this morning?" he asked as his gaze swept the twin rows of officers, but carefully avoiding locking eyes with either Rabb or Singer. He hadn't been aware of whatever had transpired just before he'd entered the room, but once again there seemed to be some sort of tension in the atmosphere, and the fading colour he's observed in Singer's cheeks seemed to indicate that she had played a, if not the, central role in the proceedings.

Harm cleared his throat, "Sir, I'd like a case conference with Commander Imes over the Barrow case."

Carolyn arched an indulgent eyebrow at him and with a half-smile murmured "Bring it on, Commander."

"That's enough, Commander!"the admiral interrupted her. "Rabb, what is it about this damn' case? Two days ago you asked for a second chair, yesterday I had Lieutenant Singer argue for a postponement, and now you want a case conference with opposing council. Just what trick have you got hidden up your sleeve?"

"No trick, sir. When Lieutenant Singer was reading herself in on the case, she noticed that something was… she noticed an inconsistency, and asked to follow it up. She did a fine job on that too…" He let his voice trail off as he realised that Carolyn, Loren and the Admiral were staring at him, all with similar expressions.

Harm fidgeted uncomfortably, "Well she did do a fine job. What she discovered just about blows Commander Imes' case out of the water."

Instead of her usual cynical smirk when receiving praise, Loren blushed with pleasure, while the admiral and Carolyn looked at Harm with lively curiosity.

"In that case," Chegwidden decided, "we seem to have finished here for the day - unless anybody else wants to add anything? No? Good. Commanders, have your case meeting and let me know the outcome, ASAP. Now, before I let you all out and go play; as Commander Rabb reported yesterday, Colonel MacKenzie has regained the use of one her eyes, so books and or magazines will, I think be welcomed. Her progress I have been told this morning is satisfactory and she is being moved from ICU to an orthopaedic ward. I take from his absence that Lieutenant Roberts has hospital duty this morning? Well, let us hope that he finds her! That is all, dismissed."

Once again the disturbance occasioned by the senior officer's departure covered Loren's confusion, particularly as Harm turned towards her and said "Stand fast, Lieutenant. Commander Imes, have you got ten minutes? I think we can get this out of the way right now."

Carolyn looked thoughtfully across the table at Harm and said, "If you really think we've got something to talk about, then give me five minutes to get my file and then why don't you and the lieutenant join me in my office?"

Harm exchanged a brief look with Loren and nodded, "We'll do just that," he agreed.

**Thursday, 1 March 2001, 0932hrs Local, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, Ops Section, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (011432ZMar01)**

Carolyn leaned back in her chair as Harm and Loren took their seats in the two chairs on the opposite side of her desk, "So, what are these startling revelations you've got for me?" she asked coolly.

Harm indicated with a nod of his head that Loren could start bringing Carolyn up to speed. Loren opened the folder on her knee and started to paraphrase, "Chief Barrow is a widower, his wife, Lieutenant jg Barrow's mother, was killed in a car wreck about twenty years ago. Her maiden name was Quinn. Her brother was, at the time, a PO Three, Peter Quinn, who worked with Barrow, then also a PO3, and it was through him that Chief and Mrs Barrow met. At some time later, after the Barrow marriage, Barrow and Quinn had a major falling out, and haven't exchanged a civil word in nearly twenty five years. About four years before Mrs Barrow's death, she gave birth to the now Lieutenant jg Barrow."

"This is all very interesting, Lieutenant," Carolyn interrupted, "but are you actually going somewhere with it?"

"I believe so, ma'am, if you'll indulge me?"

"Oh, go on then, but I haven't heard a single shred of evidence yet!" Carolyn reminded both Harm and Loren.

"Quinn blamed Barrow for his sister's death. Apparently there was some confusion at first as to who was actually behind the wheel, until the Baltimore PD proved that it was Mrs Barrow, and the collision was due to her error. Quinn however never believed the police report and tried to have vehicular manslaughter charges and then a civil suit against Barrow. Both attempts failed because the evidence for Mrs Barrow having been behind the wheel was incontrovertible"

"Quinn then applied for and was accepted for OCS, after which he was posted to a variety of billets, and received promotion in his turn until four months ago when he was posted to his current billet at Fleet Operations, in Norfolk as a Lieutenant Commander. One of the junior officers in his chain of command is Lieutenant jg Charles Barrow. Senior Chief Petty Officer James Barrow is also assigned at Norfolk, but in the Sewell's Point Safety Office. So much for the background. Moving on to the particulars, it appears that Quinn has been riding young Barrow's ass ever since he arrived. Until his latest fitrep, Barrow has scored uniformly high across the board. His latest fitrep, dated five days before the alleged insubordination, however grades as barely just satisfactory. His reporting officer was Quinn. Quinn also assigned him EMD for an indefinite period until he could overcome his failings, and confined him to base for fourteen days "

Carolyn looked enquiringly at Harm and then at Loren. "Getting at the father through a family member isn't quite unheard of, counselor," Harm reminded her, and received a nod of acknowledgement from Carolyn.

Loren flashed a brief, irritated look at Harm before continuing, "On the night in question, Lieutenant Barrow paid a visit to his father's quarters in the BEQ - still on base, please note - and fell into a dispute with his father over his failure to confront Quinn for unjust treatment, an argument during which the Chief passed remarks on his son's… uh… lack of intestinal fortitude. It was these remarks that led to the charges of insubordination being raised."

"However, they were only raised because Lieutenant Commander Quinn saw Lieutenant Barrow quit his quarters, and suspecting that Barrow might be attempting to leave base, contrary to orders, followed him to Chief Barrow's quarters, which he entered uninvited and where he overheard the family argument."

The following morning he interviewed Lieutenant Barrow, and pressured him in to pressing charges against the Chief, threatening the Lieutenant with charges of Conduct to the Prejudice and Conduct unbecoming, as well as DDO if he didn't press the charges."

"It is our contention," Loren indicated Harm as well as herself, "that Lieutenant Commander Quinn's uninvited intrusion into Chief Barrow's quarters is tantamount to an illegal search, and any evidence accrued by that intrusion is inadmissible. It is also our intention to refer this matter to the CO of Fleet Ops, with a view to preferring charges against Lieutenant Commander Quinn for exercising Undue Command Influence, Conduct Unbecoming, and Unfair Treatment of a Subordinate, Obstruction of Justice, and possibly Service Discrediting Conduct."

Carolyn had listened to Loren's recounting with growing disbelief. "Where did you get all this Lieutenant?"

"From interviewing the Barrows, father and son yesterday, and then following up with a couple of 'phone calls to the Baltimore PD, for corroboration on the car wreck, and checking Lieutenant Barrow's fitreps in his SRB."

Carolyn nodded, "If this is the case, I still don't see why in God's name neither of the Barrows came forward?"

Loren answered, "Regarding the initial harassment, it appears the Lieutenant feels it was a case of his word against Quinn's, and that the senior officer was more likely to have been believed. But as to the Chief's silence…" she let her voice trail off and lifted one shoulder in an eloquent half-shrug

Harm interrupted, "It appears that Chief Barrow was quite willing to take the fall on his son's behalf, relying on his past record to influence the court to give him a light sentence. His reluctance to expose Quinn's behaviour is a still bit of a mystery, but I suspect it's either that he still feels some guilt for his wife's death, or that he wants to play this as quietly as possible to avoid embarrassing the navy. Lieutenant Barrow appears happy to let the Chief Call the shots. I suspect a lifetime of obeying his father has made it difficult for him to oppose his father's ideas"

"Or, he wants to achieve the maximum embarrassment for Quinn by having all this brought out during the trial," Loren suggested.

Carolyn leaned forward, her elbows on her desk as she dropped her head into her hands and covered her face for a moment or two, "What do you think?"

"Carolyn, if it was me, I'd talk to the CO at Fleet Ops and place the whole stinking mess in front of him, but with a strong recommendation that the charges against Barrow be dropped, and that charges are filed against Quinn. Now that we've uncovered this, there's no way it can be swept under the carpet. If you proceed to trial, then we will do our damndest to ensure that it all comes out in open court." He finished on a gentler note, "Why don't we all go and see the Admiral, and get this stowed away?"

**Thursday, 1 March 2001, 1024hrs Local, Break Room, Ops Section, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (011524ZMar01)**

Harm Carolyn and Loren had made their way directly to the break room after leaving the admiral's office, and had taken the opportunity to grab a hot drink before returning to their offices. Loren was musing with some satisfaction on the outcome of her investigation into the Barrow case, "So, that's those charges against Barrow thrown out, but we're waiting to see if the CO of Fleet Ops wants to raise charges as per our recommendations, right?"

Harm and Carolyn nodded in agreement. "If he does raise charges, Loren said slowly, looking slyly and with a half-smile at Carolyn, "How would you like to defend Commander Quinn, Commander Imes?"

Carolyn and Harm looked at each other for a few seconds before they both laughed, and Carolyn shook her head pityingly at Loren, who stared at them both and then in her well-remembered waspish voice, she demanded, "What? What's so funny?"

Carolyn looked at Loren, and wondered how deep the new cheerfully humming veneer ran, and then decided to take a risk, "Lieutenant, you did, as Commander Rabb said, and excellent job on figuring out what was going on down in Norfolk, but you still have much to learn about the workings of the inner mind of Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden!"

"Like what?" demanded the still ruffled and suspicious Loren.

"Commander Imes means, Loren, that because you carried out the investigation that revealed Quinn as the bad guy, he might just think it… ah… more fitting, if you were the attorney detailed to defend him!"

Carolyn Imes looked at Harm in some surprise, 'Loren'? Since when does anybody in this office call Lieutenant Witch 'Loren'.

"The Admiral wouldn't do that, surely, ma'am, sir?"

"Actually, Lieutenant," Carolyn placed a very slight emphasis on the title, "he might do just that; Commander Rabb and I both thought the same thing, and it's not as if he hasn't done that sort of thing before."

"Who's done what sort of thing before?" A fresh voice from the door interrupted them. Harm stiffened at the sound of that nearly forgotten voice and turned slowly.

"Commander," he said stiffly, "Good morning."

"That's a bit formal, Harm, have you forgotten my name?"

"No, no, I haven't forgotten your name. Commander Imes, Lieutenant Singer, this is Commander Alison Krennick. She used to work with us here at Falls Church at one time." Harm's voice was coolly formal.

"Oh, we were a bit closer than that, Harm," Alison said suggestively, as he eyed her with acute dislike.

"No, actually we weren't. I was a Lieutenant, while you were a Commander and second in command to Lyndsey until Admiral Chegwidden took over. I never did get to hear the full story of what happened to you Alison. Tell me, how did your pursuit of Holbarth go? That was the reason you tried to have me pulled off the case wasn't it?"

Alison Krennick flushed crimson, and with a visible effort bit down a sharp retort. "I'm sorry that you remember it that way Harm, but that wasn't actually the way at happened. I wanted you off the case because I thought you were too close to remain objective. So, as we seem to have fences to mend, why don't we have dinner this evening? Then I can explain what happened from my point of view."

"That won't be possible, Commander," Carolyn Imes interrupted, as she slipped her arm around Harm's waist and smiled up at him. "You see, Harm and I have this evening already planned."

Alison quickly scanned all three faces confronting her. Harm and this… Imes woman were smiling happily at each other, but the little lieutenant was looking dumbstruck… and was that a flash of anger in her eyes. Well, well, well, Commander Rabb, have you been leading her on? This opens a whole new range of possibilities.

"Oh, well," she gave a thin-lipped smile and shrugged as if the matter was of no real importance, "I wouldn't want Harm to break an engagement just for me." And pouring a coffee she added creamer and sugar, and with a bright, artificial smile she left the break room with what all three recognised as an exaggerated swing of her hips.

Harm breathed a sigh of relief as he gently disengaged Carolyn's arm from around his waist, "Thank you, Carolyn, you just about saved my bacon, there."

"De nada, Harm. Just think of it as evens for the heads up on the Barrow case and for not letting me go to trial and making a total fool of myself!"

"Well," he laughed with a quick wink on Carolyn's blind side at Loren, "we did think about doing just that." He grinned at Carolyn's expression of shock, "for about thirty seconds, but then Lieutenant Singer, talked me out of it. Shame really."

It was last two words that gave him away. Carolyn burst out laughing, as she rinsed out her coffee mug, and said, turning towards the door, "But seriously Harm, thanks for not humiliating me in public!"

Loren waited until Carolyn had left the break room and hissed fiercely, "After the stunt she just pulled, I wish we had let her take the case to trial. I would have enjoyed…"

"Hey, hey, Loren, power down. I meant what I said, to her just then. I know you're not overfond of Carolyn, but she just saved me from a whole world of grief. Alison Krennick is a very ambitious woman. And six years ago she was riding high. I don't know why her career has stalled, but I would have expected to her to be right in the zone for her fourth ring right about now. And if her ambition has been crossed, she is the type of woman who could be very, very dangerous on a professional level. I mentioned about her trying to pull me off Diane's murder case, and I'm not so sure that she wasn't responsible for setting Turkee on my track and pushing him into arresting me for the murder!"

"Harm?"

"It's alright Loren. But if you'd done what Carolyn did, Alison would have been singing like a canary in front of the Admiral, right about now. But with Carolyn and myself at the same grade, then she's got nothing she can use against me."

"OK. But you're going to have to tell me the full story about this Krennick bitch and about you getting arrested and…"

"I'll do just that Loren. And unless you've got any better plans, I'll come over to your apartment this evening to do it. I daren't spend the evening at my place, I wouldn't put it past her to stake out my place just to make sure that I was out for the evening, and that being the case, then I don't want her to see you visiting. I'm not ashamed of you Loren. In fact, this week, I'm as proud of you as I have ever been of anybody; I just don't want you putting yourself in her cross-hairs."

"M'mm, apart from the fact that I'm a big girl now, and I can take care of myself, I like the idea of you coming round this evening. And it is my turn to make dinner for us!"

"Loren, don't make the mistake of underestimating Alison Krennick, she is a very real and present danger to the career of anyone who crosses her. She was at one time just as ambitious as you, but with far less skill and talent to back up her drive; she also had the thought that she'd fit well into the JAG's chair. I know what some people say about me being over-protective, but trust me, in dealing with her, I am likely not being cautious enough where it concerns anybody connected to me, especially," he lowered his voice and took a quick look towards the break room door, "when that somebody is the beautiful woman I'm in love with."

Loren looked startled and slightly panic-stricken, "I thought we were keeping this out of the office!"

"We are damn it! Otherwise you wouldn't be surprised at my words, but at my deeds!"

Loren smiled; she'd been caught out before by Harm playing this game! "More payback, Commander?"

"No, not this time, Loren." Harm gave her a gentle smile and a wink and turned to leave the break room, leaving a speechless Loren on her own.

**Thursday 1 March 2001, 1855hrs Local, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (012355ZMar01)**

Harm knocked gently on Loren's door and waited a few seconds before he heard the lock being turned, and the door opened to show a smiling Loren, who stepped back, and indicated he should come in. He did so, and turned back towards her as the door closed and two slim arms locked at the back of his neck and she stood on tip-toe to give him a welcoming kiss.

"Now that," he smiled as they broke for air," is the sort of welcome I could definitely get used to."

"Even if it wasn't quite as passionate as the welcome home kiss you gave me last night?" she teased.

"That," he said with a wince as he remembered his overreaction, was more of an "Oh-thank-God-you're-home in one piece sort of kiss. And" he said as he lowered his face to hers, "one that you gave me hell about!"

"True," she admitted as they broke off again and she stepped backward towards the couch, leading him by one hand, "but that's all for now, sailor."

"Aw, Loren…" he pouted.

"Nope, come over here and sit down. You," she told him, gently prodding him in the chest with a finger are going to have to sing for your supper; like the proverbial canary!"

Harm slumped back against the couch squabs, "Krennick?" he asked resignedly.

"Uh-huh."

"Alright, when I first was assigned to JAG I was a nice new, shiny attorney. I'd been to law school, passed the Virginia State Bar, been to NJS and qualified as a JAG. I was assigned a billet here at Falls Church and placed directly under the supervision of Commander Alison Krennick. My then partner was Kate Pike, also a Lieutenant, and we got on pretty well. Actually, a bit better than pretty well, but it was no more than a physical attraction, and we… uh… we… we got over it… we worked it out. Krennick seemed to guess what had happened, and before we knew it, Kate was assigned a shipboard billet and I was assigned a new partner, Lieutenant jg Megan Austin…"

Loren's breath caught in her throat, Megan - Meg - the girl's name he'd called out when he was delirious, the one he'd mistaken her for, the one he'd told not to go, never to leave him, the one he'd said he'd loved. But he was still talking.

"Meg was totally different to Kate, she was a tall, blonde, Texas tomboy, and right from the first moment we met, there was something there. She was claustrophobic, and our first investigation was on a sub. She went through hell, but she stayed focused and we got the job done. We had a… flirtatious relationship…, which might have gone further. But about that time Alison started to pursue me, quite openly when we were alone together, and discreetly when anyone else was around. Megan saw what was happening and developed quite a talent for 'accidentally' interrupting us - much to my relief on several occasions, including once when Alison was just about chasing me around the JAG's desk!"

That image was too much for Loren and she couldn't help letting out a snort of laughter. Harm looked at her in indignant surprise, "Loren it wasn't funny!" he protested.

"Oh, no," she giggled, "the situation wasn't funny, but the image of you and Krennick playing 'tag' around the admiral's desk is. It really is too funny for words!"

Harm looked at her in wonder, and then as the image she'd described began to play in his mind, he too suddenly saw the funny side of that incident as his flyboy grin came unbidden to his face. "Yeah, I suppose to anyone watching, it would have been funny! But it wasn't. A bit later she nearly caught me... The admiral had just come aboard, and although I hadn't met him - I was on an investigation at Quantico when he took command - Alison came out to join the investigation, and coolly informed me that she'd called an investigation seminar for the coming weekend, at a location in the Hamptons. It was only by accident that I found out, before the weekend, that the location was the admiral's weekend cabin, and that the only two officers scheduled to attend were she and I. It was a marine Gunnery Sergeant who saved my six on that one. I don't know if that was the start of the bad blood or not. But when we all, Alison, Meg and I ended up investigating Diane's murder - I told you about that, right?" Loren nodded, "she more or less made it clear that unless I… co-operated with her more fully, then I'd be pulled off the investigation. I let her know that I wasn't interested, and the next thing I knew was that Turkee, the NCIS agent in charge of the case, was slapping the cuffs on me, and hauling me off to the brig for murdering Diane. By the time the confusion had cleared, and I was released, Alison was on her way to a new billet in Naples, Meg had disappeared - it took five years before I found out where she was - she been hauled off on some secret squirrel job with the DIA, whether Krennick had a hand in that I don't know, but it would fit her SOP. But for all intents and purposes Meg was sent deep under cover and had to cut off all communication with her previous life. Even her mother didn't know where she was. So, when I say be careful around Alison Krennick, Loren, be just that.

Loren had waited in silence until Harm had finished his story, and then said slowly, "OK, I accept that Alison Krennick is dangerous. But I have a couple of questions?"

"OK, shoot," he told her.

"Firstly, why didn't you report her for sexual harassment?"

"I don't really know… Maybe because it was so soon after Trailhook, maybe because at that time it didn't seem to be accepted that women could sexually harass men, and maybe because I was too embarrassed…"

"Embarrassed?" Loren questioned, both of her eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Yeah, embarrassed. No, this is not funny" Harm reproved her as his ears grew pink and Loren tried to prevent herself from giggling, "I mean I was attitude wise in many ways still a naval aviator and not an attorney, and I still had that mind-set. How was I supposed to turn around to my CO and say 'sir, Alison Krennick is making unwanted sexual advances, even though I've asked her to stop'," which, he added honestly, "I don't think I ever came right out and said, Red Light or even Yellow Light to her - and before you ask, for the same macho bull-shit reasons I didn't report her. I'd like to think now, that if she picks up where she left off, I would take the appropriate action."

Loren was now over her temptation to laugh, and in fairness she wasn't laughing at the situation, but at harm confessing that he'd been too embarrassed to deal with it in an open manner. So as she levered herself off the couch, she muttered, loud enough for Harm to hear, "Appropriate action, my ass! What she needs is good slap!"

Harm was slightly startled, how could Loren, with her background, seriously consider striking someone else? "Umm… Loren, you didn't really mean that, did you?" he asked uneasily.

"Oh… Oh, no, not really. But that sort of behaviour does make really mad. When some women act like that, it doesn't help men understand that most of us aren't so… so predatory. It's as bad, almost, as a woman crying wolf over a sexual or physical assault."

"Yes, I see your point," he agreed, "but for God's sake don't say anything like that in public. We've both heard - and been - trial counsel when the accused's 'I'll kill him!' has been taken out of context as a literal threat, when all it was, was a frustrated outburst."

"Yeah," Loren reluctantly agreed, standing in the middle of her lounge, but then flashed her sudden smile, that transfigured her face, "But I can think it, though, can't I?" And then in an instant change of subject, she said, "Come on you, let's see what surprises the oven has in store for us!"

The next few minutes were spent in Harm, under Loren's direction finding plates and silver-ware and setting the table, while Loren checked on the progress of the meal, and after pouring them both a glass of wine and mineral water, "Twelve hours between bottle and throttle, right?" she queried as she told him to take his place at the table while she served.

The dinner was simple in both style and content, foil-baked trout with almonds and a fresh green salad. "It's one of my favourite recipes," Loren confided, "It's supposed to be the same recipe as the trout they served me down in Charlottesville, but I think my version is slightly different. Either that," she grinned, "or I just keep screwing it up!"

Whatever Loren had done to the fish was definitely not a screw up, a fact that Harm told her almost as soon as he'd swallowed his first forkful, a compliment that caused Loren's ears to burn pink in their turn, and filled her eyes with tears as she looked across the table at him, desperately wanting to believe him, but even now, not quite able to do so. The stark revelation that she was still so lacking in self-confidence that she responded so strongly to a mild compliment, acted so powerfully on Harm that he felt his chest tighten, and reaching across the table he gently took one of her hands in one of his for a moment and vowed silently that he would never let anyone hurt Loren Singer, ever again.

She smiled at him, grateful for his silent support, and after a moment or two they turned their attention back to the meal, and finished it in companionable silence.

Noisier good humour was restored at the end of the simple meal when Loren chivvied him to the sink to wash the dishes while she dried. At the end of the chore she caught him slyly looking at her out of the corner of his eye as he dipped a finger in the suds. "Oh, no, Mister KP Man," she told him quickly, "no water fights, not in here! Not if you want dessert, anyway!"

"Depends on what it is," he remarked, as if considering the matter.

"Coffee, and home-made, low-fat ice-cream?" She tempted him.

"Well… OK… if it's some of that mango ice-cream you made last time?" he suggested hopefully.

"Nope, different recipe this time sailor. So go, sit on the couch and I'll bring dessert over for us."

The different recipe turned out to be raspberry ripple, but it had been made with one hundred per cent fresh raspberries and containing shreds of the actual fruit it was a far more intense experience than even the very best of the store-bought equivalents.

Finishing the ice-cream, Loren took their bowls back to the kitchenette and stopping at her bookshelf on the way back to the couch she sat down and wormed her way into the circle of Harm's arm, and asked, "How about a movie?"

"Depends," he said, dropping a kiss on her hair, "What have you got?"

"Well… I'm never quite sure who you're going to be on any one given night, sometimes you're the reckless navy flyer, other times you're the ruthless navy lawyer, so I rented two for tonight. We could watch either, or if you're up for the long haul, we could watch both?"

Harm groaned, he had a feeling about what he was going to be told, "Loren, please, don't tell me you rented…"

"Yep, she giggled, 'Top Gun' and 'A few Good Men'!"

"Loren! I hate those movies!"

"I thought you might say that," she grinned unrepentantly.

"So, as the entertainment is so lacking, he said as he tilted her face up towards his, "I guess we'd better make our own entertainment!"

"I thought you might say that too," she whispered mischievously.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

**Thursday 1 March 2001, 2155hrs Local, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (020255ZMar01)**

Loren sighed and relaxed against Harm's shoulder, her eyes closing, just for a moment, in utter contentment. They had been making out on the sofa like a couple of teenagers, but perhaps, without the urgency of those hormone-dominated years. Her blouse was crumpled and half undone, and she thanked God that the weather made low-cut tops inappropriate, because she was damn sure that the slightly raised patch of skin on the top of her shoulder was already reddened and by tomorrow would be purple. A God dammed hickey, for Chrissakes! And at her age too!

But she'd loved the feel of his mouth on her skin and of his hand on her bra-encased breast, and she hadn't been able to call a halt just then. And she thought wonderingly, he hadn't been at all upset or angry when she _had _falteringly asked him to stop, or at least, go no further. He had instantly stopped when she'd asked him to, and then given her one of the softest, gentlest kisses she had ever received.

It wasn't that she had any doubts about her feelings for him, or indeed, his feelings for her. She knew that there was no question about whether they would sleep together, no, she smiled, they'd already done that, so the phrase was, make love together; it was just that she wasn't ready - not quite - yet. Although this evening had been a struggle, and she had felt an unaccustomed heat that she'd had to fight down. It had been for fear of her own reactions and responses, and not Harm's that she had called a halt to their make-out session.

Harm let his head fall back as Loren snuggled closer to him. This evening had been the nearest - physically - they had ever been, and he had enjoyed the intimacy, and at the same he had felt humbled as Loren had responded to his kisses and caresses. Sure, he'd been a little disappointed when Loren had asked him to stop, but asked she had, and so he had stopped. If Loren wasn't ready to take the next physical step, then she wasn't ready, and he wasn't going to coerce her. And if she was happy just snuggling up to him at the end of the evening, then so was he. Well, not really, but he was content to let her set the pace.

It was a good while later, just at the point when he thought Loren had dozed off, when she said sleepily, "Wha' time is't?"

"H'mm?" He squinted down at his watch, "God, Loren, it's gone eleven! I'm sorry, sweetheart; I've kept you up way too late! I'd best go now, we've both got work tomorrow!"

"Yeah, and it's my turn to look in on the Colonel as well…" she mumbled.

Harm raised an eyebrow in surprise. Sure, Mac seemed to have had a major attitude adjustment since her attack, or maybe since the admiral had chewed her out. But he hadn't thought that affairs between her and Loren had improved to such a degree that Loren would be happy making hospital visits to her. "Uh…" he said cautiously, "are you sure that's something you really want to do, Loren?"

She gave a wintry half-smile and sighed, "No, I'm not sure that I want to do it…" she paused to think for a moment or two, and then shrugged as if unable to explain any further than, "I don't know why… but it's something I'm sure I need to do… not just for the b… not just for the Colonel," she corrected herself, "but for my own sake. I can't explain it, but it's got something to do with her being beaten… I told you about my father… so there's some sort of link between us, and then there's the link between women… and…" she let her voice trail off into silence.

"Yeah, like you said, you can't explain it. OK. Let's leave it at that. If you feel you want to or have to do it, it's your decision, and I'll back you up on it one hundred per cent. But if it goes belly up, there's no shame in making a dignified retreat. You can't kick her ass while she's in hospital you know." The warmth of his smile was so evident in his voice that Loren didn't need to raise her head to check whether he was teasing, although she could still hear genuine concern in his voice too.

They fell silent for a while, until Harm regretfully withdrew his arm from Loren's shoulder. "I really gotta go, sweetheart," he told her.

"Yeah, I know… but there's a part of me that wishes that you didn't have to…"

"No… it's best that I do go… but…" he left the rest of his sentence hanging.

"But what?"

"But what if you brought your flight gear and go-bag to work tomorrow, and then once we secure for the weekend, we head on down to Charlottesville. It's been a bear of a week, and if we leave tomorrow afternoon, that'll give us the whole weekend for flying. The weather forecast looks good, and we can rack up a few more hours in your log-book."

"H'mm sounds good to me. We'd be staying at the same place?"

"Yeah, it's convenient, it's comfortable, and if we can get lake-view rooms again, you'll be able to see the difference even a month makes. We'll have to phone ahead and make the bookings. They'll have all our card details on record, but they'll need to hear your voice on the line to confirm the charges."

"Yeah… sounds good to me…"

"Great. Ummm…there's something else for the morning too, if you're interested in making your visit to Mac a little easier?"

"Oh, I'm all for that!"

"There's a Starbucks at the north end of Georgia Avenue. You might want to stop there and get her an Americano with three extra shots of Espresso. I won't say Mac's a caffeine addict, but she does like her coffee strong - almost undrinkably so! And it will act as an almost immediate attitude adjuster!"

Loren looked at him doubtfully. It seemed such an unlikely story, but what possible motive could he have in feeding her such a line…"OK, I'll do that," she agreed slowly, "but if you're pranking me, mister…"

"If was anybody else except you and Mac, I might just twist your collective tails a bit," he confessed, "but not with you and her," he assured her.

Loren got up off the couch and waited until he had shrugged his way back into his battered old flying jacket, and then clasping her hands at the back of his neck, she drew his head down for a final goodnight kiss, before gently pushing him, smiling, out of her apartment door.

Harm was still smiling when he crawled beneath the comforter on his own bed.

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1050hrs Local, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (021550ZMar01)**

Harm stood still for a moment, his hand poised to rap on the doorframe as he studied Loren. She was buried in a case-file, one of about a dozen on her desk, a pencil in her hand and a legal pad in front of her. She was so absorbed in her task that she had failed to register his hovering presence. He smiled as he mentally compared the way she looked now to her appearance as he'd held her in his arms last night. He couldn't help it, there was just something about her that made him feel so good that just the thought of her made him smile, and to see her in the flesh, even in the unflattering uniform and her hair pulled back into a tight bun just made him feel so much better.

At last his silent presence made itself felt and she looked up, an expression of annoyance at being disturbed on her face. An expression that changed into a quick smile, before she carefully schooled her countenance into a neutral mask.

"How, may I help you, Commander?" she asked coolly, although the look in his eyes made her feel anything but cool.

"Oh, I was just wondering how far the Colonel and Brumby had got on that bigamy case we inherited this morning?"

Loren opened her mouth to give him a brief summary of the little that had been done, but he held up a hand to silence her before he continued, "And I was also wondering how they'd react out there," he indicated the busy bull pen, "if I did what I really want to and dragged you over your desk and kissed you senseless."

Loren gaped at him in astonishment, totally lost for words as the enormity of what he had just said sank in and then she blushed bright crimson, "Oh, not fair!" she groaned, "Red light, Commander! You're _not_ supposed to say things like that at work! What's the big idea? More payback?"

"No, Loren, no payback. It's just the way I feel. I'm just being honest with you."

Loren cast a worried look past him into the bull pen, but it seemed that his bulk filled the door so that no-one outside could see her at her desk. As that realisation sunk in, the blood slowly receded from her face and she narrowed her eyes. "I am _so_ going to get you for that, you… you… you…"

"Dashing, handsome aviator turned attorney?" he suggested.

"No!" she spat.

"Oh," he said adopting a crestfallen attitude and turned two soulful blue eyes on her, "Then how about, man who's desperately in love with a certain unbelievably beautiful blonde attorney, who could wipe her shoes on his heart any time she wanted to?"

"Oh…" Loren swallowed hard as unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. "That is definitely not fair!" She complained in a muffled voice as her hand went for the box of Kleenex in her desk drawer. She blew her nose defiantly and then glared at him. "Harm, we've got to keep this out of the office!"

He waited a few seconds until she had regained a modicum of her composure, before he sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. "I know, I know, and I'm sorry…"

"Oh, now you're sorry for saying you love me! I suppose you're sorry that you ever got involved with me, and because I wouldn't put out last night, you've come to tell me it's all over!" she snapped at him.

Harm gasped in shock. Where the hell had that just come from? He had been so happy with what had passed between them last night, and he was certain that he was incapable of giving off any sort of vibe that might lead her to that conclusion, and just a few seconds ago… As he stared at her open-mouthed he caught the glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Loren!" he exploded.

"Yeah, gotcha!" she chuckled as her amusement at his reaction bubbled to the surface, "Payback's a bitch, ain't it?"

"Oh, you just know it is!" And even he wasn't quite sure whether his answer was just an acknowledgement, or whether it was an implied threat of revenge.

The two sat grinning at each other for what seemed to be a long time, until Loren cleared her throat, "Anyway, the infamous bigamist of MCCDC, Quantico, Staff Sergeant Hart,"

"Yes?" A cocked eyebrow indicated that Harm was back to business as usual.

"It's a pretty open and shut case, sir. He admits the crime but the two women involved don't wish to press charges."

"Why ever not?"

"Uh… well, it appears that wife number two knew before the bogus ceremony that Hart was already married… uh… to her sister… sir"

Harm gawped in amazement and then threw his head back and laughed out loud, "Oh… you've gotta be kidding me!"

"No! And it's not funny. sir!" although Loren, despite her protest could already feel herself start to grin, whether it was because the situation did contain an element of black humour, or it was merely that Harm's laughter had sparked a sympathetic response was something that she couldn't tell.

"Yes, yes it is funny Loren!" he asserted wiping his eyes with a knuckle, "'Oh, sisters, sisters, never were there such devoted sisters…'" he half sang.

"What?" Loren demanded incredulously.

"Oh… it's just a song I remember mom listening to on the radio, years ago!" and at Loren's dumbfounded expression, he hastened to add, "Different context entirely, of course - in fact, if I remember correctly, the last two lines went something like 'God help the mister that comes between me and my sister, and God help the sister that comes between me and my man'!"

Loren couldn't help herself, "That is _so_ inappropriate!" she protested before she too burst out laughing, which in turn set Harm off again.

"Oh, I know, I know." Harm admitted, but it's just so damn' funny!"

"And just what is so funny?" A coolly amused voice asked from the doorway.

At the sound of that well-remembered voice, Harm's head snapped around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash and he bounded to his feet as his eyes took in the slim, tall, blonde figure that stood in the doorway. "Meg!" he gasped.

Loren sat paralysed. Meg? Tall, blonde, Meg? Meg with a Texas accent? She felt heartsick at the sight of the other woman and the effect her sudden appearance had on Harm. This was the woman she had seen on the photograph, the woman Harm had cried out for when he was delirious. This was the woman who had just shattered all her hopes for her future. Thank God she'd been strong enough to call a halt last night, before that last line had been crossed.

Harm stood still for a long moment in the middle of Loren's office. Too stunned by the sudden reappearance of a woman he thought had gone from his life forever. Eventually he took back control of what little wits he had left, and with a beaming smile, he said, "Meg, what a surprise! Damn, it's _good_ to see you again!"

Meg smiled at his enthusiasm and held out both hands to him. As he stepped forward to take them, she slipped them up his arms to his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. "It's good to see you again, too, Harm!"

Harm stepped back from the hug to look at her, and smiled into her face, before remembering his manners. He turned towards Loren, "Loren, this is…" he stopped and looked at the cuffs of her service dress blue jacket, "Commander Meg Austin, my second partner here at JAG. Megan," he stopped and looked back at Loren, and his heart lurched. Her face had gone white and her eyes held a look of hopelessness and devastation, "Meg," he started again, in a softer tone, and without taking his eyes from Loren's face, "I'd like you to meet someone who is very special to me, I'd like you to meet the woman I love. Meg, this is Loren Singer."

Loren gasped and blushed, going from dead white to crimson in seconds flat. Meg looked alarmed and threw a quick glance over her shoulder, before quickly shutting the door. "Harm! For Chrissakes!" she expostulated, "are you _trying_ to get both of you court-martialled?"

Loren's mouth opened and closed as she tried to recover her voice, but before she achieved any success, Harm had moved around to her side of the desk and standing beside her, dropped a hand onto her shoulder. "No, of course not," he replied tersely, and allowing his voice to soften again, he said with more than touch of steel underlying his words, "but I'm not ashamed of loving Loren, and as you are one of my oldest friends here at JAG, I thought it only right that you should hear it from me, instead of some vague scuttlebutt out in the bull pen. I'm disappointed in you Meg, I thought you might have been happy for me, for us."

"Oh, Harm, of course I'm happy for you - and for you too, Loren," she smiled at the still speechless Lieutenant, "and I'm sorry if I gave you reason to think otherwise, but it was bit of a shock. After all, we… uh… you were always so careful about the regs back when… back in the day.

"Yeah, I was, wasn't I… but now I've found Loren and it sort of took me a bit by surprise when I realised that there were some things in life a little - no, a lot - more important that some out of date rules that were originally intended to ban homosexuality on board ship!"

Meg looked at him, still in some surprise. That certainly wasn't the sort of answer she'd expected from Harmon Rabb. "You've changed," she observed.

Harm looked down at Loren and gently squeezed her shoulder, her hand, in an automatic response came up to cover his and she turned and tilted her head to return his gaze.

"Yeah, I guess I have…" Harm said softly, his eyes fastened on Loren's

Meg looked at the pair of them, but particularly at Loren. Harm was looking at her in a way he had never looked at Meg, but Loren… If ever, she thought, there was an instant in time, when someone's heart and soul were in their eyes, this was it. She had half-hoped that when she returned to JAG she and Harm could perhaps have picked up where they had left off, but now with parity in rank between them, they would be free to explore the feelings that she, at least, had kept rigorously under control while she had been his junior partner, but seeing the interaction between him and Loren she realised that what they'd had had been a genuine friendship, leavened with a heavy dose of flirtation and a pinch of what might be possible, if it were allowed. Yes, there had been a spark of something between them, but nothing in comparison to the silent expression of love that was being played out in front of her eyes.

"Uh… may I?" she asked indicating the vacant chair, and inadvertently breaking the spell.

"Oh… of course," Loren answered distractedly, and then turned her attention back to Harm, "Did you mean all that?"

"You know I did, sweetheart."

"Oh…" Loren's breath caught.

"Uh, guys", Meg interrupted quietly, blushing slightly as the intensity of the emotions being played out in front of her took effect, both Harm and Loren seeming to have quite forgotten her presence "Third person here, remember?"

"Oh…" Loren blushed again, although not quite as hard.

"Yeah… sorry, Meg… it's just that I think we're at a critical stage in our relationship just now, and…"

"Hey, you don't have to justify yourselves to me," Meg protested, "But for God's sake, the two of you, be careful… if the Admiral…"

"He knows about us, ma'am," Loren spoke up, "And as long as we keep it out of the office… he's happy, until he needs to find one of us another billet…"

"Yeah… but that wasn't keeping it out of the office, Harm…"

"Oh, I dunno, Meg… we weren't really flirting, not like some of the flirting that's gone on around here… and certainly nowhere near as open as…"

"Krennick?"

"Well, that's one name, certainly. You do know she's back here on TAD?"

"Yeah, well that's one of the reasons I'm back here."

"How so? Oh, are you the investigator from out of town?"

"No… were you expecting one?" Meg's voice contained more than a hint of surprise, "I'm here partly because I've been called as a character witness in her defense if that should become necessary, but I'd have been here anyway sometime within the next month, I've been re-assigned from Pearl, vice a Commander Brumby, along with another JAG, Sturgis Turner, also from Pearl - I think you know him?"

"Sturgis? Of course I know him - he was at the academy with me, but I didn't know he'd changed designator - I can't believe he'd ever give up being a bubblehead! You remember Loren, he was…"

"Yeah, Aramis." She nodded her confirmation.

Megan raised her eyebrows in surprise, "Excuse me…?"

"Ah… private joke, Meg, I'm sorry. Look, we've obviously a lot of catching up to do… Why don't we, the three of us…" he indicated Loren, "get together and have dinner sometime, and then we could spend the rest of the evening telling tales out of school…"

"Sounds good to me… but not this weekend, I'm afraid, I'm booked in at Anacostia VOQ, but I really need to find someplace to live, and then I've got a six-foot stack of case files to read myself in on."

Harm breathed a silent sigh of relief. He hadn't missed the flashes of concern in Loren's eyes as he and Meg had started to relax while talking. He had the uneasy feeling that either he was in for some heavy weather, or that he would have his work cut out coping with Loren's concern over the appearance of his former partner.

Meg stood up, "Talking of six-foot stacks, I'd best be getting a start on those files. The Yeoman - Tiner, is it? - showed me to my office, so I'll leave you two in peace. Harm. Loren, it was nice to meet you…" And with her dazzling smile, Meg let herself out of the office, but then paused with her hand on the door, "Open or closed?" she asked mischievously.

"Open!" Harm and Loren chorused. Meg laughed softly and with a cheery wave disappeared in the direction of Brumby's - now her - office.

Loren waited a few moments until Harm had re-taken his seat opposite her. "So," she mused aloud, "That was Meg Austin. She's very pretty."

Harm's radar started screaming a warning. "Yes… she is," he admitted cautiously, "but she's not you." He added, hoping that he was saying the right thing.

"H'mmm, if you say so." Loren's answer was non-committal in the extreme. "Did you… you and she, ever…"

"Ever what?"

"Did you, the two of you, ever cross the line, break regs?"

"Did we sleep together, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"No, Loren, we didn't. The closest we ever got to being physical was when she gave me a kiss on the cheek when I got my step to Lieutenant Commander, and that was in front of the Admiral, and half the office. So no, we never crossed the line."

"Did you want to?"

"Loren, I'm a man, and as you noted, Meg is pretty, and we liked each other, so yes, I did want to."

"And her?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her. But I do know this: That was then. This is now. And now the only woman I'm interested in is giving me the third degree about a six year old 'what if' scenario."

Loren blushed slightly, and bit her lip, "I… I'm sorry… it's just that she's so gorgeous. And you…"

"And I what?" he asked her.

"And you said that you loved her…"

"I did what!" he half-shouted.

"You… you… when you were ill… you were talking, and you called me Meg, and then you said you loved Meg and that you didn't want her to leave…"

Harm was thunderstruck. "Oh, Loren… have you been carrying that around with all this time?"

She nodded.

Harm looked at her, if he had been rambling about Meg, and had said that he loved her, then Loren's reluctance in letting him tell her he loved her, and her doubts when he did, suddenly became explicable. He swallowed hard.

"Loren, whatever I might, or might not have felt for Meg is in the past. I let her go a long time ago. Along with Diane, and now Mac. There is only one woman now that fills my heart, and she fills it completely. That woman is you. Meg was a friend about whom I had dreams - impossible dreams, and it may be that we can get back to being friends again. Diane is a ghost, and one that Mac helped me lay, and Mac chose to take a different road to mine, and although I didn't like the road she took, or her companion on that road, I had to respect her choice, and I let her go to choose her path. The path I chose has you on it, and unless you tell me that you don't love me, and you mean it when you say it, I shall be on that path for a very, very, long time - with you."

Loren stared across her desk at him. His voice, low pitched as it was still rang with sincerity. She had no doubt that today at least; Harm loved her, but what about tomorrow? The little voice at back of her mind chipped in. What happens when he gets tired of your little insecurities? What happens when you get jealous of his past lovers, what then? Why do you get jealous over his past, he hasn't gotten jealous over yours? But then again, he hasn't asked, has he? Shows how much he really cares. Doesn't it? Loren fought hard against the insidious little voice and its needling little questions. I know he's had past lovers, so what? I don't get jealous of them, because he's been honest about them: I know about Annie, and Renee, and Jordan, and for Chrissakes, the whole world knows about that clusterfuck with the Bitch-Colonel. And Meg, she was just here, she seems… nice. She seemed happy for us…And he's not jealous about my past lovers, because I've told him they were losers, and if he doesn't ask, it's not because he's not interested, it's because I've told him about them , and he's respecting my privacy. And… I do love him.

Harm stared across the desk; her long silence was making him uneasy. Loren had an abstracted look in her eyes and her face was peculiarly expressionless. Well done Rabb, you finally pushed too hard, now she's going to tell you that this whole thing was a mistake and that she's going to ask for a transfer. Yep. Here it comes, a deep breath, she's squared her shoulders, she's back from wherever she's been, looking at me straight in the eyes. Brace yourself sailor…

"Harm, I love you." Loren looked across the desk at Harm once more. Her eyes bright and her cheeks slightly flushed. "Have you booked the rooms at the Boar's Head yet?" she asked, forgetting for the moment that she'd need to book her own room.

Slightly thrown by the apparent change of subject, and by her unequivocal declaration of her feelings, Harm could only stutter, "N… no… no, not… not yet…"

"Well, you'd best hurry up and get with the programme, Mr Pilot Man, and oh, while you're at it… I think we'll only need one room, don't you?"

Harm gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing helplessly, doing such a perfect goldfish imitation that Loren couldn't help giggling. Yes, some of the giggle was due to the sudden release of nervous tension, she acknowledged that, but he really did look so damn funny… The hot-shot lawyer with the reputation of being able to talk the birds down from the trees at a loss for words… oh, to have a video camera - or any sort of camera - right now would be beyond priceless, but still, even if this wasn't exactly a hallmark moment, it was certainly one that she would never forget - for a variety of reasons.

Harm felt as foolish as he strongly suspected he looked, if there was one suggestion he hasn't expected to hear for a long time from Loren, it was this one. Eventually his brain slipped back into gear, and he swallowed twice before managing, "Yes… yes… I'll get on it right away…" He smiled weakly at her."

He left her office on legs that felt decidedly shaky and headed back to the sanity of his own desk to make the necessary call. Loren watched him go as he almost staggered from the room and then the full realisation of what she'd said hit her, and her face flamed. It was a good job she told herself that she was sitting down; otherwise she'd have been dumped on her ass as her own legs gave out. She wondered, if she hurried, could she get hold of Harm and tell him to go ahead and book two rooms after all. But… no, _alea jacta est_ and all that… she could only play the cards she'd been dealt and the fact that she'd been the dealer was of very little comfort to her.

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1105hrs Local, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (021605ZMar01)**

Meg sat back from the chaos that was her new desk and cradled her mug of coffee. Well, she thought, that was certainly a turn up for the books. Harmon Rabb so far in love that he'd broken - or severely bent, anyway - the Navy's strict rules on fraternisation. At first she had been stunned when he'd said that he loved the petite blonde in the other office, but then she'd seen the desperate way she had looked at him, and heard the change in his voice, as well as seen the protective way he gone to stand by her and ignore his old partner in the face of her disapproval. Not that she disapproved of him being in love, her disapproval was strictly for his flouting the rules, in some ways it was a relief that he'd found somebody else to love. Their partnership which had started out on a light-hearted flirtatious level had very quickly become dangerously close to fraternisation, so although she was relieved that she would no longer have to cope with that strain, her relief was not untinged by regret. But worryingly, he'd always been absurdly over-protective anyway, so, for his sake she hoped it was love and not some misplaced desire to help, defend and protect, and considering the way Loren had looked at Harm, she hoped it was love for the lieutenant's sake too.

It was early days yet, she'd only arrived this morning and had a quick interview with the Admiral, who'd welcomed her back with one breath and thrown half a dozen case files at her with the next. He'd walked her out of his office into the bull pen and introduced her to the admin team, Harriett Sims and the Gunnery Sergeant. The Gunny she'd been impressed with, cool, calm and efficient - exactly what she'd expect from a Corps Staff Non Com, Lieutenant Sims… well, she was a little more difficult to sum up. The Admiral had been friendly towards her and had given her a glowing introduction. 'the mainstay of the whole Ops Section' he'd called her, but Meg had felt a little reserve in the lieutenant's reception of her, and had caught out of the corner of her eye a distinctly unfriendly glare as she'd smilingly renewed her acquaintance with Bud Roberts, no longer the bumbling, awkward Public Affairs Officer, but now wearing the mill rindes of a JAG attorney and giving off an air of confidence, although he had reverted to tongue tied but pleased embarrassment when Meg had recognised him. It was a few minutes later that she'd caught on that Harriet was Bud's wife, and either a very jealous or fiercely protective one. She'd have to put that at rest pretty damn quick and make sure that the lieutenant was made to realise that while Meg liked Bud, after all, it had been her recommendation that had brought him to JAG, her liking extended only as far friendship. The rest of the intra-office relationships could wait, but Harm and Loren… from the not-so-veiled warning the Admiral had given her this morning about letting personal cross into professional life, with a couple of pointed remarks about the Australian Officer she was replacing… it looked like Harm just might need someone to watch his six - again!

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1105hrs Local, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (021605ZMar01)**

A J Chegwidden sat back in the big chair and in an habitual gesture steepled his fingers and contemplated his morning so far. He hadn't been expecting Commander Austin to arrive for another week, per her orders, but she'd also been issued a subpoena by Alan Mattoni to appear as a character witness for Alison Krennick. Now that, he thought, was not only downright strange, but a potentially double-edged sword. As he recalled the situation from six years ago, Austin was not one of Krennick's biggest fans, and as was becoming more apparent as time went on, it was Rabb that was at the core of that coolness between the two women. That coolness had been bad enough when Alison had been the superior officer, but now when there was no difference in rank to make Austin hold her tongue if the older woman played any of her usual tricks… then there would be hell to pay. And how the hell had Austin made Commander so damn' quickly. He leaned forward and pulled her personnel file back towards him, scanning her service record, Annapolis, commissioned Ensign, Law School, NJS, Lieutenant (jg), and then three years' service with another branch of the Navy but with all details redacted, blacked out. She then re-appeared at Pearl as a Lieutenant Commander, back with JAG, and then her promotion to Commander on re-appointment to Falls Church. Remembering her previous association with Rabb, which had been kept in bounds - hell even a blind man could have seen their mutual attraction - only by their difference in rank, how would that now play out, given that they both held the same rank? And how would that affect Rabb's new relationship with Singer?

Sometimes, A J mused ruefully, there was a lot to be said for the old 'men only' Navy…

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1238hrs Seven Corners Shopping Centre, Seven Corners, VA, (021738ZMar01)**

"Do you have this style in a dark blue, please?"

The sales clerk looked at the blonde woman in the navy officer's uniform, and taking a note of the item stock number, she quickly tapped a few keys on her computer and then said, "No, ma'am, not in your size; only the grey or the red. I could call our branch in Pimmit Hills for you and see if they have them there?"

"Ummm… no… no thanks… I guess I'll take these, thank you…"

The sales clerk smiled her bright professional smile, and said, "As you wish ma'am… will you want these wrapped?"

"No, thank you, just put those in a bag for me please…"

"OK… one pair of jogging bottoms and two T-shirts… uh… ma'am, you realise that these Ts are double extra large?"

"What? Oh… yes. Yes, I know; they're not for me…" Loren offered her card to the sales clerk, and hurriedly glancing at her watch almost danced with impatience as the transaction was completed. Gathering her purchases she made her way back to the parking lot and opening the trunk of her MX5 she transferred the items into her go-bag, sighing sadly as she placed them on top of the pale blue silk camisole in which she had intended to sleep.

The sales clerk turned her friend as the petite officer left the store, "Ya know, Suze, I'm not surprised she was as nervous as all-get-out…"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, I didn't think they allowed gays in the navy… ya know? Don't ask, don't tell an' all that."

"Huh? Ya think she's gay?" Suze's eyes followed Loren's retreating figure speculatively.

"Well… those T's she bought are about four sizes too big for her…"

"Coulda been for a boyfriend or husband?"

"Nah… no rings… and at her age… besides, what guy is gonna wear T-shirts with cartoon kittens on them…?"

"Yeah, there is that..."

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1307hrs Local, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (021807ZMar01)**

"Admiral, sir?" Yeoman Tiner's voice came over the intercom.

Chegwidden sighed and thumbed the 'speak' button. "Yes, Tiner, what is it?"

"Sir, Commander Rabb would like to know if you can spare him a couple of minutes?"

Chegwidden groaned, the last thing he needed today was to cope with whatever bug had gotten up Rabb's ass. He had a sinking feeling that the bug in question was Commander Meg Austin, and that he was about to be subjected to behaviour that was going to be only just borderline below insubordination. "OK, Tiner" he said resignedly, closing the file in front of him. "Send him in."

"Come on in Commander," Chegwidden said as Rabb closed the door behind him. "Take a seat…"

"Thank you, sir." Rabb's response took Chegwidden somewhat by surprise. Not only had the junior officer sat as he was invited, his tone was affable and respectful. If Rabb had come with a grievance then Chegwidden would have expected him to respond in clipped tones expressing his preference to remain standing.

"Something on your mind, Commander?"

"Uh… yes, sir. The Hart case. The bigamist Marine at Quantico…" he added as he saw his CO's forehead crease in an attempt to recall particulars.

"Oh… yes. One of the MacKenzie - Brumby files."

"Yes, sir. You assigned myself and Lieutenant Singer as defense counsel sir, and well… we… we…"

"Spit it out Commander!" But Chegwidden's voice was more resigned than impatient.

"Well sir, the Lieutenant and I need to interview Hart and his two… uh… wives. You did know that the wives are sisters, sir?"

Chegwidden snorted with suppressed laughter, "God! Puts a whole new spin on 'keeping it in the family'. Uh… I never said that, Commander!" He fixed the junior attorney with a baleful eye.

"No, sir, of course not! But the thing is, we, Lieutenant Singer and I, are flying this weekend, down at Charlottesville, and I've arranged for us to interview Hart at the Quantico brig on Monday morning, and being that Quantico is on the route from Charlottesville to Falls Church, I was hoping that we might be excused from attending, Monday's staff call. I'm sure Commander Austin will be happy to take any notes I might need from the meeting?" His tone was hopeful and his eyes, his body language, were crying out for permission.

Given recent events, especially the fall-out from Brumby's insanity and MacKenzie's flat spin, Chegwidden was not happy with the prospect of a tighter relationship between a second pair of his officers, but was realistic enough to realise that like it or not, and it had been in some measure due to his inter… uh… influence, that there was a developing relationship between Rabb and Singer, and he could appreciate that they had been totally up front with him, and had, in a strange sort of way, sought and received his blessing. Chegwidden passed an exasperated hand over his scalp. In the scale of things, two officers missing one staff call wasn't important, after all if they were out of town on an assignment they might well miss a whole damn' week's worth of staff calls - if not more. No… it was just that they were piggy-backing a… romantic? weekend onto an investigation, and he wasn't quite comfortable on that…

"And Admiral?"

"Yes, Commander?" Chegwidden grunted.

"Uh… because we would be returning from private… concerns, sir. The whole thing would be on my… our, dime, sir."

Chegwidden fixed him with a hard-eyed glare, "And you think that circumstance would tip the scales in your favour, Commander?"

"No, sir… of course not, but considering the times in past that investigations have gone over budget, sir, I figured it couldn't hurt?"

"H'mmm… Tell me something Rabb. This… relationship between you and the lieutenant; is this going to last, or is it going to blow up in our faces?"

"I'm pretty sure it won't blow up in our faces, sir. But you know, sir, that I can't, we can't give any sort of guarantee that it will last. But for what it's worth, sir, I'm praying that it does."

"H'mm… I see." And he did see, Rabb was being totally honest, not making promises that he couldn't guarantee to keep. That was one of things that Chegwidden liked about the younger officer.

"What about sitting with the Colonel?"

Rabb shifted uncomfortably at that. "Well, sir, it took a bit of fast talking, but I've managed to trade off mine and Lieutenant Singer's shifts with Commanders Imes and Mattoni and with Lieutenant Roberts, but we've worked it out that Colonel MacKenzie will still have plenty of support, sir."

Chegwidden thought, Rabb had been attentive towards MacKenzie since she'd been injured, more than he needed to really, even if he was still, officially her partner, but she was still going to the _Guadalcana_l as soon as she was fit enough, so he might as well start getting used to not being around her to hold her hand. Eventually the former-SEAL nodded, "Alright, you are excused - both of you - from Monday's staff call, but I want you back here ASAP after you finish your interviews, and I want to see some evidence of progress in the case. Clear?"

Rabb came to his feet, "As day, sir!"

"Very well, Commander - dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir! And thank you sir!" Rabb came to attention and waited the obligatory two seconds before performing a crisp about face and exiting the admiral's office

Chegwidden looked after him and contemplated the now empty chair in front of his desk. Singer's recent change of attitude had not escaped him, although he was aware that some her behaviour could be attributed to the absence of Colonel Mackenzie, but it did seem that her friendship, love affair, whatever it was, with Rabb deserved some credit. And Rabb too, he seemed more at ease, less on edge. Mind you, again the absence of Brumby might have something to do with that. Still, the two did seem to be good together…

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1537hrs Local, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (022037ZMar01)**

Meg looked up at the knock on her doorjamb, "Can I help you Lieutenant?"

"Ummm… I hope so, ma'am. I know you're busy, settling in and all, but could you spare me a few minutes, please, it's kinda personal?"

"Come on in then Lieutenant, and close the door, and have a seat." Meg waited until her visitor had seated herself. "Now, how may I help you?"

"Ma'am, it's about the Commander…" The visitor had gripped her hands together and each hand seemed to be fiddling nervously with the other.

"Which Commander, Lieutenant? Excluding myself, there are three other officers who go by that mode of address…."

"Oh… I'm sorry, ma'am, it's just a sort of convention… an unspoken protocol, if you like…" the lieutenant smiled nervously, "when we talk about the Commander, it's generally reckoned to be Commander Rabb, ma'am. No offence, ma'am, it's just that the others get called Commander Imes, or Commander Mattoni, or Commander Krennick, or you would be Commander Austin, but the Commander… is Commander Rabb, ma'am."

"So… it's personal, and it's about Commander Rabb?"

"Yes, ma'am, Bud… Lieutenant Roberts told me that you and the Commander used to be friends, good friends…"

Meg was surprised at this approach and felt an eyebrow beginning to lift, an impulse she fought down, "True. Although I hope our friendship isn't entirely in the past tense."

Her visitor breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Meg noticed she'd stopped wringing her hands."Well, ma'am, you might be able to stop him from making a huge mistake…"

"And what mistake might that be?" Meg was puzzled, her visitor was doing a hell of a lot of beating about the bush, and she was still really none the wiser as to what the other officer wanted.

"Ma'am, it's Lieutenant Singer, I don't what she's done or how she's done it, but it seems she's made the Commander think that he's in love with her, and…"

"Stop right there, Lieutenant!" Meg's voice cracked out like a whip. She took a couple of seconds to regain control of her voice and her temper as she looked at the tearful blue eyes across her desk. "You don't like Lieutenant Singer, I take it?"

"No, ma'am, nobody does!" Harriett protested.

"And you generally speak for the office do you, Lieutenant?"

"Normally, no ma'am, but really nobody does like her!"

"H'mm, that's as maybe. Now, I am going to tell you something once, and once only. I am a friend of Commander Rabb; at least I hope I still am. And you seem to think of him as a friend too. But unlike you, I do not consider it a part of a friend's duties to tell someone who they should or shouldn't love. I strongly recommend that you keep your nose out of other people's private lives, especially the lives of those senior to you in the navy. If the Commander and Lieutenant Singer have any sort of romantic relationship, then they have quite a tough enough road without their colleagues or so-called friends making it any tougher for them. Now, let it lie Lieutenant, because if you don't, there are people in this navy that can, and will make your life thoroughly miserable if anything you say or do has a negative impact on the Commander. And I Lieutenant am one of them. If you are prepared to let this thing go, then I am quite prepared to forget that we had this conversation. Understood, Lieutenant?"

Harriett got her feet, her face crimson with embarrassment and chagrin, "Yes, ma'am!"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Meg nodded her dismissal and watched the outraged blonde lieutenant leave her office. Only then did she relax her mask and let worry cross her face. "Harm, oh Harm, what _have_ you got yourself into this time?"

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1710hrs Local, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (022210ZMar01)**

"Hey Loren!" Harm's easy greeting brought Loren's head up from the legal pad on which she was writing a draft opening statement for the Hart trial.

Her smile brightened her face as she replied warmly, "Hi, yourself… you ready to quit this mad-house?"

"Just about… but here," he casually tossed a garment bag on to one her visitors' chairs, and in response to her raised eyebrows he explained, "I've cleared it with the Admiral, that we can stay over in Charlottesville on Sunday, and stop off at Quantico on Monday morning, and interview Hart in the brig there. It saves us having to come back to DC on Sunday evening and then having to drive half-way back to Charlottesville on Monday morning."

"Yes… I suppose that makes sense," Loren replied slowly, her smile still in place, but a frown just beginning to appear, "but why did you have to get the Admiral's OK?"

"Monday staff call," he answered succinctly.

"Oh… yes… I should have remembered… But the garment bag?"

"Well, we're going to need uniforms for Monday morning, so I figured if we change into civvies now, then we won't have so much to do to them for Monday morning. I've got a travel iron in my go-bag, and a shoe kit, so… "

"Umm… quite the little boy-scout, aren't you?" she teased him, and then becoming serious, "But if we start changing into civvies and then disappearing over the horizon in the same car, isn't that sort of advertising that we're off to send the weekend together?"

"Does that worry you?" Harm asked her in surprise.

"No, not really… but if things get out of control, and rumours start flying, it's your career that's going to take the bigger hit."

Her concern for his career only filled Harm's heart with more love and pride for the woman seated in front of him. "Loren, I really don't care. We've told Meg, Harriett knows - or thinks she knows, but the best of all is we've kept the Admiral up to speed with where we are and what we're doing. So why don't we go down to the parking lot, grab our civvies, get changed, and we can be ready to leave here in say… twenty minutes?"

Loren grinned; all of a sudden she seemed to be gripped by the spirit of mischief. "Hell! Why not? All we've got left to lose is our careers; we seem to have lost our minds already!"

"Atta girl!" Harm applauded her, "C'mon Miss Singer, let's do this!"

**Friday 2 March 2001, 1736hrs Local, US 29 S, Falls Church, VA, (022236ZMar01)**

Loren threw her head back and laughed out loud, "Oh, wow! I don't know why, but I feel like I'm playing hooky!"

Harm smiled across at he, "That's so not right, it's a Friday evening, the weekend, we're not rostered on for duty, so we're free to enjoy ourselves!"

"Oh, I know, I know! But it feels so good to be heading away from DC at this time on a Friday, rather than fighting through the traffic from Falls Church to Georgetown! I feel so incredibly free!"

"Oh, yes! With you on that one, sweetheart!"

Loren laughed again, this time in delight of his open use of the endearment and shook her head, enjoying the feel of her unbound hair as it swished around her head.

**Friday 2 March 2001, 2003 hrs Local, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (030103ZMar01)**

Harm used the key card to open their room and then taking both his and Loren's - despite her furious scowl - go bag, he deposited them on the luggage stand, before turning to her and asking, "Now, what's that face for?"

She stood scowling at him her hands on her hips and demanded, "What is wrong with you, don't you think I can carry my own gear?"

"Of course you can; you are one of the most, if not the most, capable women I've ever met, but why on earth wouldn't you use a weak mind and a strong back, when there is one available? Especially when the one available needs the practice!"

"Practice for what?" she asked, baffled.

"For this!" he exclaimed swooping on her and lifting her off her feet, one arm around her waist, the other under her knees as he gathered her in to his chest. Loren was obliged to grab him around the neck to stop herself from falling and protested through a still-half-annoyed laugh, "Harm! Put me down!"

"Only," he grinned, "if you tell me I'm forgiven and give me a kiss to prove it!"

"Oh, for God's sake!" She wriggled free of his grasp and slithered down his body until her feet hit the floor. "If you wanted a kiss, you only had to ask!" and she stood on tip toes so that he wouldn't have to bend very far.

Breaking off the kiss, but still embracing her, Harm smiled down at her, "I've wanted to do that since about midnight, last night!"

Loren smiled up at him a puzzled expression in her yes, "But at midnight, you'd only just left my place!"

"Exactly!" he replied with a smirk.

Loren tried to glare at him again, but was completely unable to do so. "Oh, I just don't know what to do with you, Commander. I'd heard about your obsessive behaviour, so I can't be too surprised, I suppose…"

"Ah, but I'm not being obsessive," he corrected her.

"Not, huh?"

"No, I'm not obsessing, at all" he said sadly, "I've got a confession to make, and don't bite my head off for not telling you earlier, but I've only just realised it myself."

Loren looked up quickly, seeing the mischief lurking in his eyes in an otherwise woebegone face, "What?" she demanded suspiciously.

"I didn't realise before that I've got an addictive personality…"

Loren considered him gravely for a few moments while she debated with herself whether to step on his punch line, or pretend that she had no idea where this conversation was leading. In the end she decided to go along with the joke, just because it would give him pleasure. "Alright, then, and what is it you're supposed to have become addicted to?"

"You!" he said and grinned broadly, and then as his grin faded he looked deep into her eyes, "but you knew that, didn't you?" he asked softly.

Loren felt her breath catch in her throat, "Yes, I knew that, she replied just as softly, but only because I'm just as addicted to you," and she stood on tip toes again so that she could plant a soft kiss on his lips. Then sighing deeply, she dropped her arms from around his neck and asked shakily, "What… what time do we have dinner reservations for…?

Harm stared at her for a minute before the sense of her words penetrated his brain, "Uh... twenty one hundred hours. Uh… do you want to shower and change beforehand? 'Cos, I think we might have cut things a bit fine…"

"No…, I just need ten minutes to fix my hair and my face…"

"OK, you do that while I unpack my gear, and then I can give myself a quick wipe down with an oily rag."

It was just about ten minutes to nine when Harm and Loren left their room hand in hand and strolled down to the restaurant, where once again the pretty brunette maitre d'hôtel greeted them, "Mr Rabb, ma'am, welcome back. I was so sorry to hear that you had to cut your last visit short; and so glad that you could come back to us. Your regular table is ready, and Sandie will look after you again.

Harm assisted Loren to her seat and taking his own smiled up at the waitress, who repeated the brunette's welcome and handed them a menu each. Their choices were swiftly made, and on almost the instant that Harm looked over his shoulder for her, Sandie re-appeared with pad and pencil poised. Caesar salads, baked fish on porcini mushrooms and vegetable-stuffed ravioli ordered, Harm again asked for dry white wine and mineral water.

The meal having appeared and Sandie having retired into the background Harm gave Loren a run-down on what he intended for her to do tomorrow - circuits and bumps - and then to remind her that she was due a check ride with Mike Hill on Sunday.

Loren gaped, she'd forgotten that little detail, and putting her fork down, she pulled a face and in a near whisper replied, "Oh… I don't think I'm ready…"

"Loren, you'll be fine, Harm reassured her. "Mike's not going to expect anything from you other that you're confident in basic manouevres, turns, banks, climbs and dives, that's all. I'll be surprised if he even asks you to do the take off, and he certainly won't expect you to be able to land yet. So relax, enjoy yourself up there, just like you do with me. You're plenty good enough to meet his expectations. OK?"

"You sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. Now, c'mon, eat up that expensive dinner: remember what's for lunch tomorrow," he joked.

"Oh, no! How could I forget!" she protested laughingly, "Tuna and mayo sandwiches, and Pop's almost undrinkable purple coffee!"

"Got it in one!" he congratulated her.

The conversation turned after a while back to events and people at Falls Church, "How do you feel about two of your old friends joining you there, Harm?"

"Us, Loren. Joining us," he quietly corrected her, while extending one of his large hands to cover her smaller one where it lay on the table.

Loren turned her hand so it was now lying palm up and returned his grasp as she smiled across the table at him, "If you say so, Harm."

"Yes, I say so." He looked at her quizzically, "Hey since when did you suddenly become all submissive and docile?" he asked.

"Oh since I decided to see whether I could cajole you into buying me a dessert," she replied airily.

"Huh! Closet-love, is it?" he scoffed. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well… there's always the lemon meringue… but I thought I might try something different this time…"

"Like what?" Harm had caught the mischief in her voice and decided to proceed warily.

"Oh, just a big bowl of ice-cream… and two spoons," she chuckled.

It was nearly an hour later, and once again they were the last couple to quit their table, as they left the restaurant with their arms around each other's waist. Sandie looked after them with a smile on her face and then she turned to the maitre d'hôtel, "I swear, those two look deeper in love each time they come here."

"Yeah, yeah, they do…" Marie smiled back at Sandie, "I mean have you ever seen anyone look at each other the way they do?"

"Yeah, I have, actually."

"Oh yeah,"Marie scoffed, "like who?"

"Like us. I see it in your face, and see myself reflected in your eyes."

"Oh…" Marie gasped, "Yes, yes. I see it too," she agreed, and she smiled at her lover.

**Friday 2 March 2001, 2003 hrs Local Room 214, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (030103ZMar01)**

Harm opened the door to their room and stood back to let Loren precede him, "No, don't turn on the lights for a moment," he suggested, "come over to the window…"

Loren looked at him for a moment, but then did as he'd asked her. Harm stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and dropped a soft kiss onto the top her head, "Look" he breathed, as he parted the drapes, to show the lake, its still waters showing a perfect reflection of the three-quarter waxing moon.

"Oh… it's so beautiful…" Loren breathed.

"Yeah. But it's not as beautiful as you."

Loren turned then in his arms, but she couldn't quite find it in herself to raise her head and look at him, "Harm, I know it was my suggestion that we get the one room between us, but…"

"But what, sweetheart?"

"Would you mind, really mind if all we did tonight was just sleep. Together, yes. But just sleep, that's all…"

"Loren, if that's what you want to do, then that's fine by me. In fact," he went on with an air of one making a bold confession, "it's just as well really. 'Cos I didn't bring any glamorous sleep wear with me!"

"Oh… that's a shame," a relieved Loren replied with a mischievous smile as his words gave her the courage to look up at him again, "'Cos I did!"

Harm looked at her in some surprise, "But… if we're not... I mean…"

"Stoopid!" she scolded him lovingly, "I packed the bag this morning before I came to work, before I suggested we share the room."

""Yeah, I get that, but do you normally sleep in girly things… I mean I've only ever seen you in my Ts or your Winnie-the-Pooh PJs…"

"You're not going to forget those in a hurry, are you?" she chuckled, "No, I don't always wear slinky nightwear, but seeing as this weekend was going to be all macho and flying in the wide blue yonder, I thought I could wear it at night, just to remind me I'm a girl!"

Harm grinned at her, "It's not so much a case of me not forgetting your Winnie the Pooh PJs, it's more a case of me not being able to get over them!"

Loren smiled and reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she asked "Are you really OK with the no sex thing this weekend?"

"Loren, I'm really, really fine with it, but if you've got a problem about it, would talking help?"

"No. No, I don't have a problem, it's just…"

"Just?"

Loren blushed again, "It's just that I'd like our first time to be in my bed… I know it's silly." she hurried on, "and most people go to hotels to take that step into a physical thing, but, I just feel more comfortable if I'm at home, with all my stuff around, and…"

"Hey, hey, hey", he interrupted her softly; "you don't have to explain a single thing to me."

He smiled down at her and she looked into his eyes for the truth, and what she saw there satisfied her, and she nodded, in acknowledgement of that truth.

Loren drew a breath, "OK, so do you want to use the bathroom first? I'm likely to take longer than you."

Harm nodded his agreement and grabbing his overnight gear he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Loren alone with her thoughts and dreams. She wished that she'd had the courage of her convictions and let this weekend develop as Harm might have reasonably expected it to once she'd said that they'd only need the one room, but what she'd said to him was the truth, she would feel more comfortable if their first love-making session was in her apartment in her bed.

Her ruminations were disturbed by harm's emergence from the bathroom, and Loren was hard put to stifle a giggle. What he was wearing couldn't even really be put in the same time zone as 'glamorous sleepwear' he was wearing one of the scruffiest, pulled out of shape black V necked T shirts she had ever seen, over a pair of what had once been navy blue joggers that were now faded to a soft and indeterminate shade of grey.

"The bathroom, Madame, is all yours," he pronounced grandly and with an exaggerated wave of his arm.

Loren chuckled as she swept by him and closed the bathroom door with a definite click, "And no peeking, either!" she laughed.

"No ma'am, Harm replied, and although he knew she couldn't see his grin, he was somehow certain that she could hear it. He finished drying his hair, and drawing back the comforter he slid into bed, and reaching for his go bag, he pulled out the Stearman's well-thumbed flight manual and refreshed several salient maintenance points while he waited for Loren to emerge from the bathroom.

He wasn't entirely sure what to expect; she had, after all, said that she'd packed something slinky, and he was conscious of a feeling of tingling anticipation. That feeling was instantly dispelled however and he felt a touch of disappointment when Loren walked out of the bathroom wearing a pair of blue joggers and a T shirt that would have been oversized on him, and printed with…

"Three little kittens!" he howled with laughter as his disappointment instantly dispelled as he saw the carton design, the tears starting from his eyes.

Loren looked at him askance, "Oh...! Shut up!" she snapped, but his amusement was too much for her to withstand, and she gave an embarrassed grin as she slid under the covers next to him, but careful to leave a good twelve inch gap between them, as she lay flat on her back, her arms by her sides and determinedly not looking at Harm..

"Good night," she murmured.

"That's it?" he demanded in astonishment, "A mumbled good night? Don't I even get a kiss goodnight? And after all, you did say if I wanted a kiss all I had to do was ask!"

"Oh, alright," she conceded "you can kiss me good night."

"Oh, no. That's not the way it works, he told her mock solemnly, "that way I would be kissing you good night, the deal was that you kiss me good night."

"What deal?" she demanded.

"The deal where I ask you for a kiss, and you kiss me," he pointed out in overly-reasonable tones.

"Oh, all right, then," Loren grumbled and then turned on her side so she could reach his lips with hers, "I do love you," she said before she kissed him.

"I know, he smiled before he kissed her in return, "Now, just lay your head, right there," he told her, "yes, that's better, now put your hand just there, on my shoulder, and let me… get my arm… just there. Now," he asked her as he turned out the light," isn't that more comfortable?

"H'mmm" she murmured, which he took as no small sign of agreement as he smiled and dropped a further soft kiss on the top of her head.


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

**Saturday 3 March 2001, 0600hrs Local, Room 214, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (031100ZMar01)**

Loren woke to a feeling of warmth and security and… imprisonment? Her eyebrows rose on her forehead, if she was being held, it wasn't against her will, she realised. She liked the weight of the muscular forearm that was draped around her waist, even if the large hand in which terminated was hovering somewhere between her breasts and her belly, and as for the warmth, well, that was being generated by the equally large and muscular body that was pressed against hers, all the way from the back of her neck down to the backs of her knees… lower than that it felt as her legs were hopelessly entangled with his… with Harm's she told herself with a small satisfied sigh, and smiling gently she closed her eyes, quite happy to doze for the next thirty minutes, or thirty years, wrapped in his arms.

Harm, on the verge of waking, felt Loren's sigh and smiled sleepily as he gradually became aware that at some time during the night they had changed their positions so that they were now lying on their sides, tucked tightly together like a pair of spoons. He could feel the weight of Loren's head on his arm while his other hand was clasped by hers and held snugly against her abdomen, and her butt was pressed back into his groin against… His eyes shot open. Oh my God! This shouldn't be happening! Not today! Not after what Loren had asked last night! But it was. Harm gulped and gingerly moved his hips backward to create a little space between his and Loren's bodies, but she murmured protestingly and squirmed backwards so that once gain her butt was pushing against his… well, against him. It was no good; he'd have to get out of bed, and before Loren woke up. If she realised the position they were in she'd probably die of mortification, and he'd die of embarrassment. So this would have to be done very tactfully. Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the nape of her neck and murmured, "I gotta get up, Loren. You don't have to for a while, just stay put and rest, sweetheart.

He gently, and disregarding her muttered complaints, eased his arm out from under her head and slid out of the bed, heading straight for the shower room. By the time he emerged, it was some twenty minutes later, and he was fully dressed in jeans and a turtle-neck sweater. Crossing to the bed, he sat on the edge and extended his hand, pushing a few strands of Loren's silky blonde hair out of her face before he leaned in towards her and kissed her softly. "Wake, up sleeping beauty, I've done in there, the shower is all yours…"

Loren sighed, muttered something inaudible and then when Harm kissed her a second time, she opened her eyes, looked up at him and smiled sleepily. "Good morning…"

"And a good morning to you… Do I take it from your reluctance to actually wake up that you slept well?"

"M'mm… And you?"

His smile verged on the foolish as he looked down at her and said quietly, "Oh, yes…" and then his expression changed to one of mischief as he continued, "But now, Miss Singer, it is time to get that very cute butt of yours out of bed and into the shower!" and before Loren could protest, he swooped down on her and kissed her again, "Because we, my love, have got a very busy day ahead of us!"

"Oh… say that again… please!"

"What?" His eyebrow rose in surprise, "That we've got a busy day ahead?"

"No!" Loren pouted; he could be so damn infuriating! "What you called me, say that again… please?"

"What did I say?" he mused with a carefully cultivated air of absent-mindedness, and then as he saw her eyes darkening, "Oh… you mean when I called you 'my love'?"

Loren's expression changed, and once again he was reminded of a twelve-year old grinning in excited anticipation of a treat.

"Well, you are…" he assured her, "you are my love. But now, my love, up you get!" He stood and as he did so whipped the comforter and sheet off the bed.

Loren squealed, "Ooh! I am going to get you for that!" and even as she said it she wasn't quite sure whether she was just joking or she really was ticked off at him.

Harm stood over her, unrepentant, "Go! Shower! Dress! And if you're not out in ten minutes, I'm coming in to get you!"

Loren scowled and then wrapping the tattered shreds of her dignity around her, she stalked into the bathroom. As she stood under the hot needles of the shower, massaging the shampoo into her scalp, she wondered if she dared make this shower a long drawn-out affair, and call Harm's bluff about him coming to get her. For a second or two she thought she might do just that, and then her heart almost skipped a beat when he rapped on the bathroom door and called, "Seven minutes!"

It seemed to Loren that she had never showered and dressed quite so quickly, not even the other morning at Harm's apartment. Of course her hair was still soaking wet and wrapped in a towel when she emerged from the bathroom to find that annoying… man sat at his ease in one of the two armchairs by the window.

Harm glanced at his watch, "Hey, not bad, only nineteen minutes!" There was a note of teasing mockery in his voice.

Loren who was crossing the roomto get her hair dryer from her bag stopped still for an instant, before she slowly turned and glared at him. She knew that his comment was probably meant to have been light-hearted, but the element of criticism intrinsic to it had succeeded in pushing her buttons, especially the one marked 'Failure'. "What?" she demanded flatly.

Harm looked at her a little more closely; with a sinking feeling he noted that there was no glimmer of mischief or amusement in her eyes. Oh, crap, he'd done it again; he'd managed to make a wisecrack at what was beginning to look like a totally inappropriate moment.

"Uh… just teasing a little, there Loren… Look I knew you had to wash your hair, and I knew there was no way you could shampoo, shower and dress in under ten minutes, so I cut you a little slack…"

Loren stood still, continuing to glare at Harm, and for the first time in weeks the ice-blue eyes she turned on him were also icy. "Harm don't."

Harm wasn't quite sure what he was being told not to do, but he'd trodden this path before, with Mac. Somehow, he'd got it wrong and was being warned off. He didn't get it, they had been laughing and teasing and… yes, dammit! They had been flirting. But somehow in the few minutes Loren had been in the shower, something had changed. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Look, Loren, I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I'm sorry. OK?"

Loren continued to glare at him for a few seconds longer in an effort to judge whether he was being sincere, or if he was still trying to wind her up. At length satisfied that he was properly contrite, she turned back to her bag and retrieving her hair dryer from its depths sat at the dressing table with her back to him but carefully angled so that she could see his reflection in the mirror in front of her…

A chastened Harm sat in silence for twenty or more minutes while he waited for Loren to finish drying and brushing her hair. The regular smooth strokes of the hairbrush and the flow of warm air from the appliance worked their magic, not only on the water-darkened blonde head of the irritated Lieutenant Singer, but also on her peace of mind. And by the time her hair was dried and brushed she was beginning to feel at peace with the world again, and realising that she had probably - no, hell, she had - overreacted to just some of Harm's teasing However, she wasn't going to let the jackass sitting in the chair at the other side of the room off quite so easily…

Unplugging the hairdryer, she wrapped its cord around the handle and laid on the dressing table, after all they had two more nights here, and she was bound to need it again before their departure. "Are you ready for breakfast?" she demanded.

Harm stood. He still wasn't sure what he'd done, where he'd gone wrong, but he strongly suspected it was something to do with putting his foot in his mouth, and as usual when he thought himself at fault, he became defensive and shut down. "No… I guess I don't feel hungry… you go ahead; I'll fix myself a cup of instant. Let me know when you've finished and we can get on the road."

Loren, who had been just about ready to explain how what he'd said had resonated with her family's treatment of her, reconsidered. If he didn't want to accept or even recognise an olive branch when it was offered, well, fine. If he wanted to sulk like some spoiled kid, well, that was fine too! She stood and stalked towards the door and grabbed the handle, stepping back as the door swung towards her. In doing so she had to half turn, once more catching sight of Harm, now slumping in his chair, and with an expression of misery on his face…and… something else… that looked remarkably like guilt. She studied him for a few seconds, her eyes narrowed in thought.

Harm slowly turned his head to look at her. Her stillness added to the tension that he already felt, "Loren…"

"Yes, Harm?" At least her voice was cool and civil, no longer crackling with ice-cold anger.

"Loren… I don't know how I managed it, but obviously I've really upset you, and I am sorry, but until I know… until you tell me how I screwed up… then I can't even try and fix it, and worse, I can't prevent… I won't be able… Oh hell, Loren, if I don't know what I did wrong, then I can't avoid making the same mistake another time…"

Loren debated silently with herself for a moment or two. This didn't sound like the confident, even arrogant Harm of reputation; the Harm that she was beginning to realise was just a faced erected for public appreciation. The Harm she had with her in this room was a man whose self-image had been tarnished and she had a pretty shrewd idea who was responsible for that tarnishing. Sighing silently to herself, she closed the door and crossed the room to sit down on the side of the bed nearest to him.

For a few moment more they solemnly regarded each other in silence, until Loren drew a breath, "Harm, I probably… no, I did overreact just a bit. But…" she dropped her eyes as her ready colour mounted to her cheeks, "You said…" she faltered, "You said about having to cut me some slack… like I needed that extra advantage so I wouldn't…" she swallowed convulsively and then finally spat out the word, "fail…"

On that word she looked up again, her eyes moist and asking for his understanding.

Harm felt himself go white, "Oh, Loren…no!" he exclaimed, almost falling off his chair as he dropped to his knees in front of her, "Oh, no, Loren…No, no, no… That… I… I didn't mean… I never even thought of that! I was just trying to tease you a bit, and let you know that I wasn't really expecting you to shower and dress so quickly. I mean, I… I took nearly twenty minutes, and I don't have anywhere near as much hair to shampoo as you do, and …"

"No," she interrupted him, "It's OK, Harm. I know deep down that you didn't mean… but, it's just one of those things that pushes my buttons…"

She held out her hands to him and let him balance against her as he stood, before she patted the bed next to her. Once he'd sat in response to her silent invitation she turned to him and whispered, "I'm sorry; I'm such a shrew and a bitch too."

"No, I'm the one who needs to say sorry Loren. I didn't mean to upset you, and I had no idea that my bad timing would trip any switches with you… It's just that sometimes I operate my mouth before engaging my brain and…"

"Gee, ya think?" Loren made a brave effort to lighten the mood and stop Harm from beating himself up.

"No… don't do that, Loren, please. I am a klutz, and I should have thought before I spoke…" then the other shoe fell. He sat upright, dislodging her head from his shoulder and half turned towards her, one hand holding both of hers as they rested in her lap, and his other hand coming up to cup her face. "That's it, isn't it?" He asked, half in wonderment that he could have been so slow, "That's why you're the Ice Queen at work; you don't let people close to you, because only those people you let in can hurt you."

Loren nodded her agreement, her eyes blurring.

"And I've just hurt you… Oh, Loren. Never, never apologise to me for letting me have the sharp edge when I've deserved it. And if I hurt you, then I deserve it. But remember even when I'm a real dumbass shit-kicker, that despite my big mouth, I do love you!"

Loren sniffled, "Well, it's not all your fault, Harm. You did warn me. That day down by the river, you did warn me that you were a klutz. I'm sorry, I should have remembered…" She pulled her hands free of his, and taking him by the upper arms she rubbed them, relishing the feel of his powerful muscles under her hands as she urged him to relax, and as he did so, she rested her head against the hollow of his shoulder, and his arms wrapped around her, his hands in long soothing strokes travelling the length of her back.

They sat wrapped in each other for long minutes until Loren broke the silence, "Umm… are you ready for breakfast?" she asked in the most innocent tone of voice she could muster.

She was rewarded by the feel of Harm's chest vibrating to his almost silent chuckle, "You know what?" he replied, "I think I am!"

**Saturday, 3 March 2001, 0855hrs Local, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (031355ZMar01)**

"OK, we'll go over it once again, use the rudder pedals to hold her in a straight line, push the throttle tight through the gate. At about sixty, her tail will come up, and by seventy-five you'll feel her start to lift. Ease back on the stick, and she'll fly herself right off the ground. Got it?"

"Yep. Got it. Sixty, tail comes up, seventy-five, she'll start to lift. Stick back, she'll lift off at about eighty, eighty-five, right?"

"Good girl!" Harm smiled at her. Breakfast had been a quiet meal. They had been shown to 'their' table, and had breakfasted from the buffet. They hadn't said too much, but the silence, at first strained, had become more comfortable, until by the time they'd left the restaurant they were back at ease with each other. Now they were at the hangar and Harm was going through take-off drills while Pop's 'boys' pushed Sarah out on to the apron.

Eventually, happy that Loren had remembered her previous lesson; Harm led her out to the airplane and followed Loren round as she went through the pre-flight check. Harm bit his lip, feeling in a bit of a quandary. This was all still so new to Loren, and she was bound to slip up on details until she had mastered the drills, but after her blow up in the hotel room, he was nervous about saying anything that she might take as unnecessary criticism. But, realistically, he knew he had no choice, "Loren…"

"Yeah?"

"Umm… Look, this all a new experience for you, and I don't want you thinking that I'm expecting you to get this down perfect the first, second or even the tenth time, and if I have to remind you of something you might have missed, or gotten wrong, then I don't want you to start thinking that you are failing anything, or even that I might be thinking that."

Loren looked him in the eyes, torn between exasperation and laughter. "Harm, I know I'm still only just learning this. If I make mistakes now, it's because I don't know enough - yet! So, for heaven's sake stop walking on egg-shells. If you have to put me right here and now, that's all part of the learning process. So… shall we get on with it?"

Harm stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, before dropping his head and kissing her gently just behind her ear, making a shiver run through her whole body, "I don't think I've told you since we got here, that I love you…" he whispered into that self-same ear.

"Oh, God… I love you too, but if you keep on doing that to me, I shall forget how to ride a bicycle, let alone fly a plane!"

"Oh…" Harm let disappointment show in his voice, "You mean you want me to stop doing this?"

Loren twisted around in his arms to face him, "Ummm… not exactly stop… but could I have a rain-check?"

Harm pretended to consider the question, "Oh… I don't know… there's no clouds in the sky… so it'd pretty hard to offer a rain che… oof!" he finished his sentence with a grunt as a set of surprisingly sharp knuckles impacted with his short ribs. He looked down into a pair of glittering blue eyes.

"Don't do it Harm," Loren mock-scolded him, "otherwise the penalties will be severe and slow and painful!"

"Ow! Yes, ma'am!" Harm rubbed his ribs, and pouted as if Loren had really hurt him, but the grin beginning to show at the corners of his eyes and mouth gave him away.

"Clown!" Loren muttered, and then with a show of great patience, she asked, "Now, may we please get on with the pre-flight?"

Harm repeated, "Yes, ma'am!" and stood back to allow Loren to complete her walk round. The only cavil he had at the end of the inspection was that she hadn't checked the tension of the flying wires, the steel wires that criss-crossed the gap between the upper and lower wings.

Loren nodded seriously; she had very much taken to heart his comments on their last flight about not being able to pull over to the side of the road and wait for the car club mechanic. She made an emphatic note on her pad before she allowed Harm to help her up onto the wing and into the front bay of the cockpit.

Harm settled Loren into the cockpit and then strapped himself in and pressed the self-starter button. The engine coughed twice and belched a gout of exhaust gases before settling into a steady growl. Harm released the brakes and called the tower for clearance before, in the characteristic weaving pattern of a tail-wheeled airplane he taxied to the runway threshold.

"OK, Loren," he said into his microphone, "she's all yours for take-off!"

Loren pushed the throttle through the gate and the veteran bi-plane rolled down the runway and lifted into the clear, blue, early spring morning air.

**Saturday, 3 March 2001, 0855hrs Local, Outside Harman Rabb's Apartment Building, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (031355ZMar01)**

Allison Krennick yawned, and stretched, her feet pressing against the floor between the gas and brake pedals of her rental car, and her head pushing back against the headrest. After keeping watch for nearly three hours, his apartment was still in darkness, and there was absolutely no sign of life. Neither was his car parked outside as had been his custom.

Her knowledge of his habits had led her to believe that even on a Saturday he should have been up and awake by now and by rights he ought to have taken his almost daily run over an hour ago. Frustrated, she fished in her jacket pocket for her cell 'phone and the torn-off sheet from a legal pad. Carefully she pressed in the numbers, and waited to hear the ringing tone on the other end. Four times the other 'phone rang before an answering machine cut in, "_Hi, this is me. I can't get to the 'phone right now, leave a message, let me know who you are and I'll get back to you."_

Allison ended the call and cursed silently to herself. Looking at her watch, she waited another five minutes before re-dialling. She counted the four rings and cancelled the call before the answering machine started up. Lifting her eyes, she again scanned the still dark and still quiet apartment. Cursing softly again, she checked the other address on the computer print-out laying on the passenger seat before she punched the details into the car's GPS system and then turned the key in the ignition and shifting the gear selector into drive, she headed for Georgetown.

**Saturday, 3 March 2001, 0915hrs Local, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (031415ZMar01)**

"That's good, Loren…" Harm's was calm and reassuring as the little yellow bi-plane sank towards the runway. His eyes scanned the gauges, air-speed, turn and bank indicator, climb and dive rate, altitude, attitude all were looking good. "Keep it at that Loren; we have green across the board!"

He wasn't expecting a reply as Loren concentrated on bringing them back down to earth. He kept a wary eye on the gauges his hands hovering above the throttle and the stick… just in case. But no… everything was still good. There! The slightest bump and the wheels were rolling along the asphalt.

"Great stuff, sweetheart!" he cried into his mic. "Now open her up, and off and round we go again!"

**Saturday 3 March 2001, 0930hrs Local, Outside Loren Singer's Apartment Building, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (031430ZMar01)**

Allison found a parking spot across the street and about twenty yards from where she ideally wanted to be. Still, she reminded herself with a shrug, she was damn lucky to find on street parking anywhere in Georgetown on a Saturday morning. Referring to her computer print-out again, she looked up and down the street. No, nothing there, but to be on the safe side, she really needed to check for at least half a block in every direction around the target apartment. With a sigh she unbuckled her seat belt keeping to the target building's side of the street she started walking.

Forty minutes later a fuming Allison Krennick unlocked the car door and slid back behind the steering wheel. Unless the little bitch had off-street parking somewhere, then her pretentious little Miata MX5 Convertible, she sneered as she mentally pronounced the last word, was UA. And if the car was gone, then it was a certainty that the little lieutenant - the Wicked Witch of Washington she'd heard somebody in the office describe her - must also be gone, and the lack of movement at chez Rabb indicated that he was gone. And after what she'd seen yesterday afternoon, the two of them entering the elevator in casual civilian clothes and carrying suit-bags, it would seem highly probably that wherever they had gone, they had gone together. Well, well, well, was Mr High and Mighty I Don't Fraternise actually breaking the rules this time? Well if he was, then she, Allison Krennick would make him pay for rejecting her all those years ago… and for preferring that little blonde cow to herself. From scuttlebutt she'd heard, even all the way as far as Naples, she'd half expected to have to lock horns with some Marine Light Colonel he was supposed to have been involved with, but scuttlebutt was, for once, way off target. She hadn't expected to have to contend with a slip of Lieutenant. And that the lieutenant was at least ten years younger than she was didn't help either. The only problem at the moment was that the evidence she had was all circumstantial!

Of course, the little bitch might just be out shopping - it is Saturday, after all, Allison told herself. So… time to settle down to a spot of old fashioned surveillance. I'll give her to thirteen hundred hours, if she's not back by then, I'll have to assume that she's not coming back today…

**Saturday 3 March 2001, 1309hrs Local, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (031809ZMar01)**

"We'll make this the last one before we break off for lunch, Loren!" Harm told her as the Stearman turned upwind towards the runway threshold. Remember all we've done this morning and we'll be fine. I'm not going to talk you through this time, your last five landings have been damn' nigh perfect!"

"Gotcha!" Loren answered, lining up the nose of the airplane on the crooked elm tree at the other side of the field at the far end of the runway. She scanned the instrument panel; everything looked good, yes, the ground coming up smoothly, the plane seeming to sink through the air, whoops! Up with the nose, just a tad, yes… that's it, three, two, one… and oof! That was a bit harsh. But we're down! Hey! I did it! "Hey, Harm, I did it! I did it!"

"Yep, you surely did!" he agreed.

And even though his voice was distorted through the intercom it sounded to her as if there was admiration, pleasure, pride and… dare she even think it, love in his voice?

"OK, now, remember what I told you about weaving, just gentle pressure on alternate rudder pedals, and if you start getting in a muddle, just say so and I'll take over…"

"Got it, Harm! I can do this!"

"Go Navy!" he grinned, and he could have sworn that he could hear her delighted laughter over the noise of the engine as she throttled back to taxiing speed, and weaved around the perimeter track towards Pop's hangar, where applying the brakes she brought the Stearman to a gentle stop. Harm climbed out of the rear cockpit and waited for Loren to slide down the wing, where as was now customary, he caught her around the waist and steadied her as she caught her balance. What wasn't customary, and drew approving whistles from Pop's mechanics was the way Loren grabbed Harms face and pulled him down to be thoroughly kissed.

Pop glared at his cat-calling and whistling underlings, who all, in an amazingly few seconds, found jobs to occupy them in the furthest and darkest corners of the hangar. Pop spat a stream of tobacco juice out of the hangar door and squinted at the couple, "Gotta on-call room with a rack, iffen you want it," he grinned.

"Why, Pop," Loren drawled in her best (or worst) southern belle accent, "I thought you-all were just defending us from all those rudesby damn-Yankees!"

"Hell, no!" he scoffed, "But they're just the hired help, the only one around here who gets to rib my customers is me!" He paused for a few seconds and then turned to Harm, "You fixin' to tek her up again today?"

Harm nodded, "Yeah, Loren did a lot of work this morning, so this afternoon, we're going to head out over to the western area, and I'm going to let her play a while."

"Uh-huh. Well, while you're eating, I'll get the boys to re-fuel her for you."

"Thanks, Pop."

"Well, I gotta butter you up some; I've gotten your month's bill on my desk!" Pop grinned, turned and walked off, his shoulders working up and down as he chuckled to himself.

Harm and Loren made their way into the office, where Harm sat on one of the chairs within arm's reach of the packet of sandwiches while Loren poured two cups of Pop's purple stewed coffee before sitting on Harm's knee and winding her arm around his neck.

In response to his raised eyebrow she said innocently, "Oh, just for balance... Really."

Harm wasn't about to call Loren a liar - well not out loud, anyway - but the expression on his face said volumes. He picked up his mug of coffee and took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness of it, even through the sugar that Loren had added to the cup. In an effort to take away some of the taste he pulled a sandwich from the packet and raised towards his mouth, only to have Loren take a huge bit out of it while it was still in his hand.

"Hey! What's the big idea?" he protested as he looked in disbelief at the remains of the sandwich in his hand.

"I'm hungry!" Loren pouted, "And then you just waved that thing under my nose, and I just had to have some of it!"

"So get your own damn' sandwich," he scolded her.

"But I can't reach them from here," she whined plaintively, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Harm looked at her, torn between amusement and amazement. This was Loren Singer perched on his knee, Loren-I-can-carry-that-myself-thank-you-very-much-Singer. Loren-I-can-open-my-own-damn-doors-Singer.

"And your arms are sooo much longer than mine," she added.

"I could move them nearer?" he suggested.

"You could," she replied doubtfully, "but then Pop wouldn't be able to reach them, from his side of the desk when he comes in."

"Or, you could maybe just grab a chair and sit at the desk like a real person?"

Loren appeared to give that suggestion some consideration but then said, again doubtfully, "Well… I could… but, I'm just so comfortable here, that I really don't want to move…"

Harm eyed her caustically. He had absolutely no doubt now in his mind that Loren was practically begging him to feed her. He wondered just what she was playing at. Outside of making love what she was angling for was one of the most intimate acts possible between man and woman, and that thought was highly arousing. He silently thanked God that she was sitting on his knee and not fully in his lap. If that had been the case then she would have been left in doubt _just_ how arousing he found _that_ idea.

Surrendering to the inevitable, he held the remains of the sandwich up o her mouth and said, "Open wide…"

Loren's smile was part mischief and part triumph as she gently took another bite out of the Tuna and Mayonnaise filled bread.

By the time Pop entered the office some twenty minutes later he found that every single sandwich had been eaten and that Harm was busily engaged in kissing the smears of mayonnaise off of Loren's lips. His clearing of the throat startled Harm and Loren to the extent that she nearly jumped off his knee, and only the firm grasp he held around her waist prevented her from doing just that.

Pop scowlingly indicated the empty sandwich paper, "You-all done etten all of them sandwiches," he remarked.

Loren blushed, she had been having so much fun, teasing and coaxing Harm for "just one more bite, please?" that neither of them had noticed the extent of their depredations until Harm had looked at her with a stricken expression and said, "Umm, Loren… this the last sandwich…"

Harm looked from Pop's scowl to Loren's guilty expression, and although he was equally to blame for the distinct sandwich-less quality of the office, he didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt. Instead, he turned towards Pop, "Hell, it was your fault, Pop… You told me that you had a bill waiting for me, so I figured I'd best get my money's worth!"

"Yeah…" Pop rasped a thumb over his chin, "Gotta watch that in future… Anyways," he grinned, "you did warn me to get extra for this weekend!" He ran his eyes admiringly over Loren's figure, and then shook his head in pretended bewilderment, "Looking at her, who would figure she pack away so many carbs and keep her…"

Loren blushed and just managed to squeak out a laughing "Yellow light, there, Pop!" and then looked furiously at them both as Pop and Harm burst into open laughter. For a second she thought they must have set her up somehow, but the logical part of her brain rapidly refuted that argument, and realising that they were laughing at the situation and not at her, she joined in with their laughter.

Pop's laughter gradually faded and with a wink at Loren, he turned to a still grinning Harm and opening his desk drawer pulled out a Manilla envelope which, together with a smirk, he gave to Harm.

Harm ripped open the envelope and extracted the single sheet of paper and read it rapidly, his eyebrow rising as he did, and then at the end his lips pursed in a soundless whistle. Reaching inside his flight jacket he pulled out his wallet and passed a credit card to Pop. The older man ran the card through an old-fashioned manual press and passed the transaction slip to Harm, for signature.

Harm replaced his wallet in his inside pocket and asked Pop, "Are we done here?"

"Uh-huh"

"She ready to go?"

"Uh-huh"

Harm smiled, "Thanks Pop, see you in an hour or so!"

"OK, son, take care of her!" Pop waved them off, but leaving Loren not quite certain who he meant by 'her'. Did he mean Sarah, the Stearman, or Loren, the… how did he think of her? Loren the student pilot? Nope, that didn't somehow fit with her conception of Pop's speech pattern… Nugget! Yes! That's what he'd called her once before. Well, whatever Pop meant, Loren was satisfied that Harm would take care of her. Of course, the afterthought occurred he'd also take damn' good care of Sarah!

Harm's voice interrupted her musings, "Finished wool gathering, there?"

Loren felt herself blush, and frantically waved a hand in front of her face, not that it ever did any good! "Umm… yeah," she mumbled, "just a random thought or two…"

Harm looked at her keenly, a trace of concern in his face, "Loren, are you sure you're OK? You can't zone out while you're up there."

"Oh, no… I wasn't, really. I was actually thinking about flying." That might not have been strictly true, but she had been, well, sort of…

"OK, then, let's put some air between us and the ground!" Harm grinned exuberantly as he boosted Loren into the front seat, and watched as she buckled up her safety harness.

Loren grinned in reply and keyed her mic, "Albemarle Tower, this Stearman November six, requesting taxi clearance to runway zero four."

"Go ahead November six, you are clear to taxi".

Loren weaved the Stearman to the runway threshold and again keyed the mic, "Albemarle Tower, this Stearman November six, requesting clearance for take-off and flight to western manouevres area."

"Go ahead, November six. Clear skies!"

"Thank you Albemarle. November six, out."

Once again Loren pushed the throttle through the gate and the bi-plane accelerated down the runway, and as the wheels lifted clear of the asphalt Harm could definitely hear Loren's laugh of pure delight.

The smile evident in his own voice, Harm spoke through the intercom, "Climb to Angels six and then turn onto a heading of two six five!"

"Roger!"

Once Harm was satisfied that they had reached the designated manouevres area, he checked with the tower that there were no other aircraft in the area and then he demonstrated some slightly more advanced manouevres and then talked Loren through them. The highlight of her afternoon being the snap-roll he allowed her to try just before he called time on flight. "OK, Loren, take us home!"

Loren felt a moment of doubt. She'd never yet had to set a course and what's more she wasn't entirely sure exactly where they were, but applying logic she pulled a tight turn to port coming round on to a heading of zero nine zero. A ten minute flight brought the airport into sight, slightly more to the left than she had anticipated; turning to port she flew parallel to the field checking the wind sock for wind direction before calling in. "Albemarle Tower, this is Stearman November six, joining the pattern for landing."

"Roger, Stearman November six, the field is clear, call when on final approach."

Loren made her one-eighty turn onto the downwind leg and flew to the threshold before turning upwind again and beginning her final descent. "Albemarle Tower, this is November six, on finals now."

"Roger, November six."

Loren wasn't sure whether it was the effect of the afternoon's flying, or the lunch, or whatever… but she felt a tremendous surge of satisfaction as the Stearman's wheels kissed the asphalt with barely a vibration in a classic three-point landing. Throttling back until the airplane was rolling along the runway she turned onto the perimeter track and headed for Pop's hangar. And all the way Harm could hear her whooping with excitement and pleasure.

Back at the Hangar Pop and his mechanics could hear the Stearman as it approached and as Loren switched off the ignition they could hear her enthusiastic "Yes!"

Almost in unison they grinned at each other until a somewhat embarrassed Pop coughed and the gang broke up, each one still grinning at having heard the blonde woman's happiness.

Harm again climbed out of his cockpit and waited for Loren step down from the wing. Again she reached up and grabbed his face with both hands and pulled his head down for her enthusiastic and excited kiss. Her face was flushed and red from excitement, and the cold blast of air during the flight, and her eyes were brilliant. Her grin threatened to split her face in half, never before, not even during the aftermath of her first flight had Harm seen her express so much sheer joy.

"I take it that you… uh… enjoyed the hop?"

Loren leaned back, holding onto his hands for support, "Harm, that was amazing! It was even better than last time. The sense of… freedom… and control… and…"

Harm groaned, and releasing her hands he stepped back, the back of one hand dramatically pressed to his forehead, "Oh, Doctor," he hammed, in horror-struck accents, "I've created a monster! I'm sorry! I didn't know what I was doing."

Loren looked up at him, still laughing, "If you think you've created a monster now, you just wait until Monday night when I get you home…" and then broke off aghast as the full import of what she'd let slip dawned on her. Her voice tailed off into silence, and she blushed crimson, as she let her eyes drop from his. "That is, only if you want to… I mean, I wouldn't… if you don't, then that's OK, and…"

Harm used a finger under her chin to raise her face to his and dropped a very swift, gentle kiss on her lips before saying, "Loren, it's OK. It'll happen when it happens, when we both feel right. I would never put any sort of pressure on you, and I know you won't put any pressure on me. We'll be ready when we're ready." And then in an effort to release the sudden tension he smiled, "And if we're both ready on Monday, then…"

Loren smiled up at him again, grateful for his understanding and patience. "Have I told you today that I love you?" she whispered.

"I think you have, but with my advanced age, my memory's beginning to fail. So you could always remind me?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, well, in that case, Mr Rabb, I shall be so forward as to tell you that I do love you." And I thank Sarah Bloody MacKenzie for being stupid enough to let you go so that I could get to know, and then to love you, she thought as she reached up to kiss him again.

**Saturday 3 March 2001, 1420hrs Local, Female VOQ, Anacostia Naval Support Facility, Virginia (031920ZMar01)**

Meg Austin debated whether or not she could manage the two archive boxes. Together they would be pushing her ability to carry them the nearly fifty yards to her old Chrysler Concorde, but it would save her one more trip… But paper in bulk was heavy, still they were designed with carrying cut outs, so one on top of the other shouldn't be too bad, even if it did make up what her mom used to call 'a lazy man's load'. The decision made, Meg stacked the two boxes together and with a grunt of effort picked them up, and by dint of hooking her foot around the edge of her room's door, she managed to back out into the hallway just in time to be bumped from someone behind her. Meg lost her balance and fell; the top box of the two she was carrying toppled and its lid flew off, sending a river of files sliding across the hallway floor.

Meg's fall however also brought down the person with whom she'd collided, and turning onto her hands and knees Meg started to apologise and found herself face to face with an extremely irritated Allison Krennick. "Oh, I'm sorry Commander," Meg said as she scrambled to her feet and extended a hand to help the older woman to her feet.

Allison swatted the proffered hand away, and growled, "For God's sake, Austin! Can't you watch where you're going? No, no. Get out of the way, I'm quite capable of standing up by myself!"

Meg was quite prepared to take the blame for the collision, she had backed out of her room without watching where she was going, but the other woman's attitude was, in her opinion entirely uncalled for. Letting her hand drop, she stood back, "Fine, Krennick," she replied curtly, "Suit yourself."

Allison drew herself up and was about to reprimand Meg for insubordination when she remembered the blonde bitch was now the same rank as herself. Contenting herself with an audible sniff and contemptuous glare, she stooped, picked up her file folder and left Meg standing in a drift of spilled files and loose leaf sheets of papers.

Meg groaned silently, she had just spent six hours going through each and every file, getting all the folios sorted into date order and cross-referenced. It looked like she had another three hours work now to get back to where she was five minutes ago. It was no good standing there and looking at the mess, she'd just have to pile everything in the box and then go back into her room and re-file the whole damn lot.

Dropping back to her knees she started to gather up the file folders first before she started on the loose sheets of paper, but as she did so, she caught sight of a couple of sheets of paper that she didn't recall seeing there before. Krennick must have dropped them when they both went flying… but… Meg frowned as she looked at the two sheets of paper. What was Krennick doing with print outs of Harm's SRB Page Two; surely to God she wasn't stalking him, still trying to get him into her bed? But, and this was even more mystifying, what was she doing with a similar copy of Loren Singer's Page Two?

Meg was tempted to go after Krennick and confront her, but a moment's thought made her realise that firstly Krennick would undoubtedly deny ever having been in possession of those two sheets, and secondly to confront her would only tip Krennick off that Meg was suspicious of her. Damn! She wished she'd had the forethought to get Harm's cell 'phone number, so she could talk to him.

**Saturday 3 March 2001, 1700hrs Local, Room 214, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (032200ZMar01)**

A freshly showered Harm answered the knock on the room door and took the tray from the room-service waiter and slipped him bill as he thanked the youngster. He carried the tray across to the table by the window, before knocking on the bathroom door and calling out, "Loren, room service is here!"

"OK, I'm nearly done!" she yelled back through the closed door.

Harm smiled, she'd been in there nearly twenty minutes, but after this morning he'd learned his lesson! His smile fading as he recalled how his stupid dumb-ass teasing had turned Loren from the playful girl of a few minutes earlier back into the virago of her reputation.

He busied himself for a few moments transferring the coffee and sandwiches from the tray to the table and finished just in time for Loren to emerge from the bathroom. Like himself she was now re-warmed by the shower and had now pulled her hair back into a pony-tail held in place by a frilly elastic band-like thingy that she had loftily informed him was a scrunchie.

"Afternoon tea… uh… coffee is served, Madame!"

"You are such a clown at times" Loren smiled at him as she took her seat, "Now" she continued, "Shall you be mommy, or shall I?"

"Umm… I think I lack the necessary equipment, so maybe you'd better do it," he smiled.

"Huh," she sniffed pretending to take umbrage, "gender stereotyping at its worst!" and then burst out laughing at his dumbfounded expression. "Gotcha!" she grinned wickedly. But at the same time reaching for the coffee pot to pour for them both.

Half an hour later saw the pair of them still at the table, but with coffee pots, cups, plates and the rest of the paraphernalia now stacked on the tray and while Harm read out a quiz from the FAA training manual and Loren jotted down her answers. The quiz finished they both worked through the questions and her replies until Loren groaned and straightened her back, rolling her neck on her shoulders to ease the stiffness induced by spending too long bent over the book.

Harm saw her discomfort and standing moved behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders as he pressed, stroked and massaged the stiffness out her neck and shoulders.

Loren allowed he head to flop forward as she sighed in pleasure, "Ohhh," she murmured, "I'll give you exactly six weeks to stop that"

Harm grinned, "You think you could stand this for six weeks?"

"Oh, probably not - but I wouldn't mind trying!" she replied with a smile.

"No? But I would… my hands would probably drop off my arms!"

"Oh, no! Think what a loss that would be - to me!" she looked up and over her shoulder at him, her eyes brilliant with amusement and love.

"Oh God, Loren, stand up!" he commanded.

"Oh, why? I'm too comfortable right here," she whined

"So I can kiss you," he said.

"Oh, well," she replied as she stood, "in that case…"

**Saturday 3 March 2001, 1800hrs Local, Commander Allison Krennick's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (032300ZMar01)**

Meg Austin cursed silently as she tried the door. It was locked. In itself this was not a problem, but if she was caught then she would have some embarrassing questions for which she would have to find convincing answers. Opening her purse she delved inside for a small soft leather wallet which she opened to reveal a collection of shiny steel instruments, many of them looking like miniature golf clubs. A swift examination of the lock and her decision was made. Removing two of the lock-picks from the pouch she knelt and inserted them into the lock. A few seconds manipulation served to operate the tumblers, and turning the door handle, she slipped inside the darkening office and crossed to the desk. Booting the computer, she waited until it came on line and then started typing.

Two minutes later she sat back. On the screen was incontrovertible proof that Commander Krennick, or someone using her password, had breached protocol and had downloaded personnel files from the BUPERS' data base. Not only files in the names of Rabb and Singer, but also Mattoni and Imes, in short the prosecution and defense teams for the upcoming Coulter appeal and any subsequent disciplinary action that might arise.

Inserting a flash drive into the port she typed a few more commands and watched as the flash-drive's LED flickered to let her know that the download she had requested was being completed. Once that was done she disconnected the flash drive and secured it in her pocket and then went back to her purse and retrieved a CD case. Opening the case, she inserted the CD into the drive and typed again, this time telling the computer to upload the program on the CD and then to file it away in a hidden file.

Satisfied that she had, for the moment done all that she could, Meg repacked the CD and closed down the computer, and then pausing to make sure that the coast was clear she slipped out into the Hallway and closed and locked Krennick's door behind her.

Strolling casually along the hallway Meg made for her own office where picking up an empty file folder, she slipped half a dozen sheets of blank paper into it, and then with the ostensible reason for her silent hours visit to the office tucked under her arm, she made her way down to the Security Detail desk in the foyer and signed out of the building, a scant twenty minutes since she'd entered it.

**Saturday 3 March 2001, 1940hrs Local, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (040040ZMar01)**

Harm smiled at Loren as she lay dozing with her head on his shoulder, and murmured, "Come on sleepy head, time to splash some cold water on that beautiful face and then get your cute but down to the restaurant for dinner."

"M'mm… nooo, don' wanna," she mumbled, snuggling even closer to him as they lay on the bed.

"Come on Loren," he insisted gently, "Apart from Pop's sandwiches and a couple of mouthfuls earlier, we haven' eaten since breakfast, and if we don't eat now, then it will be breakfast before we eat again - and I know," he added with enough humour (he hoped) in his voice, "just how grumpy you can get before breakfast. And I don't want to find out just how grumpy you can get before breakfast, if you've been starved the night before!"

Loren opened her eye at that, and with a look of reproach mingled with contrition she sighed and propped herself up on one elbow, "You're not going to let me forget that are you?"

Harm looked at her all, humour fled from his face as he replied, "No, Loren, I'm not going to forget it." He held up a finger to silence her as she was about to respond, "I'm not going to forget just how big a klutz I can be, and how I hurt you so much by accident. Loren I need to remember that you're not like anybody else I've known, and because I love you so much, and you've let me get close enough to you to love you that much, it makes it so easy for me to hurt you without meaning to."

"Harm… will… you… please… stop… beating... yourself… up… over… this!" She punctuated each word with a light kiss. "Or, I shall have to stop kissing you… and you wouldn't want that, would you, now?"

"Nooo, I don't believe I would," he agreed with a smile. "You are incredible, you know."

Loren went pink with pleasure at both his words and his tone, "H'mm… I'm also now awake. And now that I'm awake, I do believe that I _am_ hungry. Did someone mention dinner, by any chance?"

"Yep. Let's go and get rid of our bed-heads and head for the feed trough!"

Ten minutes later saw them hand in hand entering the restaurant, where Marie welcomed them with a warm smile and walked them to 'their' table. The restaurant was busy, as was normal on a Saturday night, and not all its patrons were honoured by being conducted to their table by the maitre d'hôtel, and curious eyes followed the couple as they made their way to the table and took their seats.

Loren blushed pink and muttered, "Everyone's looking at us!"

Harm shrugged, "No, they're not looking at me, they're just looking at you, because you are so beautiful!"

Loren went even pinker and gave him a mock-glare. "I'm gonna get you for that!"

"yeah, yeah, promises, that's all I ever hear."

Loren smiled coolly as the blood receded from her cheeks, "Oh no," she said ever so sweetly, "that was neither a threat, nor a promise. That my darling, was a statement of fact."

Harm eyed her warily, he'd not yet seen and heard that combination of expression and voice from Loren and he wasn't quite sure what it might portend. But whatever response he might have made was cut off by the arrival of Sandie.

"Good evening Mr Rabb, Miss Singer. It's good to see you again. Your menus, and the wine list. Shall I get you your bottle of mineral water while you're getting ready to order?"

"Uh… yes, thank you," Loren hastily interjected as Harm seemed to be struck speechless, whether by Sandie's greeting or her own last comment, Loren wasn't quite sure. Sandie smiled again and headed barwards to collect the mineral water.

Loren and Harm sat in silence until the waitress returned and collected their orders and an order for a bottle of Muscadet to go with the green salads and the chicken Alfredo they'd both decided on. Once again their tastes had coincided, and they smiled across the table in recognition of that fact, both of them again remembering the first time that had happened. "Twice is coincidence, Harm" Loren said softly.

"Yeah, and if it happens again, then we'll know that someone, somewhere is making it happen!" The smile on Harm's face and the warmth of his voice made it evident to Loren that he wasn't averse to that third time happening just as soon as it liked.

Loren's return smile seemed to meet his and cast an aura of isolation over the table. And although their conversation was desultory and inconsequential, they were completely absorbed in each other and the curious glances of the other diners were forgotten.

Salads and Alfredos finished they sat in silence for a few more minutes until Harm asked, "Aren't you going to indulge your sweet tooth again?"

Loren leaned back in her chair, "Yes… I think I will… if you'll share with me?"

"What had you got in mind?" he asked cautiously.

"Well…" she drawled, I noticed on the menu that they have chocolate covered strawberries, served with cream… or… or, there's always lemon meringue pie?" she added teasingly, remembering how he'd complained the last time they'd had it that he was in danger of putting on too much weight if he kept eat pure sugar like that. Not that it had stopped him from squabbling with her over the choicest morsels - they both liked the crispy crust on the light meringue.

"Well, we've still got some wine left, and I reckon that it would go better with the strawberries than a meringue?" he offered hopefully,

Loren, out of sheer mischief, had been about to plump for the meringue, but she hesitated, "Yeah… you've just had a lucky escape," she grinned, "I was going to order the meringue - until you mentioned the wine. You're right. The meringue would have overpowered a dry white."

"And why were you going to order the meringue?" an eyebrow climbing his forehead reinforced the question.

"Pure devilry, Mr Rabb, pure devilry!"

Harm's crack of laughter drew more looks from the other diners still seated in the restaurant and as well as sympathetic smiles from Marie and Sandie at the maitre d' hôtel's podium, but Harm and Loren were too involved with each other to even notice.

The strawberries arrived with a side dish of Crème Chantilly, and as Loren insisted that she feed Harm and that he feed her, with their fingers, it wasn't too long before they were slightly messy and very sticky. Sandie appeared silently at the table and placed two finger bowls of warm lemon scented water and two white face cloths on the table, and acknowledging their smiles of gratitude, just as silently faded back to the podium.

Marie looked at her, "That was a damn' good idea Sandie. We ought to make that protocol. No dessert forks for that dish, just the finger bowls and napkins. I'll bring it up and the next HOD meeting." She nudged Sandie, "Looks like they've finished eating and cleaning themselves up; go see if they're ready for their coffee."

At length, coffees finished and the restaurant practically deserted, Harm and Loren made a leisurely way back to their room.

"Go ahead and use the bathroom Loren, but before you do, where are your shoes? I'll give them a rub over for Monday, while you're in there."

Loren opened her mouth to protest, but Harm interrupted, "just give me your shoes. Go on, it'll give me something to do."

When Harm left the bathroom nearly half an hour later he found Loren only just awake as she fought off sleep until he joined her. Sliding under the comforter he slid an arm under her waist as she turned on her side and propped herself up on her elbow and then leaning down gave him a gentle kiss and a whispered "Good night", before dropping her head into the hollow of his shoulder with a sigh of content as she draped an arm across his chest.

Harm smiled down at her, kissing the top of her head, and in turn whispered "Good night," as he reached out with his free arm and turned off the light.

He closed his eyes and was almost instantly asleep so he wasn't quite sure whether he heard or dreamed Loren saying, "I love you"


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 0500hrs Local, Female VOQ, Anacostia Naval Support Facility, Virginia (041000ZMar01)**

Alison Krennick groaned as the insistent electronic beep of her alarm clock penetrated her ears and roused her brain into activity. Her eyes grudgingly edged open and she squinted at the clock's LED display. Why the hell had she set her alarm for five, on a… dammit, a _Sunday_ morning? She was about to reach out and press the 'alarm off' button when full consciousness returned. She had a job to complete. Silently groaning, she slipped out of bed, shivering briefly at the contrast between the warm comforter on her bed and the chill of the morning - the heating in VOQ wasn't timed to kick in for another hour. She plugged in her electric kettle and shuffled to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, her skin glowing pink from the heat of the shower and dressed in pants and blouse with a heavy sweater added for warmth, she reheated the water in the kettle and made a mug of instant coffee. Grimacing at the unsatisfactory taste, but grateful for the warmth and the caffeine, she drank quickly, before leaving her room and making her way down the hallway to the side door, and then across the grassed area to the parking lot.

Meg Austin was also awake, or more accurately she had just been woken up by the sound of the side door banging shut, only a few feet from her room. Cursing whoever was so inconsiderate of her fellow officers at oh five thirty hours, she turned over in bed and closed her eyes in an effort to get back to sleep. But as she closed her eyes her investigative instincts kicked in. Why would anyone leave their bed at this hour on a Sunday? Especially as it would be at least another hour before sunrise. Of course, there could be many legitimate reasons for an officer to be up and about this early, leaving to catch an early flight, or to report for an early watch somewhere or, she grinned at the thought, it might even be an officer's boyfriend sneaking out after an illegal overnight visit. But something just didn't feel right. The sound of a car engine starting up was sufficient to drag Meg from her bed and to her window, where drawing back the curtain she peered in the direction of the parking lot, but all she could see as the dark shape of a mid-sized sedan rolling out of the parking lot, and then had to step back quickly, allowing the curtain to fall back in place when the car's headlights swept the length of the building as it turned out of the parking lot in the direction of the base's main gate.

Suddenly conscious of the chill, particularly on her bare feet, Meg switched on the room light and moved back to the bed, where sitting with her back to the headboard, she brought her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs and stuck her feet under the edge of the coverlet while she wrestled with the puzzle with which she had just been presented. As she tried to puzzle through just why she felt that something was happening that wasn't entirely on the level her eyes fell on the table next to the door, and on the two computer printouts she had left there the previous evening. Sighing with the necessity Meg stood, shoving her feet into her sneakers and crossed the room to stare thoughtfully at the two pieces of paper. Why, oh why did Alison Krennick want copies of Harm and Loren's Page Twos? This was the personal information page, name, SSN, marital status, blood, group, religion, address, 'phone numbers, emergency contact… etcetera, why would Krennick want… But if that was Krennick who had just left so early, the only information on those printouts that could be of any use so early in the day were the addresses. Meg made a decision. Rushing to the bathroom she hastily washed her face, cleaned her teeth and then swiftly dressing in jeans and a pair of sweaters she pulled on a pair of socks and thrust her feet into her boots and grabbing her car keys, headed for the parking lot.

**Sunday, 4 March 2001, 0552hrs Local, Outside Harman Rabb's Apartment Building, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (041052ZMar01)**

Alison Krennick switched off her car's headlights and let it glide quietly into the alley, where she pulled over to the side opposite the target building, and making sure that the central locking was activated - she had a vague memory of Rabb once saying that this wasn't the safest neighbourhood in DC - she pre-set the focus and aperture on her digital SLR and settled back to wait until her target made a move. At this hour on a Sunday morning she was certain that he or, she smirked, they would still be in bed, and she would be in a perfect position to catch the little slut doing her walk of shame, or even better catch the two of the sharing passionate goodbye. But that would just be the icing on the cake, even if she only caught the pathetic little blonde, they'd have a hell of a time explaining what she was doing leaving his apartment in the early hours, especially with a time-stamped photograph as evidence.

**Sunday, 4 March 2001, 0617hrs Local, P Street SW, Washington DC, (041117ZMar01)**

Meg had crossed on the Frederick Douglass Bridge and taken South Capitol Street NE before a nagging doubt settled in her mind, and she pulled off the major road into this side street. She had with her the two computer print outs with Harm's and Loren's addresses, but which of the two addresses would Krennick, if it was Krennick that had disturbed her, head for first? A check of her street directory showed that Harm's address was the nearer of the two to Anacostia, and was reasonably easy to get to, the problem as far as Meg was concerned that if Krennick was already there it would be almost impossible for her to get close enough to make sure that any lurkers were Krennick without being seen herself. Meg thought furiously, had she seen Krennick's ride since she'd arrived in DC? She couldn't be sure, but she had seen a dark, mid-size sedan leave the Anacostia parking lot, and she was pretty certain that Krennick hadn't seen her in her car; it was a pretty unsatisfactory state of affairs, but she could take a slow cruise by Harm's place, and if there was a car matching the one she'd seen earlier, then she'd head over to Georgetown and wait to see if the same car turned up there. She was beginning to wish that she'd brought a flask of coffee with her; she had the suspicion that this could turn out to be a long, cold morning.

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 0620hrs Local, Room 214, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (041120ZMar01)**

Harm had reached that warm, fuzzy, unfocussed stage where his eyes were still closed and he wasn't quite sure whether he was awake and heard her, or whether he was still asleep and dreamt that he heard Loren saying, "I love you."

But it didn't really matter, awake or asleep, hearing or dreaming; those three little words worked their magic. A gentle smile curved his lips, and expression of peace came over his face and he murmured, "M'mm lo' you too."

Loren, propped on her elbow heard his reply to her whisper, and felt the pink rise to her cheeks, she hadn't thought he would be so near to waking that he'd actually hear her, and she felt a little foolish being caught out like that. But on the other hand, she was perfectly certain that he's said he loved her too; and that was definitely worth feeling a little foolish for. Oh, well, she told herself, in for a penny, in for a pound, and lowering her face to his, she captured his lips with hers in a soft, wake-up kiss, "Wakey, wakey sleeping beauty…"

"Hey, that's my line…" Harm protested sleepily.

"Well, if you don't want me stealing your best lines, you'd best wake up before me in the morning!" Loren told him with a smile.

Harm opened one eye and squinted up at her, "No fair…"

"What?"

Harm opened both eyes, and pulled her down so that her head was resting on his shoulder, "It's not fair, that I wake up in the morning, feeling like… bleh! And you wake up looking absolutely gorgeous."

"Oh…" Loren's breath caught in her throat, "Harm…" she protested, burying her face even deeper into his shoulder.

"What are you complaining about, sweetheart; it's only the truth…"

"Oh, I wish…" she sighed.

"You do," he told her "all rosy pink and peaceful and relaxed 'cos you're well rested, and I haven't stressed you out yet…"

"Well, if that's the case, I'm sure you'll manage to find a way to fix that," she told him, looking up so that he could see the impish grin on her face.

Harm managed a rueful smile and dropped a kiss onto her forehead before muttering "Ouch!"

"Go on with you," Loren smiled, "as if that hurt!"

"Sweetheart," he replied as he drew her in even closer, if that were possible, "in cases like that, the truth always hurts!"

"H'mm." Loren decided to let the subject drop, she was OK with giving him a little gentle ribbing, but she really did not want Harm to go back to beating himself up over yesterday's case of foot in mouth disease. She wriggled away from him a little and asked. "Do you want to make a head call? Because I do, and once I'm in there I'm going to be about half an hour…"

"No, you go ahead. I'll keep until you're done…"

It was nearer three quarters of an hour later that Loren, head wrapped once more in a towel emerged from the bathroom, and guiltily conscious of the extra time she had taken shot a challenging glare at Harm, daring him to say anything. Harm, however, without saying a word, but with a look of relief on his face made a dash for the bathroom. Loren smiled, rather weakly, and made up her mind to apologise as soon as he'd finished.

In the meantime… what the hell had he done? He'd obviously 'phoned housekeeping, or reception, because there in front of the dresser, just where she had intended to sit and dry her hair, was an iron and ironing board, and on the ironing board was her skirt - half pressed by the look of it! Damn the man! He'd obviously been suffering agonies waiting for her to finish up in the bathroom, but even so, had had the consideration to make a start on getting her uniform ready for the morning!

The least she could do now was finish pressing her own damn clothes!

When Harm rejoined Loren in the bedroom, she leapt from the chair in front of the dresser where she had been brushing her hair before tying it back in a pony-tail, ready for the day. Before he could say a word she'd linked her hands behind his neck and pulled his face down to hers so she could kiss him.

Putting his hands on her hips, he smiled down at her and asked, "Wow! What was that in aid of?"

"That's just for you being you. For thinking of me, for pressing my uniform, when I _know_ you must have been crossing your legs _and _dancing a fiddler's jig! And… and I'm sorry I took so long…"

Harm tilted her face up to his to return her kiss, "Well, you weren't too much longer than you'd said and it wasn't quite that bad, but I admit, I was pretty relieved when you did come out of the bathroom!"

Loren chuckled, "Yeah? Well, I'll bet you were even more relieved when _you_ got_ into_ the bathroom!"

"Have I ever told you, counselor, that you are not just bad, you are wicked?" Harm had discovered that he loved the playful side of Loren, a side she normally kept hidden from the world, and revealed only to him. Or, and his face sobered, was it a side that she had only just discovered she had? And that, he reflected, given her formative years, wouldn't be a surprise.

Loren, keeping her hands linked behind his neck just leaned back and smiled at him

**Sunday, 4 March 2001, 0642hrs Local, Outside Harman Rabb's Apartment Building, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (041142ZMar01)**

Meg cruised past the entrance to the cul-de-sac at a stately twenty miles per hour; yes, there it was a dark, mid-sized sedan. She told herself that she couldn't swear that it was the same car she had seen leaving the VOQ parking lot, but there were just a few too many coincidences piling up. And Meg Austin, after her TAD to the ONI, was not a great believer in coincidence.

Alison Krennick had kept her eyes fixed on the third floor windows of the converted warehouse, waiting and watching for any signs of life. Again, Rabb should have been up and out this morning for his daily run, but no luck this morning either! She fumbled for her pocket for the slip of paper on which she had made a note of his 'phone numbers, groping in her purse dragged out her cell 'phone. It was then that she remembered that she wasn't wearing the shirt she had yesterday and that she had forgotten to retrieve the scrap of paper from her other shirt's pocket. Damn! No, wait, she must have gotten out of bed too early, she still had the file folder with the print-outs.

Opening the folder she quickly thumbed through the folios. It wasn't possible. The two sheets that she wanted were missing. Rabb's and Singer's print-outs just weren't there. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she thumbed through the contents of the folder again. The print-outs were definitely not there. Alison thought furiously, 'They were on the passenger seat of the car yesterday, and I'm sure I slipped them into the folder,' but just in case, she leaned over and checked the passenger side foot well and then under the seat and the gap between the seat and the door. The sheets were definitely not there. Sitting up and drumming her fingers on the steering wheel she mentally retraced her steps from yesterday. 'I called off surveillance at the blonde bitch's apartment at thirteen hundred. I squared everything away; I _know_ I put those print-outs into the folder. I stopped for a coffee at that place on K Street, but although I left the folder in the car I had definitely locked the car. Then I drove back to the VOQ, and gone straight to my room, and I had the folder with me then, because I damn' well wasn't about to leave it in the car overnight, and besides I didn't been back to the car after I got to my room; I'd been too busy dabbing arnica on my knee after that clumsy bitch Austin… After Megan Austin had sent me flying in the hallway… and had dropped her own box of files, sending paper all over the place. Dammit! Austin must have picked up the print-outs with all the other crap that had gone flying!'

Alison bit her lip. 'It was too much to hope for that the nosey slut hadn't seen the sheets. Austin had always had the hots for Rabb, and anything with his name on it was bound to attract her like flies to shit. What the hell am I going to do now? And perhaps even more importantly, what was Austin going to do?

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 0719hrs Local, Outside Loren Singer's Apartment Building, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (041219ZMar01)**

Meg pulled over to the side of the street where she hoped she'd be able to get a clear view of anyone taking more than a passing interest in Loren's apartment building. Stakeouts weren't anything new to her, but she'd usually had a partner with whom to pass away the time, but this time she was flying solo. She'd needed to keep mentally alert and fight fatigue and boredom all by herself.

As a way of keeping herself alert, Meg thought over the last twenty four hours. Yesterday had been a normal run of the mill Saturday, she'd gone to the pool, swum her laps, done some shopping - more window shopping than real - before heading back to Anacostia to sort through those case files. Yeah, she'd been damned lucky - in a sort of half-assed way - to bump into Krennick like that, and for Krennick to lose those print-outs, but the older woman must have realised by now that her illegally gathered intel had been compromised, so what was a vengeful harridan like Krennick likely to do now? She'd always been a bit of a bull in a china shop, so should Meg expect a confrontation? It was on the cards… In the meantime, she'd sit here for a couple of hours on the ever-decreasing chance that Krennick might show up, or even better that Meg might spot Loren, or even Harm. 'Damn, I wish I'd thought to get Harm's cell 'phone number, but with Loren sitting there it could have led to even more complications. But…' Meg pondered, 'I wonder if the Marine Security Detail has the number, and if so, would they give it to me over the 'phone, or will they make me drive out to Falls Church? H'mm…' Meg nodded her head to reinforce her decision and reached for her cell ''phone.

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 0844hrs Local, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (041344ZMar01)**

Harm walked around the car and waited for Loren to climb out, and then locking the vehicle he placed his hand in the small of her back as they headed toward the Hangar with go-bags containing their flying gear in hand, "Now, remember Loren, Mike is one of the good guys, he's on your side. He wants you to qualify and get rated for the Stearman, and once you've got that first rating, it's much easier to qualify on other types. So, he wants you to succeed just as much as I want you to succeed, as much as you want to succeed. So there's no need to be nervous of him. He's a good stick and a good teacher, and he won't ask you to do anything that we haven't already done."

Loren looked up at Harm, her expression one of amused exasperation, "I know, I know. You've only told me that umpteen times already this morning. But… I can't help feeling just a little bit nervous. I am allowed to be aren't I?"

"Only if it makes you feel better," he smiled at her.

Loren gave a brief chuckle, "I'm not sure if it makes me feel better or worse," she confessed.

"Well, in that case, don't worry!" Harm told her triumphantly as they walked into the hangar, where Pop's 'boys' were just beginning to push Sarah out onto the apron. "Now, how about you going to the 'Ladie's Room' and getting suited up, while I see if I'm in time to brew a fresh pot of drinkable coffee?"

"You just got yourself a deal, Mr Starbuck!" Loren grinned as she headed for the back of the hangar.

Harm watched her go with a shake of his head. Where did she come up with all these 'Mr' names that seemed to trip so readily off her tongue? But she'd better not repeat that Starbuck name, especially in front of Bud; he had a feeling that Bud had mentioned the name as a call-sign for some wanna-be hotshot space pilot in one of the Science Fiction movies which were his preferred viewing. He turned away. Heading for the office and opening the door groaned with dismay as he took note of the purple potion steaming - and stewing - gently in its usual place on top of the old-fashioned metal filing cabinet.

Harm nodded a morning greeting to Pop, who acknowledged with a wave of his hand in the general direction of the coffee pot and a grunted, "he'p you'self," as he concentrated on the paperwork in front of him.

Harm poured a generous measure of coffee into one of the white china mugs and winced as the bitterness of the brew assaulted his taste buds. Hastily dumping a couple of spoons of sugar into his mug, he took another sip, and could still taste the underling bitterness, "Pop," he asked in wonder, "how the hell do you manage to turn good coffee into this?"

Pop sat back peered over the top of his reading glasses at his visitor, "Practice," he grunted, "an' like I told you afore, iffen you don' like it, go without!" Then he seemed to relax a mite, and grinning at Harm he asked, "You bring that sandwich stealin' girlfriend of yours with you today?"

Harm raised an eyebrow at Pop's description of Loren, but was forced to silently acknowledge that after yesterday's consumption of sandwiches, Loren probably did fit the description, but he was damned if he was going to raise the subject with her. For a moment he thought about keeping silent, but then in the interests of harmony, and keeping a wary eye on the office door, he said hastily, "Uh… Pop, you might want to do us all a favour, and not labour that point."

Pop raised his head, "There summat goin' on there Commander?"

"Yeah. Look Pop, there are some issues we're dealing with, and criticism sometimes provokes reactions way out of proportion, so a one joking, and I mean a definitely joking, reference should be OK, other than that, I'd say that the weather outlook for the next weekend should bring a few more of the fair-weather fliers out, so your guys are probably going to be busy this week prepping airplanes that have been idle all winter." Harm swiftly and smoothly changed the subject as the office door opened and Loren walked into the room.

Seeing the purple poison in its carafe she grimaced and looking at Harm said, "Too late, huh?"

"'Fraid so, you want a cup?"

"I take it Mike's not here yet?" and when Harm shook his head, Loren sighed, "Go on then I'll risk it," as she cast a mischievous look in Pop's direction.

Pop merely snorted and clambering out of his chair he grunted something about "Sassy young slips of girls that don't know good coffee when they see it," and headed for the door. Pausing as he reached it, he turned back towards Loren and dropped her an outrageously blatant wink before he grinned and said "Gotta go an' give those boys o' mine some grief - jest on general principles. If I see Mike, I'll tell him you're here waiting for him!"

Loren giggled as the door closed behind Pop, "Oh, Harm, I _do_ like him!" she declared.

Harm pretended jealous outrage, "Hey!"

Loren grinned and turned towards him lightly running a finger up the breast of his shirt and playing with one of his shirt buttons, "But not as much as I like you, Mr Rabb," she cooed sweetly.

Harm put his coffee down on the desk and tilted her face upwards, "And it had damn well better stay that way!" he declared huskily.

Loren felt her knees turn to water at the tone of his voice and just about managed to whisper, "Shut up, you fool - and kiss me!"

Harm was all too ready to oblige and brushed his lips against hers and was about to deepen the kiss when the door opened and Mike Hill strode in, "Hi, Pop told me - whoa! Sorry, I'll just go back out and come back in about five minutes!"

Harm and Loren sprung apart, both of them turning crimson, much to Mike's amusement, "God, look at the pair of you," he chortled, "You look as guilty as a couple of teenagers caught making out on a porch swing!"

"Yeah, very funny, Mike!" Harm retorted as he recovered his poise, while Loren turned her back to Mike so that he wouldn't see just how crimson she'd turned, and grabbed a file folder off Pop's desk to fan her heated face.

Mike grinned broadly, this was first class blackmail material, oh not the fact that he'd caught Harmon Rabb making out with his girlfriend, but Rabb's reaction to being caught. And to give Mike his due credit, it never even crossed his mind to use Loren's reaction for a similar purpose.

Harm was the first to recover and fixing Mike with the sort of glare that was guaranteed to curdle milk at fifty yards, said, "Yeah, OK, very damn' funny!"

Mike opened his mouth respond, but was cut off by Loren, who in a remarkably composed voice, said "Well, Harm, it was funny really. I mean, you should have seen your face, and I'll bet mine was just as bad if not worse!"

Relieved that Loren could see the funny side, Harm relaxed and let a reluctant grin creep across his own face, "Yeah, I suppose in a way it was pretty ridiculous."

"Damn straight, it was," Loren confirmed and then with her sunniest smile turned to Mike, "Hi, good morning. I'm ready for my check-ride, Mr de Hill."

For a moment both Harm and Mike stared at her dumbfounded, and then as they realised the source of her misquotation they grinned, and nodded their approval.

"Ok, Loren, shall we move this outside?" Mike suggested, and the three of them walked out to the apron, where Mike rested a clip-board on Sarah's lower port plane. "OK, what I want to cover with you today is in two parts. First there's the practical aspect, and then once we're back dirtside, I have a paper for you to take. Don't worry," he added as he saw Loren's start of surprise, "The paper will just cover the theoretical side of what we're going to do in the air. OK?" he smiled reassuringly.

Loren drew a long, shuddering breath and managed a tremulous smile, "Yeah, OK, I guess."

Harm nodded his encouragement, "You can do this Loren. I wouldn't have agreed to it if I didn't think you were ready!"

"OK, then Harm, why don't you take a couple of steps back, and let Loren and me do this on our own?"

Harm nodded, grinned and said to Loren "Clear skies, sweetheart" and then retreated to the hangar doorway where he snagged a folding wooden chair and sat down to watch, feeling helpless.

Mike smiled reassuringly at his nervous student, "OK then Loren, we'll start off right at the beginning, so hows about you show me how you go about a pre-flight walk round?"

Loren bit her bottom lip and nodded and then starting at the port lower plane, she checked the control surfaces for the appropriate degree of free movement and then moved on to check the fabric of the wings and the interplane struts and flying wires. Mike watched closely, Loren had at first seemed to be one of the most nervous pupils he had ever seen, but as she became immersed in her walk round she lost her nervousness, becoming totally involved in what she was doing and apparently forgetting Mike dogging her steps, clip-board in hand as he made notes on her progress.

Finished with her walk round, Loren, now much calmer that she had started the check ride, turned to Mike, and said, "I'm ready if you are."

"Yep, go for it!" Mike waited until Loren had seated herself and strapped herself in before he stood on the lower plane and leaned over her cockpit, checking that her harness was properly secured before he climbed into the rear cockpit and strapped himself in. Loren looked behind her and saw Mike give her the thumbs up signal. Pressing the starter button she was relieved when the engine throbbed into life and almost simultaneously Mike's voice came through her headset, "OK, do you know what happens next?"

Loren nodded and keyed her mic, remembering Harm's voice procedure lessons, "Albemarle Tower, this is Stearman November six, requesting taxi clearance to runway zero four."

"November six, go ahead, you are clear to taxi to runway zero four."

"Thank you Albemarle."

Loren released the brakes and edged the throttle forward and started to weave her way around the perimeter track to the runway threshold. Lining up with the runway she again called the tower, "Albemarle Tower, this Stearman November six, requesting clearance for take-off and flight to western manouevres area."

"Go ahead November six; you are clear for take-off. Be aware there are two other aircraft in your chosen area."

Loren felt her stomach flip-flop, she had never yet been asked to cope with other airplanes in the same vicinity, but this was a challenge from which she was not prepared to back down.

"Thank you, Albemarle Tower, this is November six, departing runway zero four."

Loren pushed the throttle lever through the gate and the little yellow biplane rumbled down the runway and then lifted effortlessly into the air.

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 0918hrs Local, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (041418ZMar01)**

Meg slumped forcefully into her chair. "Damn Jarheads. Damn Stubborn Jarheads. Damn inflexibly stubborn Jarheads!" she almost chanted out loud.

'It wasn't enough' she told herself 'that they refused to give out Harm's cell 'phone number over the 'phone… and I suppose that was reasonable enough. As that damn Jarhead Staff Sergeant had sooo respectfully pointed out, that yes, it was her caller ID that had come up on the switchboard display, but it could have been anybody using her phone. Well, yes,' she admitted - under internal protest - that was fair enough, and I had been half prepared to drive to Falls Church, in the first place. But then when I got here, and I even showed my ID, he still wouldn't give me Harm's number. And arguing with him was like banging my head against a brick wall, it felt so good when I stopped, but his _I'm sorry ma'am, protocol prohibits me from disclosing that information_, really, really, pissed me off! God help him if I'm ever detailed to prosecute him! No, after twenty minutes of being stonewalled, I had to give in and I had to go through the rigmarole of signing in, and I swear that son of a bitch was smirking as I headed for the elevators!'

With a final 'huff!" of discontent, Meg powered up her PC and waited until the screen came alive, and then opening the four double encrypted firewalls she had previously set up she opened the JAG HQ Staff list. Grabbing a pencil and a legal pad, she quickly noted both Harmon Rabb's home and cell 'phone numbers, and then just as she was about to exit the program, decided to note Loren Singer's numbers too. With those four numbers, and the evidence of her own eyes and ears, she was pretty damn certain that she'd be able to contact Harm before tomorrow morning, and she had an uncomfortable feeling, that making early contact with him might be a very wise thing for her to do.

Shutting down her PC, she stuffed the sheet from the legal pad into her purse and headed for the stairwell, she'd already heard enough stories of the elevator's unreliability and she really didn't feel like spending a couple of hours on a Sunday morning trapped in an antiquated elevator while somebody tried to find somebody else who knew how to get hold of a guy who knew how to fix it.

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 1007hrs Local, Outside Loren Singer's Apartment Building, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (041507ZMar01)**

"This is a waste of Goddam' time" Alison Krennick muttered to herself, 'still no sign of that bastard Rabb, or his little whore. No sign of his 'vette, nor of her little blue thing. No sign of life over at his apartment, no sign of life here either, well not the sort of sign I'm looking for anyway. The hell with it. It's about time I grabbed some breakfast and headed back to Anacostia. I need to think through what I'm going to do next!'.

Turning the key in the ignition Alison impatiently rammed the gear selector into drive and pulled out into traffic, giving a one finger salute to the irate driver who had leaned on his horn as she pulled out in front of him.

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 1055hrs Local, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (041555ZMar01)**

Mike Hill grinned, considering her tyro status, this girl could fly! He'd been impressed by the take off, not only by its technical near perfection, but the way once the engine had been started that she seemed to have shed all her all too apparent nervousness and had somehow sort of almost morphed into a female version of Eddie Rickenbacker.

She had performed the evolutions he had required of her with a competence that ought to have been beyond her abilities considering her limited flight time, unless of course Rabb had been kidding him about her hours. But then again, Pop had countersigned her log book, and Pop was far too jealous of his reputation to allow himself to be part of any sort of deception.

Then once her required hour was over, he'd jokingly said, "OK, Loren, show me what else you can do!" and had then nearly lost his clip-board as she had immediately sent the Stearman into crisp snap roll to starboard and then before he had a chance to say "Whoa! Slow down!" she had reversed the roll and executed an almost perfect snap roll to port.

That little demonstration had been followed by a curving climb under full throttle, and just for a second he thought she'd misjudged her speed and that the airplane was about to stall, his hand was already reaching for the stick, as Loren pulled the plane over the top of the climb and carried out a somewhat oval loop, but a loop nevertheless.

Gathering his breath and his somewhat scattered wits, he spoke over the intercom, "Wow! OK! I didn't mean anything quite like that yet! Power down a notch or two, and show me some nice steep banks!"

Loren recovered straight and level flight before answering, "OK, but I'm going to take her up to Angels eight first, that other plane looks to close for my liking."

Mike looked around, up and down without seeing any other aircraft, "Where?" he asked, realising that the other machine must be in one of his blind spots.

Loren thought furiously for a second, remembering what Harm had told her about the clock-ray method of indicating direction, "At about two o'clock, low, she responded, at the same time turning gently to port to open Mike's view. When Mike saw the other airplane, a high winged single engine Cessna, he estimated it to be about a mile and a half to two miles away and about two thousand feet below. Not near enough to be a danger, but certainly close enough to warrant being noticed and to be kept track of. He made another note on his pad and then said, "OK, Loren, take her up!"

Loren eased back on the stick and put the Stearman into a shallow climb, levelling off at eight thousand feet.

"OK," Mike told her, "let's just have another series of banks, alternate port and starboard, make 'em as steep or as shallow as you like!"

Loren brought the stick over, pulling the airplane into a forty-five degree bank to port, holding it for a slow count of ten before reversing the bank, again holding it for a ten-count, before repeating the exercise a second and third time, each time making the bank a little steeper. Mike glanced at his watch, they had been up for over ninety minutes now, and as always on a Sunday, he had his afternoon domestic chores to do. "Alright Loren, that's enough for today. Take us home - or do you want me to do it?"

"No, that's OK Mike, I think I can find the field from here!" Loren laughed. She turned onto a heading of zero eight zero, looking ahead for the field, and to her delight finding it just to starboard of the airplane's nose.

As she approached the field she called ahead, "Albemarle Tower, this is Stearman November six, joining the circuit for landing."

Harm had been watching for Sarah - and Loren's return, keeping a more or less constant eye on the western skies, and although he would never have admitted to any anxiety, he couldn't help feeling relief when at last his keen eyes spotted the little black speck in the distance that very shortly became the unmistakable yellow shape of the Stearman. He watched as it turned on its downwind leg towards the southern threshold, and then as it was letting down on its final approach, he was distracted by the ringing of the cell 'phone in his pocket.

"Rabb."

"_Hi, Harm, it's Meg_."

"Yeah, just a minute Meg, or better yet, call me back in five - wait no, I'll call you back. Speak to you soon." He closed the 'phone over her incipient protest and watched as the Stearman made what looked like a perfect three point landing, and breathed a sigh of relief as it turned onto the taxi-way and headed back towards the hangar.

His plane now safe on the ground, he opened his cell 'phone again and pressed the 'last caller' button and was rewarded by the almost instant pick-up at the other end, "Hi Meg, what's happening?"

"_Umm… Harm, I'm not sure exactly what's going on, but I thought I'd give you a heads up, anyway_."

"Go on." Now the good humour in his voice had fled. Meg was not one to press unnecessary panic buttons, "What do I need to know?"

"_Alison Krennick_." Meg paused, waiting for a reaction.

"Go on," Harm repeated.

"_Ummm… it looks like she's stalking you… and Loren_…" Meg winced, expecting to hear an explosion of wrath at the other end.

"In what way?" Harm's voice was still icy calm.

"_Well… she's downloaded yours and Loren's Page Twos, and this morning, early this morning, she was watching your apartment._"

"Right. I'm not saying I disbelieve you, Meg. But how come you know this?"

Meg's sounded concerned, "_We had had a collision in the hallway yesterday, and we both went flying and dropped some paperwork. Somehow some of her… stuff got mixed up with mine, and part of what she dropped was the Page Two print-outs. Then this morning she woke me up early when she left the VOQ… so I… uh… followed her, and saw her parked up in the alleyway outside your place._"

Harm breathed a sigh of relief, "Meg, thanks for that, but she's welcome to sit outside the apartment all day today if she likes. We… uh… I'm out of town at Charlottesville with Sarah, and I won't be back in DC until after duties tomorrow. I'm staying overnight here, got a coupla interviews at Quantico tomorrow, so I'm doing them on the way back to Falls Church. But Meg?"

"_Yes?_"

"Thanks. Thanks for worrying, and thanks for letting me know!"

"_Harm, we're partners, right? It's my job to watch your very cute six_!"

Harm laughed. "Yellow light, Commander!"

"_Aye, aye sir!"_ Meg responded in kind and then sobered, "_But… Harm, be careful, huh? I've gotta feeling she's really out of control this time!"_

"Yeah, you too, Meg! 'Bye"

"_Yeah, 'bye Harm_."

Once again Harm folded his 'phone and put it away just as the Stearman rolled to a gentle stop on the apron. Forcing the frown off his face, he mustered up a slightly strained version of his trade-mark grin as Mike and Loren climbed out of their cockpits. Loren almost ran to meet him as he walked towards them, his arm finding a natural home around her waist as she clung to his upper arm with both hands and looked up into his face, a broad grin on hers and her eyes dancing with delight.

Mike's smile was not quite as broad as Loren's, but it definitely held a look of approval, as he said, "Well, for a squid, you've managed to teach her enough to keep the bird flying straight and level. She can set and fly a course OK, and has the basic manouevres down pretty pat. And off-hand, I'd say that was a pretty fair take-off and landing for a nugget. Mind you, she hasn't tried to make a trap yet, but if she ever gets a navy-type call-sign, I'd suggest 'Snoopy'."

"Snoopy!" Loren interrupted his encomium indignantly, "Snoopy? That funny looking dog from 'Peanuts'?"

"Yeah," Mike agreed, a teasing grin spreading across his face, "The funny looking dog that's also a World War I flying ace!"

Loren just looked at him and then at Harm, her face pink with pleasure and her mouth open in a soundless 'Oh' of surprise.

Mike's grin got broader, if that were possible, "Come on, let's get into the office, and I'll write up and sign your log book for you!"

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 1110hrs Local, Female Orthopaedic Ward, Surgical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (041610ZMar01)**

Head Nurse Captain Michelle Saunders really felt inclined to let her most troublesome patient do exactly what she wanted and just walk right out of the hospital. But duty prevented her from indulging in her feelings. So drawing yet another deep breath that seemed to inflate her bosom until it strained against the buttons of her peanut butter blouse, she said once more, "Colonel MacKenzie, I don't care how well you say you think you are. You are not going to be discharged from my hospital before the ophthalmologist has double checked that left eye. For God's sake woman, you've only had it open a little over two hours! And apart from that…"

"Anapar fro tha', wha?" Mac demanded aggressively.

"Apart from that, Colonel, you still have two fractured ribs, a fractured wrist and your facial fractures have not yet healed, and you still need physical therapy on that shoulder! Let alone that you're still on a liquid diet, and I understand that you live alone with no-one to look after you!

"Don'need an'one, 'm a marine!" Mac growled

"Forget it, it ain't gonna happen Colonel! Believe me, as much as I'd like to see your ass shipped out of here, I am not going to discharge you today without Commander Pike's say-so. And Colonel, if you attempt to leave this hospital against my orders, I _will_ have you arrested and confined for your own safety!"

"Ouldn' dare" Mac tried to sound defiant but gave the impression of a sulky high schooler, while at the same time eyeing her opponent with the beginning of respect.

"Try me, Colonel. Just try me!"

Captain and Lieutenant Colonel glared at each other for the space of a minute or so, before Mac sighed and slumped back down on to her bed.

Captain Saunders relaxed slightly; this was one battle of wills she had been determined not to lose. "Alright Colonel," she conceded, "Now that you've decided to be sensible, I'll allow your visitors back in. But. Remember no undue noise, and no more nonsense about discharges AMA! Got it?"

Taking Mac's despondent nod of the head as assent to her conditions the Captain with the US Navy Nursing Corps insignia on her blouse opened the door and said, "Alright Lieutenants, you can come in now!"

The two Lieutenants anxiously waiting to see the Colonel were preceded by a whirling, hurricane who blew into the room with a happy shriek of "Auntie Mac! Auntie Mac!"

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 1200hrs Local, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (041700ZMar01)**

Once Loren had completed her oral theory test, she, Harm and Mike gathered in Pop's office and stared in disbelief at the three brown paper sacks on the desk. Investigation had shown that all three grocery sacks were full of tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, and to one of the bags was taped a scribbled note, "Just in case the little lady gets hungry!"

"Oh… When I get my hands on him! Loren spluttered, torn between outrage and laughter, "he's going to be one sorry son of…"

"Hey, power down… Snoopy," Harm interrupted her with a sly grin, as Mike erupted into laughter.

Loren's own grin was growing, but she stood with arms akimbo, "I am so going to get you two for this. You for coming up with that dumb name, and you," she turned on Harm, for using it. And if you ever, ever call me that in the office, I shall… I shall… I shall do something!"

Mike took advantage of Loren turning her attention to harm, "Hey, I gotta run! Household six had my afternoon planned for me! Loren, it was a real pleasure, and I look forward to seeing you in four weeks' time. Harm if things have to change, give me a call, OK? See you guys!"

Loren and Harm smiled their farewells and as Mike left the office, Loren looked back at Harm, "Now where exactly were we?" she asked in a sultry voice, "Before we were so rudely interrupted, this morning?"

"H'mm?" queried Harm distractedly as he opened and shut one drawer after another.

Loren eyed him in exasperation, 'how the hell am I supposed to indulge myself in my currently favourite past time when the infuriating target of my intentions has his head stuck in a damn filing cabinet!'

"Ahah! Here it is!" Harm exclaimed in triumph as he held up a can of pre-ground coffee, and then becoming aware of Loren's fixed glare, he slowly lowered it. "What?" he asked apprehensively, "it's just that the carafe is nearly empty, and Pop's away for his pot roast… so I figured I'd take the chance to brew a decent pot of coffee to help you… uh… help us wash down some of those sandwiches…" his voice trailed off into silence as he realised that he'd been babbling, and he turned hang-dog eyes on Loren.

As much as she'd wanted to pretend to rip up at him Loren was no longer immune to his assumption of pathos, and with smile and sigh, she said, "Go on then, get the coffee going!" and sitting down she tore the note off the paper sack and took out a sandwich.

Harm paused in the doorway, "Hey, leave some for me," he begged.

Loren gave him a look, "You'll only be gone two minutes at the most…" she protested

"Yeah, that's what I said, leave some for me," Harm repeated and skipped smartly out the door chuckling at Loren's muted "Oooh you!"

His return to the office was greeted with a pretence of offended silence and a turned shoulder. So he contented himself with setting a fresh brew going and sat at the desk, diving into the open grocery sack for a sandwich. "H'mm, fish…" he remarked appreciatively, "with some sort of egg sauce, I should say. I can't say that I've ever had that particular combination before, have you Madame?"

Harm's patently false insouciance was too much for Loren to be able to keep up her pretence of having taken offence and she snorted in an attempt to fight back her giggle. She turned back towards Harm, "It' a good job I love you she told him.

"Yes, it is," he smiled, "and it's quite convenient, seeing that I love you too."

Loren smiled back at him. Peace and harmony was restored between them, and all was well with their world.

Once the coffee had finished brewing, Harm got to his feet and poured a mug for each of them. Loren's sigh of appreciation after her first sip told him that her opinion of this fresh brew matched his own. "So, how come," she challenged him, "if even you can make a decent brew of coffee here, using the same machine and the same grounds, that Pop's brew could take the lining off your stomach?"

"Well, apart from the 'if even you' bit, to which I could have so very easily taken exception, but I am sufficiently magnanimous to overlook it," he declared expansively, "I'd say that no matter how much or how little coffee is left in the carafe that Pop never switches the machine off, and he just adds fresh grounds and water to whatever's left when he figures it needs topping off!"

"And talking of topping off, what say we go and play for an hour, before we head back to the Inn?"

"H'mmm…" Loren's eyes glittered with mischief. "Do you think," she asked slowly, "that we could find something else to wrap these sandwiches in, so we could take them with us and…"

"Leave Pop with the three empty sacks? Harm finished for her, "Hell yeah!"

Their scavenging mission completed Harm and Loren packed the sandwiches away in their go-bags and headed back out to Sarah. "We'll do another six circuits and bumps," Harm told her, and then we'll go out to play for an hour, before we come home, OK?"

Loren grimaced, after the excitement of this morning, practice take-offs and landings were not something she was looking forward to, but the lure of some free flight after was too much to resist. "OK, she grinned, you're the boss!"

"Yeah, and don't you forget it!" Harm replied.

**Sunday 4 March 2001, 1620hrs Local, Room 214, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (042120ZMar01)**

Loren dropped her bag and let herself collapse onto the bed. "Wow! I know I grumbled when you made it a short afternoon, but I didn't realise until I nearly fell asleep in the car, how much today took out of me!"

Harm slumped in one of the two window seats, "Yeah. OK, flying a Stearman isn't anywhere near as tiring as flying a fast jet, but it catches up with after a while…"

They relapsed into silence for a while until Loren giggled. "Did you see Pop's face, when he saw those three grocery sacks lying empty on his desk?"

Harm smiled, "Oh, yeah, and the way he just kept looking between you, me and the desk."

Loren rolled over onto her stomach so she could see Harm, "You don't think he'll up the ante for next week do you?"

"No, I don't reckon so, he keeps raising the ante like that and he'll have to spend all his profits on tins of tuna and jars of mayo!"

Loren giggled again, "That's an awesome thought!"

"Yeah, 'tis… Loren?"

"Uh-huh?"

"We're back early this evening; it's still daylight out there. I'm going to grab a quick shower, and that'll leave the bathroom free for you if you want to take a bath, soak out some of those sore muscles and the smell of avgas. As long as you're done for nineteen thirty hours, that gives us half an hour to pack everything, except for our overnight stuff, ready for a quick getaway in the morning."

"M'mm, sounds like a plan! What time is the interview at Quantico?"

"Ten thirty hours, and it's a little over a two hour drive if we go via Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg, so ideally I'd like to be on the road just after oh eight hundred hours, gives us a little extra cushion just in case we get delayed."

"Fine by me… Now, why don't you go and grab that shower, leaving me plenty of time for a long hot soak!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Harm flipped her a full scale grin and a mock salute. The salute had no effect whatsoever on Loren, but 'oh,' she thought, 'that smile…'

Harm was as good as his word and was showered with twenty minutes relinquishing the bathroom to Loren's dominion, at first he could hear her splashing about in the water and could also hear her light mezzo-soprano voice as she worked through her repertoire of Rodgers and Hammerstein songs from the movie South Pacific, but eventually the sounds trailed off into silence, and after about a further twenty minutes, harm became concerned and crossing to the bathroom door, he rapped on it sharply, eliciting a sleepy "Wha'? Whasswrong?" from Loren.

Harm sighed in relief, "Nothing sweetheart, I just didn't want you turning into a prune!"

"Oh…'s OK, I'm getting out now!"

At nineteen forty-five hours Harm wandered down the hallway his arm around Loren's waist and his face almost buried in her hair. "Do you have any idea, just how delicious you smell?" he murmured into her ear.

"No… do tell me…" she replied with a pleased little smile.

"Oh, I will, I will, one day soon…" he whispered.

Again Loren had the odd sensation that her knees were about to give out under her and her sighed "Oh…" had more than just the suggestion of a whimper about it.

Harm felt elated, this was, without doubt, one of the best weekends he'd ever spent, the three nights at the Inn would put a significant dent in his checking account, but what the hell, there was only ten days until his next pay check was due.

Marie met them at the entrance to the restaurant with her ready smile, and a cheerful "Good evening Mr Rabb, and Miss Singer, your table is ready for you." And as she had done the previous night she walked them to the table, and although there were fewer dinner guests this evening, there were still enough to remark on this unusual mark of favour.

As he seated her, Loren looked back over her shoulder at Harm and with a nod of her head and a smile indicated the wine cooler on the table, where nestled in a sea of crushed ice was a bottle of their usual mineral water.

Harm shook his head in mock regret as he walked around to his side of the table, "They're getting to know us too damn well," he grumbled though his smile.

Again Sandie was their waiter, and having taken their order she left them in peace while she hurried to the cold cabinet to get their wine.

Sandie returned in short order with their wine and in not many minutes after that with their orders of a Caesar Salad and almond-baked trout for Loren and a Feta cheese salad for harm, followed by pasta with a green pesto sauce.

Loren leaned back against her chair, and pushed her empty plate away from her, "I do like it here Harm, it's restful, not like some places where the waiters almost seem to be pushing you to finish so they can get you out and re-set the table for more customers."

"H'mm… it's like I said on our first visit… the service here is good, but it's never been so good before as when I'm here with you…"

"That, Harmon Rabb, is because the whole world loves a lover, and I'm such a sap, that a blind man could see how much I love you, and so they take pity on us."

"And that's because you're so beautiful they don't look at me, because Loren Singer, I have to confess that I believe that I love you even more, and if they did look at me that same blind man could see it at a mile." He smiled again, "I really don't feel like dessert tonight, do you?"

"No, not really, and despite that long hot soak, I still feel tired," And as if to prove her point, Loren was forced to hastily cover her mouth as she was overtaken by a tremendous yawn that she hadn't even felt building up. "Oh! Pardon me," she exclaimed going pink. "It really is past my bedtime for tonight!"

Ten minutes later Harm pulled Loren closer into him so that once gain her head rested on his shoulder and her arm laid across his chest.

Stretching his free arm to turn off the light, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and this time he was awake enough to hear himself say to her "I love you".


	17. Chapter 17

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 17**

**Monday 5 March 2001, 0600hrs Local, Female VOQ, Anacostia Naval Support Facility, Virginia (051100ZMar01)**

Meg Austin leaned against the handrail that ran up alongside the half a dozen steps that led to the door into the VOQ, her breath coming in great heaves, smoking on the chill morning air as she took a couple of seconds to recover from the sprint that had finished her morning run. A she became aware of the chill, she started a series of cool-down exercises intended to let her body recover its normal temperature and breathing rhythm without any ill effects. At the same time she was keeping a close eye on a decidedly familiar mid-sized dark coloured sedan,

She was still involved in her exercises when the door opened and Alison Krennick, correctly attired in her service dress blue uniform ran lightly down the steps, and with a curt "Good morning, Austin," strode determinedly across the fifty or so yards to parking lot, where she did get into the sedan that had piqued Meg's interest.

Now cooled down, Meg thoughtfully made her way up the steps and then into her room, where she stripped off and stood under the hot needles of water from the shower-head. She wasn't worried about what Krennick was up to this morning. Harm and Loren were safely out of town, and Krennick seemed for the moment content to carry out surveillance. No, today wasn't a problem, but if the jealous older woman continued her antics, then life could become very tricky for both Harm and Loren.

The thing that troubled her, she realised, that in shadowing Krennick she was behaving in much the same fashion as the older woman, a feeling that despite the foam she was rubbing into her body, still left her feeling unclean. It looked like she was going to have to take official steps, and with only very thin evidence to back up her story…

**Monday 5 March 2001, 0820hrs Local, I-64 Eastbound, (051320ZMar01)**

Loren glared out of the side window, studiously ignoring Harm, who sat with his knuckles shining white on the steering wheel as he glared at the road ahead.

'It was _not_ my fault,' she thought angrily, 'that Mr Perfect over there hadn't set the alarm clock properly, nor was it _my_ fault that he didn't think to have the front desk programme in a wake-up call for them. For Chrissakes, I'd had to rush around like a headless goddam chicken this morning just the same as he had. But, God, he'd looked so damn funny trying to do up his tie_ and_ put his shoes on at the same time. Mind, I might have had more self-control; giggling at his temper tantrum when he broke a shoe lace in his hurry was probably not the smartest thing I've ever done.'

Loren sneaked another sideways look at Harm; he still seemed to by highly pissed, at her, at the morning, and probably at the world in general. With a haughty, and quite audible, sniff she turned her head to the side again and contemplated the rapidly passing Virginia scenery.

That sniff caught Harm's attention, and with his face set in stern disapproval he glowered across the width of the vehicle at his seemingly oblivious passenger.

Another ten minutes or so passed in a tension filled-silence until Loren, risking another sideways glance at Harm met his eyes with her own as he also looked across the width of the vehicle. Suddenly both were smiling, and the smiles grew into chuckles, and then into full-blown laughter.

Harm stretched out a hand to grasp hers, "Do you have any idea, any idea at all, just how adorable you look when you pout and sulk like that?"

Loren, despite her smile wasn't about to let that one go, "I was not pouting and sulking," she denied, "I was maintaining a dignified silence!"

"No, you were definitely pouting." He contradicted her. "I knew after the other morning, that you were a tricky piece to cope with until you'd had breakfast. And I should have made sure that we were up in time for you to feed the inner beast… mind you, it might not be too late…"

"Harm, we haven't got time to stop for breakfast, now!"

"Well, that's true enough. But we've still got a couple of pounds weight of Tuna and Mayo sandwiches in the trunk!"

Loren looked at him appalled for a few seconds, and then threw her head back and laughed out loud. Harm smiled, Loren was back, the Ice Queen had retreated again, and his smile became warmer and more inwardly focussed. Each time the Ice Queen retreated, she drew back further, and it took her longer to make a reappearance.

**Monday 5 March 2001, 0830hrs Local, Commander Alison Krennick's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (051330ZMar 01)**

Alison Krennick slumped behind her desk glaring with detestation at the pile of folders kin her in-box. FOI requests, conveyancing reports, wills for officers and enlisted. Scut work! That should be done by the Legalmen in the LSO on the first floor, damn make work to keep her occupied! Well it damn well wasn't keeping her occupied. She had other things, better things to do.

She needed some evidence that Rabb was fraternizing with that little blonde slut. If he wasn't how come they both seemed to have disappeared over the weekend? There'd been no sign of them anywhere where they might have been expected. And then when she'd come in this morning that blue Miata was parked exactly where it had been on Friday, and a discreet enquiry at the Guard Shack revealed that it had been there all weekend. And there was still no sign of Rabb or her! Well, from memory it wasn't unusual for Rabb to be late, but if they showed up at the same time, and even worse in the same car, it would prove that Rabb had lost it, that he was blatantly flouting the regulations, and if that was the case then the navy didn't officers like him!

Feeling slightly better for her mental rant, Alison booted up her PC, and immediately went to the BUPERS site to download further copies of the documents that she'd lost over the weekend. Maybe Austin didn't have them, after all. The Texan officer had never been afraid of a confrontation, and had said nothing to her, so maybe, just maybe, she'd lost them elsewhere.

**Monday 5 March 2001, 0833hrs Local, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (051333ZMar01**)

Meg had been in her office for about forty minutes, taking advantage of the lull before Staff call to read herself in on some of the file cases threatening to bury her in-box. She had, as was her normal practice, booted her PC the second she'd sat at her desk, but she had become so immersed in one particular file that she almost missed the flashing 'Alert' icon on her desk top.

Quickly typing in her private access code she was, thanks to the program she'd placed in Alison Krennick's computer, able to see exactly what the older woman was up to. And thanks to the key-stroke logger she'd also installed, she was able, or would be able to confirm. That the both the user ID and password were those belonging to Commander Alison Krennick, USN.

Rapid key-strokes enabled Meg to make screen caps as the display on Krennick's computer changed as she visited each new page. With this evidence Meg was able to document the dubious methods Alison Krennick was using in order to gain information not only on Rabb and Singer but also on other JAG attorneys here in Falls Church and DC, including, Meg smiled ruefully, herself. Well, we'll soon see about that! Meg waited as long as she dared before Staff Call, and only left her desk once it was imperative. Damn, she wouldn't be able to see in real time what Krennick was up to while Staff call was in progress, but she could still use the key logger after the fact!

Taking care that her encrypted firewalls were in place, Meg carefully secured her desk and locked her office before heading down the hall way.

'Mother of God,' she told herself ruefully, 'I thought I'd done with all this secret squirrel crap!'

**Monday 5 March 2001, 0900hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (051400ZMar01)**

"Admiral on deck!" Tiner's crisp announcement brought the occupants of the conference room to their feet.

"Good morning, people. As you were," Admiral Chegwidden grunted as he took his seat at the head of the table and surveyed his assembled attorneys: Austin, Imes, Barlow, Roberts, Mattoni, and yes, the new guy, Turner.

"Where are Commander Rabb and Lieut… No, don't bother, I know where they are," he sighed passing his hand over his scalp.

"Firstly, welcome to our new hand, Commander Sturgis Turner. Commander Turner has just joined us on re-assignment from Pearl. I believe you and Commander Turner are acquainted, Commander Austin?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Commander Turner, I believe you've met Commander Imes?"

"I have, sir." Turner's voice was rich, deep and smooth and seemed to be possessed of a soothing quality.

"Good." The Admiral grunted, peering over the top of his reading glasses, at the remainder of his staff, "I expect you'll all be making yourself known to Commander Turner over the next day or two. Now, on to business. The most pressing case we have is the Coulter re-trial. Commander Mattoni, how's the prosecution' side coming on?

"Well, sir, we're pretty happy with what we've got. The forensic evidence is pretty damning. We still have the original witness statements, and Gunny Galindez is tracking down the witnesses just in case they can come up with something new to help us confirm the original finding and sentence."

"Thank you. Commander Imes?"

"I need to get hold of just one more witness, sir, and then after that I think we're good to go."

"So… If I were to speak to Admiral Morris, and ask him to put this on the docket for next Monday?"

Imes and Mattoni looked at each other across the width of the table and after a few seconds they nodded to each other in agreement, and turned towards Chegwidden. "Yes, sir. The prosecution has no problem with that."

Carolyn Imes smiled, "The defence is confident that we'll be well prepared by then, sir!"

"Good! Next Item: Lieutenant Roberts, you get to defend Ensign McWilliams, accused of assaulting her CO in a bar in Norfolk. You also get to prosecute her CO, Commander Murtagh, for indecent assault on Ensign McWilliams."

"Commander Austin, this is pretty small potatoes for you, I'm afraid, but you get to Prosecute Ensign McWilliams, and defend Commander Murtagh. Now both of you, listen up. Commander Murtagh is the CO of VF 509, and Ensign McWilliams is one of his squadron's RIOs. This whole affair screams 'Tailhook!' It does not get pushed under the carpet, but neither does it get plastered all over the headlines or featured as a leader on ZNN or Fox. I want it quick, I want it clean and I want it done properly. Understood?"

Bud and Meg's "Aye, aye, sir," were chorused so perfectly that it almost sounded as if they were speaking with one voice.

"Lieutenant Barlow," Chegwidden's smile took on an almost roguish quality, "I promised you your turn would come, and it has. Pack your sea-bag, and collect your orders and an itinerary from Tiner. You're headed for the Patrick Henry. There's been a flight deck mishap, which killed one Bosun's Mate and severely injured another. Investigate and decide whether charges should be preferred. I need you also to bear in mind, that Captain Ingles has not always had the… uh… best of relationships with JAG in the past, so try not to upset him too badly."

"Yes, sir! Uh… I mean, no sir!"

Chegwidden seemed to shake his head slightly and then turned to his newest attorney. "Commander Turner, I haven't forgotten you. But I'm giving you today to get settled in - Lieutenant Sims will allocate you your office and get you set up with the necessary IT passwords, etcetera, and then you'll need to speak to the Gunny, he should have your JAG building pass and ID ready for you."

"Now. News from Bethesda. Colonel MacKenzie is making a good recovery so far, and the news relayed to me yesterday afternoon. Sunday afternoon, that is," he sent a brief glare at Lieutenant Roberts, "By Lieutenant Sims, is that the Colonel has regained the use of her other eye. So, with immediate effect, I'm lifting the requirement that she has company throughout the day. I'm certain that the hospital will appreciate one less officer cluttering up their premises, and I know I will appreciate having the services of the few officers I have remaining!" His smile was so wry that his auditors were uncertain as to whether he was joking or not.

"Are there any questions, people? No? Good!" and Admiral Chegwidden pushed his chair back to rise, the signal for his staff to come to attention until he should have departed the room.

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1000hrs Local, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA** **(051500ZMar01)**

Carolyn sat re-reading the original Coulter file and Loren Singer's notes, evaluation, conclusions and recommendations. She had only worked a couple of minor DDO and Insubordination cases with the blonde Lieutenant and that had been about fifteen months ago when the younger woman had first come to Ops from LSO on the first floor. So she hadn't really had a chance to appraise Loren's legal skills, and like everyone else in the office, she had, until recently, very recently, been kept at a distance by Lieutenant Witch's character, behaviour and all round obnoxious attitude. But just recently she had suddenly… thawed out. Carolyn smiled as she reflected on the reasons behind that thaw. She may not know Loren Singer very well, but she did know Harmon Rabb, and had for a while harboured hopes in that direction herself, and she had caught Rabb, just once or twice when he thought nobody was looking, looking at Loren Singer with such a look in his eyes… It was so obvious to someone who knew him that Rabb had finally gotten over his infatuation with MacKenzie and had fallen for Singer, big time, and from her behaviour Singer just as obviously returned that feeling. That was why when Krennick had made her move in the break room last week that Carolyn had run interference for him - and her. She just hoped that the two of them could bring their affair to a happy conclusion, because she really didn't want to see Rabb go through yet another break-up, and God only knows what the effect of a bad break-up would be on Loren Singer.

But all this ruminating on Rabb's love life wasn't getting any work done. Carolyn yawned and stretched and then sighed as she picked up the file again, and then smiled as a random thought struck her. Could it be that her thinking about her colleagues' love life preventing her from working, characterize the affair as having a negative effect on the unit? If so, then it would be Conduct to the Prejudice… She smiled again and shook her head at her own fanciful thoughts.

Now, for the third attempt, back to this damn case. Conscientiously Carolyn worked her way through Loren's comments. And as she studied each one, she went back to the relevant section of the Court Martial transcript, and each time she did so, her opinion of Loren's legal skills went up a notch, particularly when she recalled the very tight deadline the Admiral had given the Lieutenant. By the time Loren had worked her way through this in three days she must have been almost dead on her feet, yet her final comments, opinions and recommendations were just as perceptive as the ones she'd made as she'd started her review of the case. She definitely needed to keep Loren firmly in the loop on this one, and scribbled a reminder on a post-it which she attached to her VDU, to schedule a case meeting with the blonde in the very near future.

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1000hrs Local, Rear Admiral Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (051500ZMar01)**

The buzzer on the interphone sounded, and Chegwidden groaned at what seemed like the fiftieth interruption to his morning since Staff Call. "Yes, Tiner, what is it?"

"Admiral, sir, Commander Austin would like to know if you can spare her a few minutes of your time."

"Very well, Tiner, send her in!"

No sooner had he spoken than Tiner opened the office door and Meg Austin walked crisply to the desk and halted at attention in front of it, a file folder clasped under her left arm.

"At ease Commander, take a seat," Chegwidden invited. Oh well, if he had to be interrupted at least Meg Austin was easy on the eye, and he'd had a soft spot for her back in the day when she'd been Rabb's partner. Of course, he hadn't had much of an opportunity to get to know her then before she'd been whisked away by the DIA or CNO or whoever it was. And he still hadn't forgiven whoever it was for stealing one of his most promising young officers without even having the courtesy of discussing the matter with him first.

"Now, what's on your mind, Commander?" Chegwidden asked, snapping his mind back to the present.

Meg looked at him with troubled blue eyes, "Sir, I have to ask you a difficult question," she began in her soft accent.

Chegwidden smiled grimly, leaned back in his chair and resting his elbows on the chair's arms, he steeple his fingers, "Go on." He grunted.

"Sir, is Commander Krennick under orders to conduct a covert investigation into this office and its personnel? If the answer is 'yes', sir, then I have no further questions. If not…" she shrugged and indicated the file folder now resting on her lap.

Chegwidden grunted non-committally, and then answered, "No, Commander. As far as I am aware Commander Krennick has no such orders. She is here because one of her earlier cases is being re-tried. And that is all. If I find out she is acting under the orders of anybody else, I shall visit the wrath of God on her and whoever gave those orders. Now, why do you ask?"

"Sir, on Saturday, I accidentally collided with Commander Krennick in the hallway at the VOQ, we both had arms full of files and papers, and in the collision those papers went flying. While I was picking up what I'd dropped I came across these two print-outs, sir…"

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1025hrs Local, Interview Room, Brig, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, VA (051525ZMar01)**

Harm and Loren were kept waiting in the interview room for a matter of minutes only before two MPs brought in Staff Sergeant Hart.

Even in his brig-worn BDUs Jacob Hart was the epitome of the squared away Marine, from his buzz-cut hair to his spit-shined boots. He halted at attention in front of Harm and Loren, looking fixedly at a point somewhere above Loren's head and to the right of Harm's left shoulder.

Harm shook his head slightly and dismissing the two MPs, he looked at Hart and said, "Sit down, Staff Sergeant."

Hart did so but gave the impression that even sitting, he was still braced at attention.

Harm ran his fingers through his hair, while Loren opened her briefcase and pulled out a legal pad and a couple of pencils.

"Staff Sergeant, I'm Commander Rabb, and this is Lieutenant Singer, we're from the JAG Corps, and we're your new defence attorneys. I realise that you may have gone over some of this ground before with your previous attorney, but as we're fresh in the game, we'd just like to go over the basic details with you, so that we can try and work out a defence strategy. Understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Loren glanced at the very brief notes gleaned from the existing case-file, and smiling reassuringly at the marine she said, "Now, it seems that you married twice, once to Sue-Ellen Polk and a second time to Mary-Beth Polk, and that they are sisters?

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

Loren exchanged a helpless glance with Harm.

"Staff Sergeant," Harm told him evenly, "you need to cut out the Parris Island DI crap! You are facing a Bad Conduct Discharge, loss of all benefits and a considerable stretch in Leavenworth, and unless you start helping us to help you, that is exactly what you're going to get! Do you understand that?"

Hart seemed to take a few seconds to think about what Harm had told him, "Yes, sir. I understand," he replied in more normal voice.

"Good. Now, according to the notes we have, you married Sue-Ellen and then Mary-Beth. Is that correct?"

"No, sir. The other way 'round, sir."

Harm and Loren exchanged another glance, as Loren made a note on her legal pad, while Harm pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And what was the date of that marriage?"

"November, tenth, last year, sir. The Corps birthday!"

"H'mm… I see, and what date did you marry… Sue-Ellen?"

"November, tenth, last year, sir. The Corps birthday!"

"How did you manage that Staff Sergeant? Surely somebody must have picked up on that you obtained two different marriage licences!"

"No, sir. No reason they would, sir. I got the marriage licence for Mary-Beth at City Hall in Fredericksburg, and the licence for Sue-Ellen at Hagerstown, sir."

Harm looked at his client in total disbelief. "Let me get this straight. You married both women on the same day, but one in Virginia, and the other in Maryland?"

"Yessir! It worked out cheaper that way!"

"How?"

"Well, sir, this way they only needed the one wedding dress, and one bridesmaid's dress, after Mary-Beth and I got married, we drove up to Hagerstown, checked into the motel, my wives swapped out their dresses, and then we went to the courthouse so me and Sue-Ellen could get married. And of course, it meant I only had to use up two weeks leave."

"Excuse me?" Loren faltered.

"Well, I'd booked two weeks leave time to get hitched to Mary-Beth, and if we hadn't all gotten married on the same day, then it wouldn't have been fair to Sue-Ellen if I hadn't taken the same amount of leave when we got married," Staff Sergeant Hart explained, as if what he and his 'wives' had done was the most natural and reasonable thing in the world.

Loren cast another bewildered look at Harm and turned back to Hart. "Let us be perfectly clear on this Staff Sergeant, apart from the fact that you married both women on the same day and that they used the same wedding dress, they are also sisters?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Hart replied with a proud smile.

Harm shook his head helplessly. "Staff Sergeant, you've given us a lot to think about. We'll be back in touch with you soon! Guards!"

Harm and Loren sat while the two guards entered the interview room and conducted Hart away and back to his cell. Loren hastily read through the notes she had made and turned a stupefied face to Harm, "His ass is fried, isn't it?"

Harm looked at her, he still had a bemused expression on his face, "Oh, yeah," he agreed.

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1100hrs Local, Female Orthopaedic Ward, Surgical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (051600ZMar01)**

"Good morning Colonel MacKenzie!"

Mac groaned silently at what she considered to be the over-enthusiastic and over-cheerful greeting from Commander Pike. But, she reminded herself, if she appeared to be cheerful herself, and co-operative then the damn' sawbones might just sign her release papers. If she could have, she would have gritted her teeth, as it was she tried to stretch her lips in a smile and gritted out. "Mo'ni'g Do'tor."

Commander Pike acknowledged her response with a smile and picked up her chart from where it hung at the foot of her bed and examined the notes made by the nursing staff over the last twenty-four hours.

"I see you wanted to discharge yourself AMA, yesterday, Colonel. H'mm… probably wouldn't have been the best decision you ever made. I'm glad Captain Saunders was able to make you see the error of your ways."

Mac glared at him, all pretence of good humour vanished as her eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead, 'Error of my ways!' she silently stormed, 'I don't make errors! I'm just sick and tired of being kept in here and treated like a freaking imbecile just because some goddam' sawbones thought it would be in _my best interests_ to weld my goddam jaws together so I can't string a goddam sentence together!'

"Well," continued Commander Pike, blissfully unaware of the silent tantrum raging in Mac's breast, "I can see that you've managed to open your other eye, "So… let's have a look at it."

He produced an ophthalmoscope from his pocket, and with an apologetic, "You might find this a little uncomfortable, he donned a pair of latex gloves and gently using a finger and thumb drew Mac's eyelids apart, smiling apologetically as she winced, before he directed the instrument's beam into her eye as he examined it for any damage.

"Right," he smiled, as he replaced the instrument into his pocket and stripped off his gloves as Mac blinked her eye rapidly to dispel the moisture induced by the powerful light source of the ophthalmoscope. "I don't think there's anything that could be classified as permanent damage, there. It is still a very pink white. But as we explained in the case of your other eye, that's only to be expected after a trauma such as the one both your eyes sustained. However, I'd still like to have it looked at by one of our Ophthalmologists, just to be on the safe side. Now, you've had no blurring of the vision in that eye?"

Mac shook her head.

"Good, no pain?" Another shake.

"No tearing?" Mac hesitated a moment before she gain shook her head.

"H'mmm…" Commander Pike raised a cynical eyebrow, "Are you sure about that, Colonel?"

"M'mm… no more 'n li'e inna mor'i'g…"

"OK, yeah, that seems OK then. Well you've had the eye open for twenty-some hours, and I feel that if you were going to have any ill-effects, they'd have made themselves known by now. So I'm not going to have a dressing put on that eye, but I will call for a consult… just to make me happy," he finished as Mac's face began to settle into a pout of discontent.

"And then," Commander Pike continued, "if, and I say if, you can prove that you've got some sort of care plan in place for your hospital leave, I might consider discharging you tomorrow. Mark you, Colonel, 'if' and 'might'. These things are not carven in stone!"

Mac nodded her understanding, and scribbled frantically on her message pad and then looking past the doctor she addressed the nurse, "Ca' you caw this nummer for me p'ease, an' as' Lieute'a't Sims to com' by?"

The nurse took the sheet of paper from Mac and smiled, "Yes, ma'am!" thinking 'anything to get this bitch out of here!'

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1148hrs Local, 1157 Rosemount Road, Thomasen Park, Quantico Base Housing, (051648ZMar01)**

Harm and Loren looked at the two remarkably attractive women who had come to the door, and then they looked at each other, the expression on Loren's face mirrored that on Harm's. The two women weren't just sisters - they were identical twins, the only way that Harm and Loren could tell them apart was that one wore a blue T-shirt over her slacks, while the other wore a yellow T-shirt, both T-shirts stretched over matching give-away bumps.

Harm cleared his throat, "Good morning ladies, I'm Commander Rabb, from the navy's JAG Corps, and this is Lieutenant Singer, my colleague."

"The whut corps?" asked one of the two gum-chewing and decidedly pregnant women.

"Yeah, whut's that all about?" the second woman chimed in.

"We're attorneys, ladies, lawyers, we're your…" he looked at Loren for help; Loren looked straight back at him expressionlessly, "We're here to defend your… husband…" he trailed off uncomfortably.

"I dunno 'bout that," one of the sisters said, "Pappy allus told us never to have no truck with lawyers an' such!"

"Uh-huh" the other woman nodded, whether in endorsement of her sister's words or in agreement with 'Pappy's' dictum was more than either Harm or Loren could work out.

Harm said through his bewilderment, "We are here to try and help Staff Sergeant Hart."

The twins remained outwardly impassive.

Loren smiled in what she hoped was a winning manner and asked, "May we come in?"

The sisters exchanged looks that seemed also to be a silent conversation as they nodded simultaneously, and in a perfectly synchronized move stepped back from the door to allow their visitors to enter the house.

Loren looked around her as they entered the living room, it wasn't just neat and tidy, it was spotless, immaculate. It could have been used as an exemplar for an Ideal Homes exhibition. Loren felt a little troubled; sure, her own place was clean and squared away, but this was… it felt… a little… freaky.

She took another look at the two sisters as they sat down, side by side on the couch indicating that Harm and Loren should each take one of the armchairs.

Harm smiled in an effort to put the two Mrs Harts at ease, and pulled a small cassette recorder out of his pocket, and showing them what it was he said, "I hope you don't mind if I record this conversation, it will probably be easier on all of us than us making notes."

Again the sisters looked at each in silent communication and again nodded simultaneously, "Sure, go ahead, knock you'se'f out," said the one.

"Uh-huh," the second sister agreed.

Harm turned the cassette player on to record, and for the record listed the names of all four of them, and then turned towards his hostesses, "So, you understand that Staff Sergeant Hart is facing very serious charges?"

"Yeah, we dunno why; he ain't done nothin' wrong!"

Harm exchanged another confused look with Loren. "Well, yes, he has. He committed a crime…" he paused as the sisters stared at him in confusion, "Uh… he did do something wrong when he married you both."

"Oh no," he was told, "That weren't wrong. What woulda been wrong is splitting up me an' Sue-Ellen!"

Loren made a mental note that the more talkative twin was Mary-Beth, and that she was the one wearing the blue T-shirt.

"How… I mean, what… uh… would you like to explain that?" Harm asked, his words tripping over his tongue and teeth.

"Me an' Sue-Ellen is twins, an' we ain't never been apart for a single day since we was borned."

"Yeah, me an' Mary-Beth was put on this earth together by God, an' like it says in the Bible, 'what God has jined together let no man put us under'."

"Yeah, so when Jacob asked me to marry with him, I tol' him that I couldn't get married with him, lessen my sister was married with him too!" Mary-Beth added.

"Yeah, 'cause to split us apart woulda bin a sin against God!"

"Yeah, an' Jacob is a good man, and it would go against his grain to sin against God!"

Loren cleared her throat, "Umm… I see that both you're both pregnant, when… was that the reason you got married?"

"Hell no. No We didn't do no foolin' around afore we got married. That woulda been fornicatin', an' the Reverend Buckmaster, he allus said that fornicatin' was a sin. He was dead set against sin, was Reverend Buckmaster, ain't that right, Sue-Ellen?"

"He sure was!" Sue-Ellen agreed, vigorously nodding her head in agreement.

Loren mustered a weak smile, "So when are you due?"

The two looked at her blankly.

Loren tried again, "When do you think you'll be having your babies?"

Sue-Ellen rapidly counted on her fingers and then grinned, "Sometime 'round middle of August." She concluded.

"And you?" she asked Mary-Beth.

"Yeah, 'bout the same time." She leaned forward and said earnestly, "Jacob said we're lucky 'cause they're honeymoon babies."

"Yeah, that's our marine," Sue-Ellen said proudly, "Never fired no blanks an' hit the target first time, both times!" Both sisters giggled.

Harm switched off the tape machine, and said, "Well, thank you ladies. You've been very helpful!"

Harm and Loren rose, Harm slipping the cassette recorder into his pocket, "We may have to come back and talk to you ladies some more…" he suggested.

"Uh-huh," was Mary-Beth's contribution, while Sue-Ellen just sat and stared at him, her jaws working on her lump of gum, as he and Loren headed for the door.

Harm eased behind the steering wheel, turned the key in the ignition and carefully reversed out into the road. As he moved the gear selector into drive, he glanced out of the SUV's side window to see the twins in identical poses, their arms crossed in front of them, standing on the door-step watching impassively as the SUV drove away from their house.

Loren looked back as they moved off, seeing the same picture as had Harm, "Weird," she breathed. And for once there was no trace of sarcasm in her voice.

"Oh, yeah!" Harm agreed.

They drove in silence for a few minutes until Loren turned a furrowed brow towards him, "Harm, I've just had a thought… and its making me feel queasy…"

"H'mm, what's that?"

"Those small on-base houses, how many bedrooms have they got?"

"Well without any kids, I reckon there'd only be the one bedroom, why…? Oh…"

"Yeah… 'oh'," Loren said

M**onday 5 March 2001, 1349hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG, HQ, Falls Church, VA, (051849ZMar01)**

"Temporary insanity?" Loren suggested hopefully.

Harm shook his head wearily, "More like permanent insanity," he offered with a weak grin, "how the hell did he expect to keep this damn mess a secret, when they were living in on-base housing,_ and_ he applied for two sets of dependants' ID with different first names?"

"Maybe he hoped no-one would notice?" Loren offered

"Well, it's certain that no-one would have noticed any physical difference." Harm agreed, and then his brow furrowed as he said slowly, "But the thing that gets me, is that none of them seem to have any idea that what they did was wrong…"

Loren nodded, "But that brings me back to the temporary insanity plea, sir. If they can't recognise what any sane person would recognise in that what they did was wrong, isn't that the very definition of mental incapacity? And, did you notice just how squared away that house was? That's not natural; it takes a lot of work to keep a place looking like that, especially when the women living there are both pregnant… I was thinking, especially seeing how they were so adamant about not being separated, maybe a touch of OCD?"

"You may just have a point…" He reached for his telephone, and checking his rolodex, he dialled the number for Bethesda Naval Medical centre

"Lieutenant Commander Elgin's extension, please…"

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1700hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG, HQ, Falls Church, VA, (052200ZMar01)**

Harm and Loren had been working almost non-stop for just over three hours, their only break being at fifteen-thirty hours when they had walked along to the break room to grab a cup of coffee before returning to Harm's office. He finally screwed the top back onto his pen and looked across at Loren, noticing the tiny little fatigue lines that had appeared at the corners of her eyes.

"That's it, Lieutenant," he said decisively, "time's up. Go home!"

"Excuse me?" Loren had been lost in the argument she had been drafting and had only half-heard what was being said to her.

"I said we've done enough for the day!" Harm repeated, and then added in a softer tone, "You're tired, Loren. I can see it in your face. Look, this case is a no brainer. Even if we prove that the sisters are crazier than a pair of loons, it still doesn't excuse Staff Sergeant Hart's behaviour. He is toast. The procurement of the two marriage licences in two different states is clear proof of premeditation, and that rules out any sort of insanity defence. It proves that he knew what he was doing was wrong. All we can do is hope that Alan Mattoni will take all the circumstances into consideration, and let us cop a deal, otherwise Jacob Hart is going down for a very long time, and with two kids on the way…" Harm shrugged, "If he keeps his nose clean inside, he'll probably get out of Leavenworth in time to see them graduate high school."

Loren nodded somberly, "Yeah, the evidence against him is pretty conclusive, and all we can really do is cast doubt on the mental capacity of his 'wives', and call up character witnesses."

"Yeah, having said that though, the commendations from his company and battalion commanders make Hart out to be an outstanding marine… we might be able to parlay that to our advantage…"

"Yeah," but Loren's tone was far from optimistic, as she closed the legal pad on which she'd been writing, and stowed it in her briefcase. "Permission to dismiss, sir?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye as she stood.

"Permission granted, Lieutenant!" Harm replied, an answering grin on his face, as he secured the file in his desk drawer.

"Very good, sir! And I'll see you at nineteen thirty hours at my place. And don't forget your go-bag, and a fresh uniform for the morning, sir!"

"And just why would I need those, Lieutenant?" Harm arched an eyebrow,

"Because, sir, you live in far too dangerous a neighbourhood for me to allow you to go back there after dark. And that being the case, you'll just have to stay over at my place." Loren smiled triumphantly.

"You make a convincing argument, counsellor," Harm managed through a suddenly dry throat, "Do I need to bring anything else?"

Loren pretended to think for a long moment, "Well… you could…" she said slowly, "bring a couple of DVD's so we'd have something to do… uh… watch."

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1900hrs Local, Female Orthopaedic Ward, Surgical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (052359ZMar01)**

Harriett Sims had received the message from Mac and her curiosity piqued, she had left Bud to babysit Little AJ while she hurried to Bethesda. In her plaid shirt, faded jeans and sneakers she looked like anything but a naval officer and was able to navigate the journey on foot from the parking lot to the main doors without the necessity of having her arm constantly jerking up and down either offering or returning salutes to superiors and subordinates respectively.

Harriett stood tapping her foot impatiently as the elevator took her up to K Deck and then she bustled along the hallway until she came to Mac's room. Knocking on the doorjamb, she smiled cheerily, "Good evening, ma'am, I got your message…"

Mac looked up at the knock and her lips stretched in the parody of a grin that was all she could manage, "Com'in Harrie'" she gritted out, making a beckoning motion with her hand to reinforce the message, "an' shu' the doo'"

Harriett almost scurried into the room and following's Mac's hand gestures she pulled a chair up to the bedside, her eyes alight with the thrill of what already seemed to her to be a conspiracy. Once she was seated in the uncomfortable blue plastic hospital chair, Harriett looked again at Mac, "Ma'am?" she asked.

Mac handed Harriett a sheet of her note-pad:

_Harriett, the Dr said he might let me out tomorrow IF I can convince him I have someone to 'look after' me while I'm on hospital leave. Can I give him your number, so that you can tell him that I'll be in your care?_

"Of course you can ma'am! Bud and I will very happy to help you while you're on leave!"

"Tha'ks Harriett." Mac smiled as best she could. "Now, tell me wha's happe'i'g a' JA'?"

**Monday 5 March 2001, 1930hrs Local, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (060030ZMar01)**

Harm parked the SUV just half a block away from Loren's apartment and with garment bag slung over his shoulder and his go-bag in his other hand, he walked briskly up the street and with an air of belonging turned into the foyer of number 1054 and then took the elevator to Loren's floor.

Loren answered the door on his first knock and stood back with a smile to let him enter. He turned to hang his garment bag on the door hook, before he took of his leather jacket, and again Loren felt her knees turn to jelly as she observed the play of muscles under his form-fitting charcoal t-shirt, and the shape of his butt snugly encased by his faded blue jeans.

Harm wasn't in a much better state when he turned around and took a look at Loren to see that she had gone for what might almost be termed casual seductress. She wore a full length black skirt of a heavy satin-silk weave, which when she moved revealed a side slit up to her mid-thigh and a V-neck black sweater, her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and held by a black velvet bow.

Harm wasn't given much chance, however, to admire the view as Loren reached up to his neck and drew him down for a kiss, her tongue instantly probing for the seal between his lips, and when he opened to her she slipped her tongue into his mouth, slowly and sensually exploring his lips and tongue, relishing the taste of him. Then to his frustration as he attempted to deepen the kiss, she broke away from him and with a smile that he instantly categorized as 'naughty' she laid her finger against his lips and said, "No. No more for now. That was just to keep you going until later…"

"Not too much later, I hope!" he growled.

Loren laughed in delight. It had been a long time since she'd last had a physical relationship, and that had been furtive, hedged around with code-words and innuendo. Harm's openly expressed desire for her was not only refreshingly honest, but she found it to be an incredible turn on. Swallowing hard and restraining her own awakened desire to leap on him, she smiled, "Well, we'll just have to see how patient we can be…"

And for the moment Harm had to be content with that, as Loren turned back towards her kitchenette, and in a total change of subject, she remarked in a casual tone. "I thought I'd make us a chili con carne this evening, and I know that you don't eat red meat, so I got some soya ground beef substitute, and I've added mushrooms to the recipe. It's the first time I've tried this with a meat substitute, so I'm hoping it'll turn out all right…"

Harm walked up behind her as she stood at the stove, and wrapped his arms around her waist, before he kissed the bare skin of her shoulder where it emerged from the sweater, causing her to shiver before he took advantage of the pony tail unmasking her ears and kissed the sensitive spot just behind her right ear. Loren groaned softly, and then stiffened in his arms.

"Harm, stop that, please, right now! Otherwise we won't get any dinner!"

"I don't care!" he murmured.

"But I do. I'm hungry. And," she twisted around in his arms to face him, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "you know how… uh… grumpy I get when I'm hungry!"

"True, true, very true," he agreed mournfully, "I suppose I'd better cut you some slack…"

"Besides which, Mr Smart-ass, if you don't eat the chili, then you don't get the dessert."

"But, what if I decide to forget the chili and go straight for the dessert?" he asked dropping his hands to cup her butt and lifting her off her feet as he turned to sit her on the breakfast bar.

"Then, I shall throw a flag on the play, and you won't get a damn thing," she responded gently kissing him, "not the chili, and not the chocolate covered mango ice-cream you love so much…"

"Oh, that is so not fair!" he complained, "How am I supposed to choose between two desserts!"

"Well, I'll leave you to figure that out," she answered kissing him again, "while you set the table, and I finish with the chili and rice!"

Loren breathed a silent sigh as Harm reluctantly let her go and started to set the table. The thing was, Loren reflected, was that she wasn't sure exactly why she was sighing. She couldn't make up her mind if it was a sigh of relief that she'd managed to put a hold on things until later, or whether it was a sigh of regret for not saying the hell with dinner, and letting events take their course and their dinner burn. Of course, there was much to be said in favour of the old proverb that hunger makes the best sauce - and that proverb needn't necessarily be restricted to chili and ice-cream!

Harm had only just finished setting the table when Loren called out, "Harm could you get the bowl of salad from the fridge, please? Dinner on the table in two!"

Dinner turned out to be not just the chili, rice and salad, but also included home-made corn tortillas and nachos with a variety of dips including _mole coloradito_ which Harm hadn't seen since his youth in Southern California, and accompanied by a California red wine, robust enough to stand up the varied and spicy flavours. Despite Loren's reservations about cooking with soya protein she had produced a very good facsimile of a chili con carne, spicy enough to be enjoyed by those who liked spicy food, but not over-spiced to the degree that it was a feat of endurance to finish the dinner.

Harm sat back at the end of the meal, and regretfully eyed the half dish of nachos for which he had no more room and sighed, "Loren, that was… fantastic. Where, oh where did you get hold of the _coloradito_? I thought I'd scoured every store and market in DC and Virginia looking for that!"

"Umm… I uh… got the recipe off the net, was it OK?"

"H'mm… was it OK?" Harm mused leaning right back in his chair with his face tilted towards the ceiling, his apparently closed, but in fact open just enough so that he could see Loren under his eyelashes, "Well, I suppose you could say it was OK… but that wouldn't be telling the truth…"

"Harmon Rabb!" Loren growled threateningly, recognising that he was winding up for one of his awful jokes.

"No," he continued blithely, "it wasn't OK at all. It was - like the rest of the meal - fantastic! And, an entirely unexpected treat!"! He sat forward in his chair and reached a hand out to take hold of one of Loren's, "For which I thank you very much," he added in a whisper.

Loren sat smiling happily at him for what seemed like an instant, or an age, before she gathered her wits about her and said, "Well, you know my rules, if you eat, you gotta work. Come on, let's get this all squared away, and then we can sit down for coffee and ice-cream!" Then a random thought occurred to her, "Did you… did you actually bring a DVD with you?"

"Yeah, I did!" and his face broke into a huge grin, the tip of his tongue just showing between his teeth. "In fact I brought two, and in honour of your new call-sign…"

"Don't you dare!" she threatened him, desperately trying to prevent her own face breaking into an answering grin.

"In honour of your new call-sign," he continued inexorably, "Our on-screen entertainment for tonight is _The Blue Max _and _Aces High!"_

"Ooh, goody!" Loren exclaimed with mock enthusiasm, "I can hardly wait!"

However, once the washing up had been finished and the kitchen area squared away, Loren served up two bowls of her home-made dessert while Harm set the coffee brewing. Inserting the first DVD into the player, Harm joined Loren on the couch and pressed the remote to start playing_ Aces High_. Despite her initial skepticism, Loren found herself immersed in the film, particularly as Harm had anticipated, in the aerial sequences, where she watched with interest the evolutions performed for the cameras by the stunt pilots. Despite her absorption in the film, however, she spared enough attention to finish her ice-cream and coffee and then to loop Harm's arm around her shoulder as she snuggled up against his chest in her favourite position with her feet tucked up under her.

Harm took advantage, despite Loren's grumbles, at the end of the film to brew a fresh pot of coffee before he started the second of the films, _The Blue Max. _Loren although she was just as absorbed in the stunt flying, was less enamoured of the film's treatment its subject, commenting to Harm that it seemed to glorify the carnage depicted on screen.

Harm actually agreed with Loren, and was able to take advantage of her dissatisfaction to ram home a point he'd wanted to make as soon as the opening credits of _Aces High_ had rolled on to the screen, "Remember, sweetheart that what you saw this evening was a display by very experienced and well trained stunt pilots. Like they say on those programmes on TV, don't try this at home, OK?"

"No… No way! Some of those stunts looked frightening!"

"Yeah," Harm smiled down at her as she was curled up in the crook of his arm, "you know what they say; that there are bold pilots and old pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots!"

"H'mm," she replied the mischief back in her eyes and voice, "by the testimony you've just given Mr Pilot-man, you're not a very bold pilot… so does that mean you're a very old pilot?"

"Old! I'll show you just how old I'm not!" he cried in outrage as he used his free hand to tilt her face up to his.

"Yeah," she mocked, "bring it on!"

Some twenty minutes later, a gasping Loren broke free of his arms and pushed herself to the end of the couch, her lips were swollen and her eyes were glazed, while her neatly pony-tailed hair had half worked its way free from its ribbon. "Oh God, Harm, I am not, repeat not, going to have our first time making love on the couch!" She got to her feet and held out her hand to him, "Come," she said simply and led him into her bedroom, where he reached for her again.

"No…" she said softly, "You get into bed, I'll join you shortly…"

Loren was as good as her word, but when she re-entered the bedroom some ten minutes later, the black skirt and sweater were gone, and her hair, now loosed from its pony tail was freshly brushed and fell in a smooth curtain that framed her face. She wore a silk kimono-style wrap in her favourite pale-blue colour. Harm's mouth fell open. Yes, he'd thought for a long time that Loren Singer was beautiful, but now…

Loren approached the side of the bed, where her hands went to the wrap's tied belt, loosening it. She slipped the wrap off her shoulders and stood for a long moment fully revealed to him.

"Harm, this is all of me," she whispered throatily as she dew back the comforter and joined him in her bed.

**Tuesday 6 March 2001, 0600hrs Local, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (061100ZMar01)**

Harm awoke slowly and suffused by a feeling of well being, he stretched luxuriously and turned his head to see Loren still asleep beside him, her bare shoulders exposed by the edge of the comforter. She was lying on her stomach, but with her head turned towards him her face surrounded by a halo of tangled blonde hair, and set in an expression of utter peace.

Harm rolled over to face her, and propping his head on one hand, he reached out with the other to smooth her hair out of her face, and tuck it behind her ear, 'Hell, any excuse to touch her,' he smiled to himself. Loren stirred and muttered and her eyes flickered open. For an instant she seemed to stare at him in terror, as he leaned in towards her and dropped a kiss on the soft skin of her shoulder.

Loren turned on her side, taking care to keep the comforter pulled well up to cover her breasts as she stared at him, the terror in her eyes displaced by worry as she faltered, "Was it… was it alright for you, Harm? I didn't… you weren't… I was OK wasn't I…? I… I wasn't too clumsy or anything… you weren't disappointed… or anything were you?"

Harm almost felt his heart break for her pain, what had happened to her that she hadn't told him that made her wake up with such fear in her eyes? And then her self-doubt surfacing again; Loren had been the most generous, the most selfless lover he'd ever known. Who had done or said what to her to cause this shattering lack of self-confidence? He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight in against his chest, "Oh, Loren," he sighed, "Disappointed? Never! Never in a thousand years!"

Loren eased herself back against the comforting circle of his arms, "Really? Do you really mean that?" she asked with a shy smile.

"Of course I do! How could I not?"

"It's just that…"

"Loren, I don't care what anybody else has ever said to you, last night was perfect. You were perfect. You are all that I could ever want, dream of or need." As he finished speaking, he rolled over on top of her, his weight supported by his elbows as he leaned down and kissed her, deepening the kiss as she responded. When they broke the kiss, she looked up at him with smoky eyes.

"Harm, if we… if… we're going to be late."

"I know," he smiled, "but I do have somewhat of a reputation for tardiness, and I have to live up to that rep, now, don't I? So long as we make staff call, we'll be alright."

"H'mm… OK, but the longer you keep talking, the later we're going to be…." She said huskily, and then added in a whisper, "So, shut up sailor!"

"I will, in just a second, I just need to tell you again that I love you!"

"Oh God, and I love you too!" Loren murmured as he leaned in towards her.


	18. Chapter 18

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 18**

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 0837hrs EST, Bull-Pen, JAG Ops, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061337ZMar01)**

Gunnery Sergeant Galindez returned from checking the conference room's readiness for the morning staff-call, and paused, his eyes sweeping the whole of the Ops Section before he took his seat at his desk. All seemed to be in order, the requisite number of squids seemed to be in place, all with their attention firmly fixed on whatever they were supposed to be doing.. Well, it had better be what they were supposed to be doing… except Commander Rabb's office was still in darkness. Galindez glanced at the array of wall-mounted clocks, focusing on the end one of the row labelled 'Washington DC' and double checked the time shown against his wrist watch. OK, it wasn't too unusual for Commander Rabb to be adrift in the morning, but what was unusual was that Lieutenant Singer's office still seemed to be locked. A casual stroll along the bull-pen wall and a surreptitious trial of the Lieutenant's office door confirmed that it was still locked. So… no Lieutenant Singer either? Galindez walked quietly along to the break-room - no, that was empty too.

Galindez gave his head a slight shake; it was becoming more and more apparent to him that his previous suspicions concerning the two missing officers were more accurate than he'd thought. The trouble is, if he had noticed it, then it was on the cards that anyone else might have. And that might include some who were not so well-disposed towards the Commander, and there were certainly enough people around who didn't like the Lieutenant.

A hint of movement, seem out of the corner of his eye was enough to bring Galindez' head around to the doors leading from the Ops Section to the hallway and elevator, where a, to his mind, extremely guilty looking Lieutenant Singer was attempting an almost clandestine entry into Ops. Galindez couldn't help but grin, as he passed the young officer with a casual "Good morning, ma'am."

Loren managed to reply with a mumbled "Good morning, Gunnery Sergeant." But the vivid blush which accompanied her response only served to confirm all of Galindez' suspicions. It was, he decided, time to take pre-emptive action. Grabbing his cover from his desk drawer, he headed for the elevator, hoping that Commander Rabb wouldn't choose this morning to take the stairs.

Exiting the elevator on the first floor, he found to his relief that his hopes had not been in vain. Commander Rabb was still signing-in at the CP, and Galindez thought, if a cat ever ate a canary, then looking at the Commander's face, there was one contented kitty!

Drawing himself up to attention as Rabb approached the NCO greeted him with a sharp, "Good morning, sir!"

Harm looked at the Gunny with some surprise. Normally at this time of the day the Marine NCO was fully occupied putting the fear of Galindez into the assorted squids that inhabited the bull pen, not loitering about near the elevator in the lobby. "Good morning, Gunny. A bit off your usual beaten track aren't you?"

"A little, sir," Galindez answered, his face stoically impassive. He then further surprised Harm by suggesting, "Walk with me for a moment or two sir?"

"What's on your mind, Gunny?" Harm queried as the two of them paced the length of the hallway leading to the Judges' Chambers, about-facing as they reached the doorway to those hallowed precincts.

"Sir, when you were a Middie, did you ever study tactics?"

"Of course, I did - we all did," a now further confused Commander replied.

"So, sir, you'd know how valuable diversionary tactics can be?"

"Of course. Where are you going with this Gunny?" Harm looked pointedly at his wrist-watch.

"Sir, might I respectfully suggest that your presence in the Conference Room for the last forty minutes might have proved to be a highly effective diversion?"

Harm stared at Galindez for a moment or two while he worked through what had just been said to him, and then with a smile and nod, he said, "Sounds like a plan to me! And, Galindez…"

"Sir?"

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me sir, I ain't done nothing to be thanked for!"

Harm nodded once more, and headed for the stairwell. He'd realised on the drive in that he hadn't taken his usual morning exercise since Friday and had decided to forgo the convenience of the elevator until the end of the week in favour of a run up the stairs to the third floor.

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 0850hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061350ZMar01)**

Commanders Carolyn Imes and Alana Mattoni were both surprised by the presence of Commander Harmon Rabb when they strolled in to the Conference Room. Rabb was already seated at the long table, his briefcase open on the floor beside his chair and his cover laid on the table next to a formidable pile of file-folders and loose-leaf binders.

"'Morning, Harm. What's all this industry so early in the morning? Guilty conscience?" Carolyn asked with a smile as she eased herself into a chair opposite him.

Harm looked up and stretched his shoulders, rolling his head on his neck in a convincing show of working stiffness out of the joints. "Just that," he agreed with a smile, "I should have done a lot of this…" he indicated the paperwork in front of him, "over the weekend, but it was such glorious flying weather…" he shrugged and grinned shamefacedly. "So I figured I could sneak in here early… well, early for me... and get stuck into it before staff call, without having to waste time changing work-spaces."

Alan Mattoni looked across at Harm. They got on well enough as colleagues, but could never be described as friends, yet the African-American knew Harm well enough to know that the latter's conduct on this occasion was sufficiently out of the ordinary to merit some remark, "What's this, Harm? Bucking for promotion below the zone?" His tone of voice and his grin showed that he wasn't in earnest in his comment.

Harm grinned too, he hadn't taken offence. With his comparatively recent promotion to Commander, his chance of an O-6 billet lay years in the future, even if he were lucky enough to be considered for early promotion - below the zone, in naval parlance. "No, nothing like that," he reassured the two opposite him, "It's just like Carolyn said, a guilty conscience. Besides which," he added in conspiratorial tones, "the Admiral wanted these closure reports on Friday - last Friday!" he added for extra emphasis.

Imes and Mattoni both laughed. This was the Harmon Rabb they were used to; the hot-shot lawyer who hated paperwork so much that he let it slide until he was in grave danger of getting his ass chewed by the Admiral.

Harm now shrugged, if others were beginning to arrive for staff call, then it was time to cease this charade, so with a long-suffering grin, he gathered together his papers and stowed them safely in his brief-case. "After all, he explained, "I definitely do not want the Admiral to see this stuff and start asking awkward ques…" He broke off in please surprise as the door to the conference room opened again to allow Meg Austin to walk in accompanied by…

"Sturge! Sturgis Turner!" Harm was on his feet in an instant as he advanced on the other man, his hand held out in greeting.

"Hiya, old buddy, how ya doing?" Sturgis smiled in return, his greeting, as was his custom, more restrained than Harm's characteristic exuberance.

"I'm good, I'm good! What're _you_ doing here?"

"PCS'd, man. PCS'd. But let's get out of the doorway, shall we. We can catch up later."

"We most certainly will. Damn! It's good to see you!" and then remembering his manners, he turned to Meg, "Good morning, Commander Austin, sorry to have ignored you, but…"

"That's perfectly fine, Harm… after all, you nearly suffocated me last week when I arrived!" Meg smiled as she teased him.

"Yeah… I did, didn't I?" Harm confessed, with a rueful grin, "Mea Culpa, Meg, I'll make it up to you!"

"Is that a promise?" she teased, her eyes dancing.

"Nooo, not a promise," he replied slowly, "just a statement of intent!"

Meg pretended disappointment, "Typical damn sneaky, ambulance-chasing, shyster lawyer speak there!" she said accusingly, and turned to the other three "You heard him, twisting words!"

"Absolutely!" Carolyn agreed, her face creased in a broad grin.

"Yep, upholding the finest tradition of the profession," Alan Mattoni added.

"Oh, yeah!" Turner agreed.

"You know, this is so heart-warming, to be held in such esteem by my colleagues!" Harm joined in with the teasing aimed at himself, breaking off only to say "Good morning, Lieutenants" as Loren and Bud, closely followed by Tiner, entered the conference room.

The Yeoman's appearance was a sure indicator that the Admiral wasn't far behind him, so greetings cut short, the two junior officers hastily took their seats and waited for Tiner's shout of "Admiral on deck!" as the JAG opened the door to the conference room.

After the bustle of standing to greet their CO and the business of reseating themselves had resolved itself, the assembled attorneys turned their attention to Admiral Chegwidden.

"Good morning, people," the bald Admiral grunted, waiting for the chorus of responses, which having received and acknowledged, he turned his attention to Carolyn Imes, "The Coulter re-trial?"

"Our last witness arrives today from Memphis, I've arranged for a car and driver to pick her up at Andrews."

"Memphis?" Chegwidden raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant Commander Theresa Coulter. She's the accused's daughter."

"Wasn't she a witness for the prosecution in the original trial?"

"She was, sir. And that's the reason I've asked for her as a defence witness this time around. We're hoping..." she indicated Loren to include her, "that because of her previous testimony against her father, that this time her testimony in his defence will weigh even heavier with the panel."

"H'mm…" Chegwidden regarded the two defense attorneys critically. "Both of you report to my office at… eleven hundred hours, I don't want any surprises…"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Now, moving on… Commander Rabb, the Hart case: What, if anything did you discover during your peregrinations yesterday?"

Harm grinned, "If you'll forgive the informality, sir, having met and interviewed the Staff Sergeant and his two… uh… wives…I reckon that the most severe punishment we could inflict upon him would be to leave the status approximately quo. I don't think, though, that the interests of justice, or the Service, will be best served by proceeding to trial. I am prepared to entertain a reasonable and equitable plea bargain if the prosecution is amenable…."

Chegwidden had been about to blast Harm for his levity at the beginning of his answer, but his remarks about a plea bargain, cutting down on both costs and time, were eminently reasonable. Besides… two wives… even just the thought of that particular hell made a cold shiver run up his spine. "Alright, you two," he indicated Harm and Alan Mattoni, "work it out, and quickly please. I have other cases waiting for you!"

Harm and Alan exchanged pained glances, they both had enough waiting for them in their in-boxes, without the Admiral handing them even more.

Chegwidden saw the glance between the two and smiled secretly. Sometimes it was good to be the CO; he could spring these little surprises out of the blue. It did them good to be kept on their toes! And now it was time to put a further burr under Rabb's saddle. "And what are you doing about Lieutenant Blair's case, Commander?" Chegwidden asked fixing him with a level stare.

Harm started in surprise, he'd almost let that particular case slip to the bottom of his in-box. He hated the idea of investigating a fellow airman, especially if, as it appeared on prima facie evidence, the defendant was probably guilty. Harm cleared his throat, "Sir, this is a difficult one. My client mounts an affirmative defence: survival through socialization. He wants to present evidence that the group that held him were not an armed force, not even a guerilla armed force, as defined by international law, but were in fact, for want of a better description, local brigands, taking advantage of the situation to their own benefit, and that he, Blair, was kept by them in an effort to 'persuade' intransigent locals that the group had US support and were really fighting on behalf of the people."

"And?"

"The problem is, sir, that the only evidence, beyond Blair's own testimony, with limited support from his medical records, likely to be acceptable to a court can only come from the people affected by this group's depredations, and locating these people, let alone persuading them to give evidence before a Court-Martial, is problematical, to say the least."

"H'mm. Keep working on it Commander, and keep me in the loop. Commander Austin..."

"Sir?"

The staff call continued, covering a lot of ground very quickly, even so, it was taking far too long in Chegwidden's opinion. Austin had dropped a bomb-shell with a smoking fuse into his lap yesterday, and he still wasn't sure how he was going to handle it. But handle it he must, and quickly too. Eventually, the last cases handed out, and the last case summary told, Chegwidden gathered his papers and with a "That is all, people," got to his feet and waited for his officers to respond before he quit the room.

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 0956hrs EST, Rear Admiral (UH) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061456ZMar01)**

Admiral Chegwidden pulled open his desk drawer and took out the bottle of aspirin he kept there for emergencies such as this, and swallowed two of the pills, washing them down with a swallow of the streaming hot coffee Tiner had produced for him almost at the moment he had returned to his desk from staff-call. With a grimace of distaste, he reached for the top file in his in-box and putting to one side, for the moment, the various computer print-outs he read and re-read the statement that was the bones of the case.

Removing his reading glasses, he bowed his head, shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stayed in that position for a minute or so before sighing and passing a hand over his scalp, before he sat back to cast his mind over yesterday's conversation with Commander Austin.

He had held out his hand for the print-outs the blonde officer had proffered and immediately recognising them for what they were and in respect of whom, he had asked, "Are you sure that these were in Commander Krennick's possession?"

"Yes, sir!" The positive manner of Meg's response left no doubt in Chegwidden's mind that Meg Austin was convinced of the source of the documents and the manner in which they came into her possession.

"There is no chance that you could have accidentally acquired these documents from elsewhere?"

"No sir! The documents I had in my possession at the time I bumped into Commander Krennick, were those documents pertaining to the case files I inherited from Colonel MacKenzie. As you can see, sir, the DTG each Page 2 was printed at is at the foot of each page. That DTG pinpoints Thursday of last week, as the day of printing." Meg had paused uncomfortably, "Sir, it is not my usual practice to pay much heed to scuttle-butt, but… talk of certain, recent events that occurred in this office have made me aware that Colonel MacKenzie might have had motive to print out these SRBs, but the DTG on them gives her an alibi, so they couldn't have been included in the paperwork I took over from her. Besides which, sir, I had just spent the best part of the day in going through those case files, re-filing and cross-referencing where applicable. If those print-outs had been in with Colonel MacKenzie's files, I would have seen them before, particularly as one of those print-outs concerns Commander Rabb. As you will recall, sir, Commander Rabb and I were partners back in the day, so anything with his name on it would have caught my eye."

"Yes. I remember," Chegwidden grunted. "You were a team, a good team, and close-knit too. In fact, if I recall, there were concerns expressed that you were too close." He frowned as he remembered just who had expressed those concerns.

"Sir! Commander Rabb and I never crossed the line from a professional to a personal relationship!" Meg had indignantly objected. "What's more sir, if there was any question of an over-familiar relationship involving Commander Rabb, then I wasn't the guilty party!"

"As you were, Commander! Stand down!"

"Sir?"

"Commander, I have memories of that time, and I took action to ensure that what you were about to hint at could never happen. But I do not need - or want - to hear those matters re-hashed in the present case, precisely because of the personalities involved. It could look like a very unpleasant form of payback for past wrongs. And I do most sincerely hope Commander, that this isn't the case!"

If possible, Meg had been even more indignant that previously, "No, sir! Absolutely not! It's partially to avoid that suspicion that I have come to you so quickly!"

"H'mm, alright Commander, power down. What else have you got?"

Meg had shifted a bit uncomfortably "Well, sir. Commander Krennick's subsequent actions triggered my curiosity. I guess I must have spent too many years in Navy Intelligence; there was just something about her actions that didn't chime true, sir. So when she accidentally woke me early the following morning, I … uh… followed her and found her staking out Commander Rabb's home address, and then Lieutenant Singer's apartment block."

"H'mm… so you in fact were keeping tabs on her, while she was keeping tabs on Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer?"

"Yes, sir," Meg had reluctantly admitted.

"How then is your behaviour any less praiseworthy or blameworthy than Commander Krennick's?"

Once again Meg had shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "My motive, sir?" she offered.

"And what would that be, Commander?"

"To try and prevent an Officer using underhand methods to discredit and ruin the career of another officer, possibly two other officers."

"Facts not in evidence, Commander!" he had snapped.

"Maybe, sir. But these are printouts of screen captures of Commander Krennick's computer, showing that she used dubious methods to hack into the BUPERS data base to secure replacement copies of Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer's Page Twos. If she'd had a legitimate need for them, then a request should have been placed through channels, or even a request to your Yeoman for a sight of the files would have been sufficient. Of course, if she had requested your Yeoman to pull their jackets, she couldn't be sure that he wouldn't mention it to you, or to anyone else, sir. The fact that she chose clandestine methods of obtaining this information is pretty damning in itself sir!"

"In your opinion, Commander." He had cautioned her.

"Yes, sir, in my opinion. These print-outs here are from my computer, and are the results of a key-stroke logging program on Commander Krennick's computer, showing that she was investigating, or trying to investigate Commander Rabb's financial records. Sir, those are records that are supposed to be protected by law, and need either a waiver from the account holder, or a warrant signed by a judge before they can be accessed by a third party!"

"Thank you, Commander, I am aware of that! Do you have anything else?"

"No, sir,"

"Very well, explain to me please, how you managed to make screen captures of Commander Krennick's computer, and find a record of the key-strokes that she made?"

Meg had bitten her lip, "Ummm... well, sir, I installed software into her computer to allow me to do just that."

"Those are pretty underhand and clandestine methods. Wouldn't you agree, Commander?"

Meg had nodded, she was embarrassed, but forced to concur, "Yes, sir. Underhand, clandestine and distasteful, but as I say in my defense, my motives are different to those that seem exposed by Commander Krennick's actions!"

"Very well, Commander, I will decide what, if any action I need to take in your case and in the case of Commander Krennick! That is all, dismissed!"

Meg had sprung to her feet, about faced, and marched from the office. She knew that she might just have committed professional suicide, and that her actions may well result in her receiving orders for re-assignment to Keflavik or Adak.

Chegwidden had watched her go with a heavy heart. He knew he should probably take action against her, but what she'd said had the ring of truth about it, she hadn't had an axe to grind, she was still covering Rabb's six, as she had done years ago - and he smiled grimly, against the same predatory woman!

What the hell was it about Rabb anyway? OK, he was a trouble magnet - that much had become self-evident a long time since, but what the hell was it about him that attracted so many unstable women? Chegwidden paused for a moment. Was he being unfair to the women about whom he was thinking? No… probably not… MacKenzie, although outwardly a squared away marine - or she had been at one time - had thrown a wobbler over Rabb, and then tried to use Bugme… uh… Brumby to make Rabb jealous… hell, he had seen that way OTT display at Sydney airport and had cautioned the younger officer not to look back… And then when Brumby's TAD had been resumed it had been he and not Rabb who had exhibited jealousy… spurred on by MacKenzie's behaviour. And now Krennick; he had suspected that Krennick had been actively pursuing Rabb when he, Chegwidden, had first been appointed JAG, which was the prime reason for him cutting her orders for Naples, as well as putting a temporary 'non-promotable' notation on her SRB, and now that she'd been brought back to Falls Church, she'd found him involved with someone else, and had flown way off the handle. Well, no matter what he did or didn't do about Austin, he most certainly had to deal with Krennick!

Chegwidden groaned as he dragged himself back to the present and leaning forward, rested his elbows on his desk as he passed one hand over his scalp again as he reached out with his other hand and pressed the intercom buzzer. "Tiner?"

"Sir?"

"Pass the word for Commanders Krennick and Turner to report to my office, ASAP, please."

The few minutes while Tiner located the two officers were sent by Chegwidden in clearing everything except the folder he'd received from Commander Austin, off his desk. And as usual it wasn't many minutes, he had only just cleared the desk, before Tiner buzzed through, "Commanders Krennick and Turner are here, sir."

"Thank you, Tiner. Send 'em in!"

The door opened, Turner standing back to let Krennick precede him and then the two halting at attention in front of the Admiral's desk.

Chegwidden sat upright in his chair. His face stern as he looked Alison Krennick in the eye. "Commander Krennick, I have ordered you here to answer an accusation. A grave accusation. Commander Turner is here as my witness to my questions and your answers. Is there anyone else you would wish to be present to act as your witness?"

Alison Krennick paled. There could only be one reason for being summoned in front of the Admiral like this. It was humiliating enough that Turner was here, although she didn't know him, and she'd be damned if she let anyone else share in her humiliation. "No, sir. I don't need anyone else here, sir!" she declared.

"Commander Krennick, I have been presented with evidence that is strongly suggestive that you have been carrying out clandestine and unauthorised surveillance of two other officers of this organization. Do you deny this?"

"No, sir!"

"Explain your actions, please, Commander." Despite his phrasing, it was not a request; the tone of the ex-SEAL's voice left no room for doubt.

"Sir, I observed some interaction between the two officers that led me to believe that they were having an over-familiar relationship, sir!"

"What did you observe, Commander?"

"Sir, I saw a look on one their faces when the other party pretended that he and a third party were going on a date together, sir."

"That's pretty flimsy, Commander." Chegwidden replied, "Why didn't you come straight to me?"

"Precisely because it was so flimsy, sir. I needed harder evidence before I could approach you with my suspicions, sir!"

"Very well, Commander, you have managed to explain why you did what you did. You haven't yet touched on your methods."

"How do you mean, sir?"

"Your failure to inform Command of your suspicions, as you are duty bound to do so, as soon as they are aroused. Your hacking into the BUPERS data base, in an attempt to conceal your 'investigation'."

Alison Krennick gasped silently, how the hell had he found out about her hacking… the man was a technological dinosaur, someone - Austin - must have tipped him off! Now she could feel the pit yawning at her feet. Hacking into a federal data base was a federal offence, and if the old bas… if the Admiral sitting across the desk from her wanted to play hardball about that, then her goose was cooked!

"It is not only your actions that I question Commander Krennick, I find myself wondering about your motives too. I remember only too well the dynamic between yourself and Commander Rabb when I first took up this appointment, and it was the patently unwelcome nature of your advances to him that prompted me to cut you orders for your assignment in Naples. Your current actions have less of the appearance to me of being driven by duty, but more by jealousy. And that Commander Krennick leaves a very bad taste in my mouth. You see, Commander Krennick, had you bothered to come to me with your 'suspicions' I could have put your mind at rest. That I am fully aware of the nature and extent of the friendship between the two officers, and that I do not consider that friendship to be prejudicial to good order and discipline or to have a negative impact on the performance of this office or on the duties of the two officers. As a result of your activities, however, I am raising charges under article 134 of the UCMJ against you, that is Conduct to the Prejudice of Good Order and Discipline, and Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman. In the meantime, I have made arrangements for your accommodation at the secure accommodation at Anacostia, where you are to report by thirteen hundred hours today. I will also arrange for an attorney to be assigned to you for the purposes of defending you against these charges at an Article 32 hearing, or if it should come to it, at a general Court Martial. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Do you have anything to say about anything I have just told you?"

"No sir!"

"Very well, Commander Turner, stand fast; Commander Krennick, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" With her face even paler than usual, Alison Krennick pivoted about and walked briskly to the office door.

Chegwidden turned to Commander Turner, "Commander, I am sorry to have to do this to you on your first full day in the office, so to speak, but everyone else here is too closely linked to the personalities involved to remain impartial."

"With all due respect, sir…"

"Yes, I know what you're going to say, Commander. You and Rabb are friends from your academy days… but that was twenty years ago, man!"

"It was sir, but still with respect, sir. Aren't you still close to friends you made during your earlier career, no matter how long ago those friendships were made?"

"Dammit! Yes, of course, you're quite right," the Admiral conceded as he dropped his face into his hands for a second. "Alright, Commander, leave it with me. But…"

"Sir?"

"But unless and until I can find another prosecutor, you are still my first choice!"

"Understood, sir!"

"Very well, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1000hrs EST, Female Orthopaedic Ward, Surgical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (061500ZMar01)**

Commander Pike smiled as he entered Mac's room. His patient was up, out of bed, fully dressed in slacks and a sweater, a coat lay over the foot of her bed, and her packed bag was parked by the bed-leg.

"That convinced, huh, Colonel?"

"Dam' ri'!" she gritted through her teeth.

"Don't forget, I said, 'if' and 'might'," he grinned.

Mac scribbled furiously on her pad_,_

_If I don't get out of here today, don't EVER get yourself into a situation where I might have to defend or prosecute you!_

"I have absolutely no intention of doing that Colonel, I assure you!" Commander Pike grinned, "Now let's have a look at that eye… H'mm, the white is definitely not as pink as it was yesterday… and…" he consulted her surgical notes,"ophthalmology agrees that there is no physical damage to the eye. That's good! Now, take a seat for a minute or two, please, Colonel."

He waited until she perched on the side of the bed before he continued, "Colonel, you were very badly beaten, you know, and it is only by God's mercy that you weren't left with incapacitating injuries and you need to take care of yourself a while longer. That cast on your forearm needs to stay for another four weeks, so you'll need to make an appointment to have that done, and at the same time, we'll x-ray your jaw, and if that looks OK, then we'll have the wires out for you, but, I recommend that you hold off steaks for a week or two after that!. Your cheek and brow ridge seem to have healed with no malformation, so you'll look pretty much as you did before, and your ribs seem to be healing well, too. Now for the next few weeks… I'm placing you on two weeks' hospital leave, after that you'll be on restricted duties until the wires are out and the cast's off. But if in the interim you feel any undue pain, come back in.

"We placed a call to Lieutenant Sims, she can't get away to pick you up this morning, but she has arranged for a car and a driver to take you home."

His voice became more sympathetic, "I know it's a pain to be stuck on a liquid diet, but the good news is that apart from soups and protein drinks, you can now have your milkshakes and your coffee as strong as you like! , and I hope you won't misunderstand when I see I hope I don't see you again, well, not back in here, anyway! So, as soon as you're ready, you can head on down to the nurses' station, complete the paperwork and wait for your ride. Goodbye and Good luck, Colonel!"

"G'bye, Doc," Mac managed with as best an effort at a smile as she could make, and was on her feet again almost before he was out of the door. He was replaced almost immediately by a nurse wearing Commander's oak leaves and pushing a wheel chair.

The two women stood looking sat each for a long minute, each gauging the other's probable strength of will and determination, until Mac scribbled on her pad and tearing off the sheet handed it to the Nurse Commander,

_You haven't won. I just want to get out of here! _

"That's good enough for me, Colonel," was the non-committal reply as Mac lowered herself into the wheelchair and placed her bag across her thighs."

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1129hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061629ZMar01)**

Carolyn looked up from the Coulter file at the knock on her doorjamb, "Come in Lieutenant, close the door, please and take a seat!"

She waited until Loren Singer had seated herself and then said, "Firstly, thanks for coming so quickly, and secondly thank you and well done on a good job on this brute of a case!"

Loren was startled, she hadn't expected Commander Imes to be quite so welcoming, "Uh… thank you ma'am…"

"Yes, reading through I can see where you came up with the proposition that the original defence counsel was lacking… no challenge to the forensic evidence, no questioning as to the content of the crime scene photographs, circumstantial evidence and background anecdote from Commander Coulter, with very few objections as to relevancy. But… whatever gave you the idea of calling Commander Coulter as a witness for the _defence_ for the retrial?"

"Well, ma'am, at the time of her mother's death, she was twenty-two years old, just graduated from college and newly commissioned. She was a line Ensign, who had been a witness to a long-standing pattern of domestic violence, she was angry at her father. Since then, she's become an MD and a highly regarded forensic pathologist, and it's as a forensic pathologist, that I want to use her. I want to get her to re-examine, and if appropriate, challenge the findings of the autopsy on her mother. You see, there is so much about this case that rings alarm bells for me. There was never it seems any attempt by the investigating authorities to look for any other possible suspect - something that appears to be somewhat of a pattern for NCIS, I might add."

"That's interesting… any evidence to back up that opinion?"

"I only have the evidence of my own eyes and ears. When Colonel MacKenzie was assaulted, the two agents at the hospital seemed determined to blame Har… uh… Commander Rabb, despite the fact that if they'd even bothered to ask, he could have furnished them with a rock-solid alibi…" Loren trailed off into silence, afraid that for once, she'd let her guard down and let slip something that she shouldn't have.

Carolyn smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, "Don't worry Lieutenant, I read the signs a little while ago. Your secret is safe with me. I have never seen Commander Rabb quite so happy as he has been since he was released from hospital, and I'll admit for a little while I was afraid - no I was half hoping, I've always been a little soft on him myself - that all you had between you was his gratitude for you saving his life." She held up a hand as she saw that Loren was about to protest, "No, don't stop me when I'm on a roll. I shall say this one time only, and then unless you want to bring the subject up again, it's over and done with. As I was about to say, but I've seen the two of you over the last few weeks, and what I've seen has convinced me that whatever lies between you two, it is not just gratitude. And, I'm glad. You are so much better for him than another person, whose name I shall refrain from mentioning. You are good for him.

Loren sat with her mouth open in astonishment, had all that ducking and diving, camouflage and smokescreens been so necessary. If Carolyn knew… "Ma'am, how many… who else... do you think knows… about the Commander and me?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Sims probably suspects, other than that, I have no idea. I haven't discussed it with anybody."

"I see ma'am." Loren was suddenly embarrassed and found it difficult to meet Carolyn's gaze, but managed a quiet but sincere, "Thank you, ma'am."

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1132hrs EST, Commander Alan Mattoni's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061632ZMar01)**

Harm rapped smartly on Alan Mattoni's office doorjamb and waited for the other officer to beckon him in, as Alan sat back in his chair and clasped his hands lightly on the deck in front of him. "What can I do for you, Harm?"

"Staff Sergeant Hart." Harm had really wanted Loren to be here with him for this conversation, but Carolyn Imes had already snagged her, and bizarre as this case was, the Coulter re-trial was the more important. Besides as he had been not-so-subtly reminded this morning by the Admiral, he needed to get up to speed on the Blair case.

Mattoni nodded his head, "He's as guilty as sin, Harm. I've gotten Statements from Family Services at Quantico, the two marriage licenses plus copies of the register entries for both jurisdictions showing the time and the date of the marriages. What's on your mind?"

"Oh, he's guilty alright, Alan. There is absolutely no doubt about that. But what have we got, Conduct to the Prejudice in that he committed bigamy? That's a _maximum_ of dishonourable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement for two years."

"Yes... if that's all we had. Look Harm, there's counts of making a false declaration, perjury, attempting to gain pecuniary advantage by deception, none of them real biggies in the punishment stakes, except possibly the perjury, but..."

"Yeah... but... Alan, have you actually met the two women in the case?"

"No... I don't believe I need to, they both say they'll refuse to testify and that they don't want charges brought. I don't need hostile witnesses in this case, Harm. I'll just let the facts speak for themselves."

"H'mm... well, I have met the two women. They're not just sisters, they're identical twins, and what's more they're both pregnant!"

Alan looked at Harm in shock and grabbed the file from his in-box frantically thumbing through it, "There... there's no mention of that here..." he mumbled helplessly.

"Look, Alan, the two women are from somewhere out past where Jesus lost his sandals. I'm not saying that they're stupid, but certainly there is a great element of naivety in their make-up, and they strike me as never have got past elementary school, and their speech is full of Biblical misquotations and reference to the Reverend Clutterbuck - or whatever his name was. To tell the truth the worst punishment that we could hand out to Staff Sergeant Hart is to leave the situation exactly as it is, and let him continue to live with them!"

Mattoni said nothing but thought to himself that Mac had certainly worked a number on Harm if he'd ended up thinking that marriage was a worse fate than Leavenworth.

Harm tried again, "Alan, we've got letters of commendation for Hart from his Company Commander and his CO both praising him to the high heavens as a damn' good marine. He's made one stupid mistake over women - and there are a hell of a lot of us who have done just that!"

"So what do you propose?"

"He stays, busted down to E-5, forfeits half a month's pay for two months, and does three months confinement!"

"Harm, that's laughable! If he stays, busted down to E-1, half pay for three months, and six months!"

Harm looked at Alan, "Tell you what: he stays, busted to E-4, half-pay for three months, and four months." Harm leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "This way he gets out of jail in time for the birth of his kids, and he gets to do his time in Norfolk brig, not Leavenworth, so he's closer to his women. Alan, why punish the kids? He's going to lose his on-base housing, and trying to find somewhere off-base with BAH as it is, is not going to be easy. Yes, he's a stupid dumbass, but he's not entirely to blame, the women knew, and from what I can gather instigated the whole deal. And I've a feeling that no matter what their legal standing may be they're all going to stay together and continue to announce themselves as man and wives. Why should he take a heavier rap than need be? And like I said, the babies are innocent parties in all this!"

Alan Mattoni was not a vindictive man, and while he really couldn't care less about Staff Sergeant Hart's future, Harm did have a point about the children, and remembering that if it hadn't been for Harm's passionate advocacy he and Jacquie wouldn't have their own child right now, and that Dar-Lyn would probably be lying in a grave next to her murdered sister...

"OK, Harm," Alan Mattoni heaved a sigh, "We'll try to play it your way. Get him to plead guilty at his Article 32, and I'll see if I can get the judge to accept this."

Harm stood and held his hand out, "Thanks, Alan," he said simply.

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1148hrs EST, Female Orthopaedic Ward, Surgical Wing, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (061648ZMar01)**

Mac was disturbed from increasingly ill-tempered brooding as a young marine Corporal in Service Dress 'A' and holding a Garrison Cap halted at attention in front of her, "Ma'am, are you Colonel MacKenzie ma'am?"

"Yergh" she gritted out through her teeth.

"Ma'am, I'm Corporal Hewitt, your driver, ma'am, I have a car waiting for you outside."

Mac started to stand, "Goo' lessgo!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Corporal Hewitt bent to pick up her bag and as he straightened he asked, "Do you need any help ma'am?"

"No… lessge' outta here!"

Mac had barely taken two steps however when a voice from behind her halted her in mid-stride, "Colonel MacKenzie! Get back in that wheelchair!"

Mac turned to meet the steely-eyed glare of Captain Saunders. Acknowledging again, much to her chagrin that she was outgunned, Mac sighed and pouting ferociously resumed her seat. Captain Saunders nodded, satisfied with her recalcitrant patient's response looked around, "Corpsman!"

A Petty Officer Corpsman Class Two erupted from the store closet where he had been taking inventory of wound dressings, "Yes, ma'am?"

"Corpsman, take Colonel MacKenzie down to her car, please. Her driver will show you where it is. And Corpsman…"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"If the Colonel should even attempt to quit that chair until she is next to her vehicle, you will report that fact to me, Understood?"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!"

"And you Colonel?"

"Aye, ma'a'…"

As a result it was furiously seething Colonel MacKenzie that settled herself into the passenger seat of the motor-pool sedan and waited until Corporal Hewitt slid behind the wheel before she asked, "Where you ta'in' me?"

"To Lieutenant Sims' house, ma'am in Alexandria"

"No! Ta'e me ho'e!"

"Ma'am?" asked the Corporal. His question was partly a result of not understanding exactly what Mac had said, and the suspicion that his previous orders had just been countermanded.

Mac dived into her bag again, once more producing her notepad and pen. She scribbled her address on the pad and insisted, "Ta'e me there!" jabbing with her pen at the address she had written.

"Ma'am," the unfortunate Corporal tried to protest, "Lieutenant Sims told me that I was to take you to her place in Alexandria, no matter what you said!"

Mac scribbled again and handed a torn of sheet to Corporal Hewitt:

_You : Cpl. Lt S: Lt. Me: Lt Col. Georgetown. Now!_

Cpl Hewitt sent up a silent plea, 'Why me?' He was under orders to report to Lieutenant Sims at JAG once he'd completed his detail, and he knew that he was going to catch hell from her. But a streak of pragmatism ran deep in Corporal Hewitt, he could either catch hell from Lieutenant Sims, who had seemed a nice enough lady, and was after all only a squid, or he could really catch hell from a highly irritable Lieutenant Colonel of marines. It was a no brainer he told himself, "Yes, ma'am!" he replied, as he engaged the gears and headed for Georgetown.

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1222hrs EST, Bull-Pen, JAG Ops, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061722ZMar01)**

Harm had just secured his office and as about to stroll along to Loren's office to see if she was free to join him for lunch when an arrival in the bull-pen caught his eye. Of course ever since the announcement at staff call, he'd known that Lieutenant Commander Theresa Coulter would be arriving, but he still hadn't expected the jolt of pleasure in seeing an old friend that had run through his body.

"Terri," he hailed her across the room, attracting not only her attention, but the attention of most of the inhabitants of the bull pen. He crossed the room towards her, his hand held out in greeting. She took his hand in her own and they both smiled as they almost simultaneously asked, "How are you?"

Harm waved an airy hand in an extravagant gesture, "Go ahead, ladies first!"

"I'm pretty good, Harm... even managed to climb onto that wagon!"

"Great stuff, well done you. It ain't easy, I still get the occasional craving, but you just gotta hang tough!"

"Oh, wow! Thanks for the encouragement! So, what do you want for me this time that was so all-fired important that I had to drop everything back to home and scramble to get to DC?"

"Not me, this time, Terri," he'd seen through the blinds that Carolyn and Loren were still in the former's office allow me to introduce you to the authors of your current predicament."

He guided her with his hand in the small of her back across the room to Carolyn's office, where he smiled reassuringly at her again and rapped twice on the doorjamb. Hearing Carolyn's "Enter!" He opened the door, and smilingly said, "Commander Imes, Lieutenant Singer allow me to introduce to you, the best damn' forensic pathologist this navy's ever had - Lieutenant Commander Theresa Coulter! Theresa, this Commander Carolyn Imes, and Lieutenant Loren Singer, the… uh… authors of your present presence!"

Harm smiled benignly on the three female officers before he asked, "And now that Terri is here. I assume that none of you are immediately available for lunch?"

Terri shook her head, "Truth is, I'm not particularly hungry, and if I eat, I get these cravings and urges…"

"Ah… OK… that's it, I'm outta here!" Harm joked, stepping back into the bull pen and closing the door.

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1227hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061727ZMar01)**

Carolyn winced inwardly. She had caught a glimpse of Loren's stone face when Harm had responded to Terri Coulter's crack about cravings and urges, and she made a pretty shrewd guess at what was bothering the blonde Lieutenant. "Uh… what cravings and urges, would those be Commander?" she asked Terri, indicating at the same time that her visitor should sit down.

"Oh… I'm trying to kick a tobacco habit, and most times, it's OK, just that over the years I got so used to having a smoke after a meal that it's a really hard time for a few minutes after each meal, and I'm a bit tired and stressed with travelling, so right now would be a real good time for me not to eat, otherwise the temptation to light the smoking lamp might be too much to resist!"

Carolyn gave silent thanks; she was an experienced enough trial attorney to sense when somebody was lying, and Terri's words were so spontaneous and so ready on her tongue that she was convinced that the woman from Memphis was telling the truth. A sidelong glance at Loren showed by her body language and facial expression that she too accepted Terri's explanation.

"I suppose you're wondering why we put you on our witness list." Carolyn said.

"Yeah, I'm a bit confused. I understand that my father has won a re-trial, and that I've been called again to give evidence, but surely there must have been a typo, on the summons it says that I'm being called as a witness for the defence."

"Ummm… No, there's no mistake, Commander Coulter," Loren interjected. "I did the re-evaluation of your father's case once he'd lodged an appeal against conviction, and reading through the file, I was… astonished by the poor defence put up by his attorney during the original trial."

Terri Coulter's face became expressionless and her blue eyes turned to chips of ice. "Let me get this straight," she said incredulously and in a low unemotional voice that revealed rather than hid her inner turmoil; "You are offering my father a re-trial, and you want me… me, to testify on his behalf, when that sonofabitch killed my mother!"

"Commander, I realise, to some extent, how you must feel. Your testimony…"

"You know nothing of how I feel, Lieutenant!"

"Please Commander, bear with me, for just a moment. Your testimony shows that your father was physically abusive towards your mother. But it also shows that you weren't there on the day your mother died. How can you be so certain that your father killed your mother?"

"Pattern of behaviour, and then there's the forensic report…"

"You weren't a forensic pathologist at the time of your mother's death were you?" Carolyn asked gently.

"No… It was her death that made me decide what I wanted to do… I had just started my first year at Med school…"

"Did you read the forensic report?" Carolyn persisted.

"No… no… of course not." Terri replied somewhat mystified by the direction the conversation was taking.

Loren pulled a very slim folder from the file and handed it to Terri, "This is the forensic report that did so much to convict your father," she said.

Terri reluctantly took the file and started to read it, as she read her brow grew furrowed, and she flipped back and forth through the report several times. At last she looked at the two attorneys and asked, "Where's the rest of it?"

Loren face was grim, "There is no rest of it ma'am. What you have in your hand is about ninety percent of the evidence that convicted your father. The rest of the evidence was purely anecdotal or circumstantial. Most of what the panel at his original trial convicted your father on is in your hands right now."

"But… there's no tox panel results - not even for alcohol or sedatives, no cat scan images; there's just these two x-rays, and a description of old injuries on my mother's body. The cause of death though, is quite clear, epidural haematoma."

Carolyn leaned forward on her desk, "Commander Coulter, if you had been the ME in this case, would you have presented this report to the prosecution and expected that a conviction would follow?"

Terri's eyes grew troubled, "No, of course not… but what do you want me to do?"

"We want you to challenge any and every supposition, opinion and result in that report!"

"Commander, Lieutenant, I don't think I can. I've spent the last ten years hating my father for murdering my mother… and now…" Terri's eyes grew moist as her voice trailed off.

Silence fell in the small office as the two JAG officers sat and waited for Terri Coulter to make the decision that could irrevocably change both her life and that of her father.

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1336hrs EST, Rear Admiral (UH) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061836ZMar01)**

Admiral Chegwidden looked up from the file he was studying as Tiner's voice came through on the intercom, Commander Austin is here, sir!"

"Send her in, Tiner!"

Meg opened the office door and crossed the room, stopping at attention in from of the Admiral's desk, "Commander Austin reporting as ordered, sir!"

"At ease, Commander." The Admiral told her, but Meg remarked that he didn't ask her to be seated. "I've considered very carefully what you told me, and the evidence that you presented me with yesterday. I have relieved Commander Krennick of her duties and told her that I shall be raising charges against her for Conduct to the Prejudice and Conduct Unbecoming. Bearing in mind that you did to her, what she was doing to Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer, can you furnish me with any good reason why I should not raise the same charges against you, Commander?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't see that my activities come under the same heading as Commander Krennick's. Our activities may have been similar, but our motives were entirely different. Commander Krennick deliberately sought to bring … to damage the careers of two other officers, one of whom I have known and respected for years, the other who seems to show potential both as an attorney and as a naval officer; my motive was to prevent a malicious and jealous woman causing that damage. Furthermore, sir, I came to you to report my suspicions and my findings at the earliest possible opportunity, rather than to continue to skulk around in the shadows!"

Chegwidden nodded thoughtfully as the blonde Texan officer finished speaking. He had listened very carefully to what she had said and the tone in which she had said it. Inwardly he agreed with what she had both done and said, but…

"Commander, were you comfortable in your shadowing of Commander Krennick and your methods of gathering evidence?"

"No, sir, distinctly uncomfortable!"

"H'mm, so would it be fair to say, Commander, that while you were indulging in these activities, you felt guilty, that you somehow felt you were doing wrong?"

Meg shifted momentarily, she did feel slightly guilty about her methods, but after all if there was ever a case where the end justified the means. She sighed, no; she couldn't in honesty even apply that justification.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Commander." Chegwidden reminded her.

"Yes, sir. While I was watching Commander Krennick, I did feel as if I was doing something… dishonourable."

"I see. Now, you told me that you had planted… installed, I believe is the right expression, certain software on Commander Krennick's office computer?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And can you…uh… uninstall it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good, good… " he nodded in affirmation, before he sat straighter in his chair. "Then do so! Commander, while I do appreciate your reasons and motives for what you did, I cannot condone officers spying on each other. I could wish that you had come to me yesterday morning with your suspicions, before you had carried out any clandestine or underhand activities. Believe me, I do know how important Intel is when you are facing the enemy, but however much of a personal enemy Commander Krennick might be to Commander Rabb, Lieutenant Singer or yourself, she is not the enemy. Accordingly, if you are willing to accept non-judicial punishment, I shall insert a letter of counseling in your personal file and I will also insert a temporary letter of non-punitive reprimand, which shall be removed from your file after a period of six months, unless we have recourse to a further interview of a similar nature to this one. Is that understood?"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Of course, you have the option to refuse this non-judicial procedure and opt for an Article 32 hearing, with a possible court-martial as the outcome. Do you want to adhere to formal channels, or are you willing to abide by my decision?"

"Sir, I accept your non-judicial punishment, sir!"

"Good. Take a seat, Commander…" Chegwidden waited until Meg had seated herself. "We haven't had much of a chance to talk since you rejoined us, Commander, how are you settling in? Have you found somewhere to live yet?"

"Not yet, sir," Meg smiled, "There is a possibility of an apartment in the same building as Commander Rabb, but…"

"I hope you won't take that option, Commander," Chegwidden interrupted, his voice reverting to its official tones.

"I would take that apartment only as an absolute last resort, sir. Even in the very short time I've been here, I can tell that having me living in the same apartment block as Commander Rabb could cause all sorts of personal and professional problems!"

Chegwidden relaxed again, "Good, good," he nodded, "but more than that Commander, that neighbourhood of DC is not the safest neighbourhood in the city. It would worry me to think of you being out there after dark if you even just had to pop to the store… No, you're right, it wouldn't do, for a multitude of reasons. If you still aren't having any luck by the end of next week, let me know; I have one or two acquaintances in the property market around here."

"I will, sir, thank you."

"Alright, Commander, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden watched her go and said a silent thank you to Arnie Fields, one of his acquaintances in the local property market who had let slip that one of his female officers was looking to rent an apartment in one of the more dangerous areas of Washington DC.

**Tuesday March 6****th****, 2001, 1444hrs EST, Bull-Pen, JAG Ops, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (061944ZMar01)**

Harm had an armful of files that he was taking along to Meg Austin's office when he, and the rest of the bull pen were brought to a standstill by an outraged cry from Lieutenant Sims, "She did what!" she yelled at a confused looking marine Corporal.

"Ma'am, the Colonel ordered me to drive her to an address in Georgetown, ma'am!"

"Of all the stupid…" Harriett began, but Harm intervened before she could commit a grave indiscretion.

"Lieutenant Sims, my office, now!" he rapped out. "Corporal, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" a very relieved Corporal Hewitt replied as he turned on the instant and headed for the exit, and Harriett with a fulminating glare at him and at Harm brushed past the senior officer and entered his office, and closed the door with something perilously akin to a slam

Harm turned to a passing petty officer, and dumped his load of files into her arms, "These to Commander Austin's office, ASAP, please, and pass the word for Lieutenant Roberts to report to my office!"

The startled young woman could only stare at him round-eyed and respond, "Aye, aye, sir!" as Harm spun on his heel and returned to his office where he found Harriett torn between tears and anger.

"Sit down, please, Harriett," he said quietly, opening his desk drawer and offering her the box of 'Man-Sized' Kleenex he kept there.

Harriett accepted them with a grateful, watery smile, and mopped her eyes and blew her nose, discarding the used Kleenex in the waste bin. "I'm sorry, sir, "she began, "but…"

"Let's wait a while, Harriett," Harm interrupted quietly, "I've passed the word for Bud to join us. Let's just hang on until he does. In the meantime, let's try and keep those beautiful blue eyes of yours tear-free."

"Oh… Sir… thank you… I don't know why you're so kind to me, when I've been so awful to you and Lieutenant Singer." Harriett's eyes threatened to flood again until Harm held up a warning finger.

"Uh-uh, Harriett, remember, tear-free eyes!"

"Yes, sir. I'll try."

They sat in silence for a minute or two longer until there was a knock on the doorjamb, looking around, Harm sighed with relief, "Come on in, Bud, grab a chair!"

Bud entered and sat down, cautiously and curiously looking between Harm and his evidently still-distressed wife, "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"It's Colonel Mackenzie," she said bitterly, "She asked me yesterday, if we'd look after her if she was released from hospital today, so of course I said yes, and I spent all yesterday evening getting a room ready for her, and then this morning when I was too busy to get to the hospital to pick her up, I spent ages arranging with the motor pool to have a car and a driver to collect from Bethesda and take her to our place and then again with Angela next door, arranging to keep an eye open for her, and to let her in when the car arrived, I even left a pan of soup on the stove for her so that she could heat it up and not have to wait for us to come home before she could eat, and.."

Harriett's words spewed out in an ever accelerating stream as a strong sense of ill-usage overtook her.

"Yes, we know all that sweetie, but what's happened to put you in such a taking?" a still none-the-wiser Bud demanded.

"What happened? What happened?" A now thoroughly angered Harriett demanded in turn, "I'll tell you what happened! The second she got into that car she turned around, pulled rank on the driver and told him to take her to her own apartment in Georgetown! Without a word of warning or without taking into consideration any plans that other people might have made on her behalf for her comfort, safety and well-being! Oooh! I've a good mind to call her doctor at Bethesda and tell him exactly what she's done!"

Harm allowed himself the luxury of a mental groan. On previous occasions when Mac had been _hors de combat_ and had insisted on being in her own apartment it had been him and then latterly Brumby who had performed the functions of nurse and orderly for her. Well, if this latest start was Mac's way of getting him to run around after her, she had better think again. It was not going to happen. It looked like the whole burden was going to fall on Harriett and by default on Bud. As he had remarked to Chegwidden way back when this whole freaking mess had erupted that Harriett was a loyal friend, and even though she had been angered by Mac's thoughtlessness, she would doubtless rally round and do her best to help the brunette. But with little A J at home it was most unfair of Mac to place this extra burden on her friends. Harm looked reflectively at the couple on the other side of his desk, as Bud sought to comfort his still-angry wide, maybe he and Loren could offer to baby-sit littl couple of times a week, just to give Harriett and Bud, but more especially Harriett, a break. He nearly opened his mouth to make the offer as the thought came to him, but then realised that although he loved looking after his Godson, perhaps he ought to talk to Loren about this before he committed her to acting as an unpaid child-minder!


	19. Chapter 19

**19**

**Tuesday 6 March 2001, 1900hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (062359ZMar01)**

Harm smiled as he looked up from the kitchen island where he was preparing dinner. He had always seen Loren as a totally squared-away naval lawyer, and the only time he had seen her working at home, she had indeed been sitting at her desk with all she needed arranged neatly around her. Now, however she was sitting cross-legged on his couch dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms, scowling ferociously, a cascade of legal pads, notes, books on case law and file folders sliding off the couch to form a haphazard pile on the floor.

Harm gave the seafood sauce a quick stir, and dumped the tagliatelli verde into the now-boiling water in the large pan and set the timer. Crossing to the living area, he leaned over the back of the couch and placed a kiss on the top of Loren's head, asking as he did so, "You want me to tidy up that… mess?" indicating the rough pile on the floor.

"Don't you dare touch that Harmon Rabb! I know exactly where everything is, so you just leave it alone!" Loren protested vigorously.

Harm first looked at her in disbelief, and then at the sheaf of paperwork on the floor, "Yeah… right…." He drawled sarcastically.

Loren followed the direction of his gaze, blushed and giggled guiltily, "Oh… well maybe not exactly where _everything_ is, but…" she started to say before she was interrupted by a knock on the apartment door.

Harm looked at his watch and raised his eyebrows as he asked her, "You… uh… expecting someone?"

An equally mystified Loren shook her head, but grinned and said light-heartedly, "And it better not be one of your floozies!"

"No, it won't be," Harm told her confidently with an assumed look of Angelic innocence on his face, "They all know better than to come calling when your car is parked outside!" However his expression changed dramatically when he opened the door and saw who the visitor was.

"Hello, Harm," said Theresa Coulter, "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice…?"

Harm was nonplussed, he valued Theresa as a friend and a valuable co-worker, an expert in her field, and under normal circumstances he would have been very happy to help her out. This time, however… he looked helplessly over his shoulder at Loren who was looking at him expectantly, and then back at Terri, where he saw the doubt that was beginning to gather in her eyes.

Loren's "Who is it, Harm?" mingled with Terri's "Oh… I should I have called first, I'm sorry..."

"No, no… Come on in Terri, Loren, it's Commander Coulter…" Harm said helplessly as Loren rose from the couch and Terri halted abruptly as the two blondes saw each other.

Terri was the first to recover, and from seeing Loren's outfit and feeling an indefinable sense that the smaller woman belonged here, she repeated, "I'm sorry, I should go…"

Loren, after feeling a fierce stab of jealousy-inspired doubt, made a quick recovery, "No, please don't go, Harm and I were about to eat. Please, stay and have dinner with us… unless you have already eaten?"

Terri still looked doubtful, and it took Harm's "Yes, please stay, Terri," to get her to nod and accept the invitation.

Harm turned back to the kitchen island where he quickly turned the oven on and put in half a dozen part-baked ciabatta rolls to finish off in order to help stretch the pasta and salad, before laying out a third place-setting, while Loren took Terri's jacket and hung it for her, before leading her over to the living areas and inviting her to sit.

Once Loren had seen that their guest was comfortable, Loren started to gather up the mess of papers and folders from the floor, and stacked them neatly on the coffee table.

Terri eyed Loren in a somewhat uncharacteristically nervous fashion, "Is that my father's case?" she asked tentatively.

Loren paused in what she was doing and looked up at the other woman, "Yes, it is."

Terri waited a few seconds before she asked, "Do you have the forensic report there, and if so, could I take another look at it…"

Loren thought for a few seconds, before she turned to Harm, "Harm… what do you think?"

Harm leaned on the island, "She's your witness Loren, and from what you've said you want her to dispute the forensics, how can she do that without studying the report?"

Loren nodded and passed the slim forensic report folder to Terri. Terri read it through again, and then took one of the two x-ray plates and held it up against the light, before commenting in a non committal tone, "H'mmm…"

"Something wrong?" Loren asked, in a mildly hopeful tone of voice.

"I don't know," Terri said slowly," it's kinda difficult to tell without a proper light box, but maybe…"

Harm who had been keeping an eye on both women as he served up interrupted them, "OK, ladies, come and get it, afore I throw it to the hogs!" he quipped.

They sat and Harm and Loren paused for a moment while Terri, according to her invariable habit, said a brief grace before they picked up their forks, and to the accompaniment of murmurs of appreciation from the two blondes, began to eat.

At the end of the meal, Harm topped up all three glasses with the grape juice he had served out of deference to the need that Terri had to drive back to her hotel, and asked, "Well, now the important stuff is out of the way, what was it you wanted to ask me Terri?"

Terri cast a troubled look at Loren and twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers before she answered, "I don't know if I can ask now…"

"Oh, why not?" Asked Harm in some surprise.

Terri managed a wry grin, "Well, it's about my father's re-trial, and seeing that Loren is a member of the defence team, I don't know if I should even broach the subject while she's here…"

"Terri, because I'm defence counsel, I get to know everything the prosecution has that's relevant to the case, so if you know anything that's applicable then I do need to know that too…" Loren gently reminded her.

"Oh. no, it's not any extra information, it's just…"

"Go on," Harm gently encouraged her.

"I've spent the last ten years hating my father for murdering my mother, and now Loren and Commander…?"

"Imes, Carolyn Imes," Loren supplied.

Terri acknowledged Loren's contribution with a half-smile and a nod as she continued, "Have suddenly showed me that the forensic report that was ninety per cent of the prosecution's case is at best, incomplete, and then when I just took a look at the x-rays that were part of that autopsy… I just don't know. The scientist in me is screaming that something is wrong, but the daughter is saying leave well enough alone… I just don't know if I can do what Loren and her co-counsel want. I don't know whether I can be impartial enough to re-work this case."

Harm looked gravely across the table at his friend, "Terri, if this wasn't your father's case, what would you do?"

"Oh… I'd be all over it, and furthermore, if it was a naval doctor who carried out the original post-mortem exam, I'd seriously be considering raising charges of dereliction of duty against him. That report is the shoddiest piece of forensic reporting I've ever seen…" Terri paused for a moment and then said somewhat bitterly, "I've just answered my own question, haven't I? At times I hate myself!"

Loren looked anxiously at Harm, who in turn reached out and gently laid his hand on Terri's wrist, "No you don't Terri. You knew what was right, and you knew you'd do it, you just needed to articulate it. You knew the answer to my question long before I asked it."

Terri sat with bowed head for a while in silence, and then raising her eyes to Harm's she sighed, "Yeah… I guess I did. Thanks Harm."

"No, no thanks needed," he asserted with a grin, "But what is needed is for everybody to move to the sitting area, while I clear this wreckage, and then coffee and ice-cream - not up to your home made version though, Loren!"

It was almost two hours later, when Terri had made her farewells and Harm and Loren had loaded the dishwasher, that they finally snuggled up together on the couch, Loren with her head tucked into the hollow of his shoulder, while his right hand casually twined her blonde hair between and around his fingers.

Harm contentedly breathed in the light floral perfume that he now associated peculiarly with Loren, and pressing a kiss onto the crown of her head, he said, "You know, the one thing I've never asked you, how do you feel about children?"

Loren froze for a second and then said doubtfully, "Well, in theory, yes, I'd want to have a family… but I'm scared, I'd be a bad mom. I didn't have the best example growing up."

Harm thought back over Loren's childhood as she'd told it to him, "Yeah… I can see where that could be… But you're not your mother, and I'm not your father, and having had a childhood like yours, don't tell me you couldn't do better, much better."

"Oh, God, I hope so!" but then as the thought struck her, she sat upright and gave him a light jab to the upper arm, "Anyway, this is all a bit sudden, isn't it Mr Rabb? After all we hardly know each other!

"H'mm? Oh yeah, I suppose it is he agreed," but frowning at her as he removed his arm from her shoulders and rubbed it in an exaggeratedly aggrieved manner with his other hand. "But I wasn't suggesting that we should start a family right away, but…"

"But what?" she inquired.

Harm shifted uncomfortably, "Well, Mac - Colonel MacKenzie - …"

"Yes, I know who Mac is, go on," Loren interrupted, a frown appearing on her forehead as Mac's name was mentioned.

"Well, she was discharged from hospital today, and although Harriett Simms had made all sorts of arrangements for her care at the Simms' place - which can't have been easy considering the size of that tiny apartment and that she's got Little A J to cope with as well - but the point is, Mac being Mac decided on going back to her own place, without even having the courtesy of telling Harriett what she was planning.

"Huh! Typical MacKenzie!" Loren snorted

Harm pulled a face at her as he continued, "Anyway, Mac's injuries are such that despite what she might think, she isn't capable of looking after herself yet, and it's a dime to a dollar that she will, in a day or two realise that she needs help, and it'll be Harriett she turns to."

"Not you?" Loren asked pointedly.

"She might ask, Loren, but that pitcher's gone to the well one time too many. No, my involvement, if any - and that depends on you - will be restricted to relieving some of the pressure on Harriett by looking after Little AJ for a couple of hours now and then. And before you say anything, remember, he is my Godson! But what I want to know is will you be OK with spending time with me and the little guy? I know you and Harriett aren't exactly best friends forever, but JAG does have a tradition of rallying around when somebody needs help."

Loren regarded him solemnly, he was right Harriett Simms was not one of her favourite people, but Harmon Rabb most definitely was, "Giving Harriett Simms a hand isn't exactly high on my list of priorities," she admitted, "but spending as much time with you as I can is. Besides, I can't blame Little A J for his parents! So, yeah I'm willing to give it a try, if that empty-headed Barbie thinks I'm good enough."

Harm wrapped his arm around her shoulder again, drawing her into his side, "Harriett's not that bad, really," he said. "Really" he repeated as he saw the skeptical expression on Loren's face.

"OK, I'll take your word for it," she conceded, "but can we change the subject, please? I've had a good, no, make that an excellent dinner, thank you very much, and I really don't want to bring on an attack of indigestion!"

"So… what do you want?" he replied with a smile.

Reaching up with her right hand she snagged the back of his neck and drew his head down so that she could capture his lips with hers.

"Is that your way of asking if you can stay the night?" he teased her lovingly.

"Well… I did bring my toothbrush," Loren confessed.

**Wednesday 7 March 2001, 0910hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (071410ZMar01)**

A J Chegwidden looked down at his notes and then looked in turn at Alan Mattoni, and Harmon Rabb, "Well Commanders, you seem to have hammered out a remarkably lenient pleas bargain for our bigamist?"

"Yes, sir, but Commander Mattoni still has to sell it to the judge, and I still need to get Staff Sergeant Hart's agreement."

"Still, it's remarkably lenient, Commander," Chegwidden said with more than just a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"Agrred, sir, it is. But part of the fault lies within the convening authority. He could have levied more than just a Conduct to the Prejudice, but he failed to do so. And then in mitigation of the offence, Staff Sergeant Hart's fitreps all mark him as outstanding marine, all the way from boot camp. The two women involved knew what they were doing, and collaborated whole-heartedly, and so, really sir, if there ever was a victimless crime, then this is it."

Alan Mattoni stepped in, taking up the cudgels, "Sir, with this sentence on the table, the Corps retains an excellent marine, who made one dumbass mistake over women, and I'll bet there isn't a man here who hasn't at one time or another been guilty of that, and furthermore, he'll be out of the brig in time for his children's births, sir."

"H'mmm… alright. Moving on. Commander Rabb, again." He peered over the top of his reading glasses at harm, "What's happening with the Lieutenant Blair case?"

"Interviewing him at fourteen hundred today today, sir!"

"Good. Let's get this one put to bed ASAP, it's dragged on far too long as it is!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm replied, accepting the implied rebuke.

Chegwidden sighed, and pushed his chair back from the table slightly, "Now… the Krennick clusterfuck… Some you may have noticed that Commander Krennick left the building under escort yesterday and has not appeared today. The next time Commander Krennick sets foot in this building will be when she faces an article 32 hearing resulting from her activities this past weekend. Commander Turner will prosecute, and Lieutenant Roberts you will have to defend, Commanders Rabb and Austin are ineligible, as is Lieutenant Singer, and Commander Imes has her hands full as first chair in the Coulter case! And how is that coming along, Commander?"

"We're moving on it sir. I have notification - informally - that Commander Coulter has agreed to review the forensic evidence in the case. I am seeing her this afternoon to get that agreement on record, and if she can confirm what we suspect is true, then I am confident that Captain Coulter's original verdict will be overturned."

"Won't the re-examination of the forensic report be compromised because his daughter is handling it?"

"No sir, I don't believe so. The now Commander Coulter's evidence in the original trial, although circumstantial was decidedly weighted in the prosecution's favour. Additionally, she is now regarded as the top forensic pathologist in the Navy, if not in the armed forces, and I believe her regard for her professional reputation and her personal integrity will allow her to re-examine the evidence objectively."

"Not to mentioned that an about face on her part from prosecution to defence will weigh heavily on the panel's scales?" Chegwidden asked sardonically.

"There are some who might think that," Carolyn Imes agreed, "But I couldn't possibly comment."

Chegwidden's "H'mph!" somehow contained all the cynicism of which he was capable, but he went on "As I have previously intimated, if the Coulter decision is reversed, then I fully expect that Commander Krennick will face additional charges of dereliction of duty, as well as having to face a professional conduct review…"

"Sir, if I may…?" Carolyn interrupted.

Chegwidden eyebrows rose in surprise at the almost unheard breach of protocol, as his junior interrupted him in an open meeting, nevertheless, "Yes, Commander, what's on your mind?"

"Sir, if the Coulter decision is reversed because the forensic report is thrown out, and which I take the liberty to remind you, is the major part of the prosecution's original case against captain Coulter, I will be recommending that charges of dereliction of duty also be raised again Commander Michael Philips, the original ME."

"A bit extreme, isn't it Commander?"

"No sir, not when, I quote, the shoddiest piece of forensic reporting I've ever seen, unquote, was the prime reason that an innocent man lost ten years in Leavenworth!"

Chegwidden grunted again, this time in half-amused exasperation, "Alright, counsellor; save it for the panel! Now, is there anything else I need to know about? No? Good!"

Amidst the clatter of his officers rising to their feet, the Admiral gathered up his notes, stood, and then left the room.

**Wednesday 7 March 2001, 1130hrs Local, Interview Room, Brig, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, VA (071630ZMar01)**

Harm and Loren sat at the table in the featureless interview room, waiting for the MPs to escort Staff Sergeant Hart into the room. The only things to be seen on the table were their covers and the triplicate copy of the plea bargain hammered out by Harm and Alan Mattoni.

They weren't kept waiting too long before the door open and Staff Sergeant Hart was escorted into the room. His uniform was still crisply pressed and his shoes spit-shone, but his overall appearance wasn't quite so squared away. A strip of band aid stretched across his forehead covering his right eyebrow and around almost to his ear, while a blackened left eye also showed a split in the middle of the bruising on his cheek bone.

Harm was on his feet instantly, and turned to the Marine MP Staff Sergeant escorting Hart. "What the hell happened here, Staff Sergeant?"

"Sir! According to the report, the prisoner had an altercation with another prisoner in the mess-hall yesterday evening, sir!"

"Is this correct, Hart?"

"Sir, yessir!"

"What sparked it off Staff Sergeant?"

Hart almost shrugged before he remembered that he was still at attention, "I guess word got out why I was in here sir, and some goof-off called the girls a pair of cheap whores…"

"So you punched him out?"

"No, sir. I only said that as he was so intimately acquainted with cheap whores his mother or sister must have been one."

Harm nodded, the tension leaving his body, yep, that would start a fight alright, and his intuition told him… "Staff Sergeant," he said, addressing the MP NCO again, "the other prisoner involved, what his story?"

"Regular guest, sir. Always the same thing: fighting. Funny thing is though; he generally picks on guys he knows he can beat. Guess he got it wrong this time."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he's back in his cell now, they released him from sick bay about two hours ago." The MP Staff Sergeant obviously wasn't too upset about the fate of the other participant in the brawl, so Harm merely shrugged and nodded.

"OK, Staff Sergeant, you can leave the prisoner with us now, and wait outside, we'll call if we need you." And as the MP hesitated Harm grinned, "I'm not about to call the ladies any names, so I figure we're pretty safe."

The MP NCO allowed himself a half-smile, "Aye, aye, sir!" before about-facing and leaving the room.

Harm sat down and indicating the chair on the opposite side of the table told Hart, "Take a seat Staff Sergeant," Harm waited until the NCO had seated himself before he continued. "I've hammered out a deal with the prosecutor that we think the judge and the convening authority will go for." He paused, waiting for Hart's reaction, but the NCO continued to look impassively at him.

Harm sighed, "Look Staff Sergeant, I… we've spoken to Sue-Ellen and Mary-Beth, and it's quite clear from their statements that you didn't attempt to deceive either one of them, and that in fact the two marriages were their idea. But what in God's name possessed you to go along with such a crazy scheme?"

"Have you ever been in love, sir?"

It took all Harm's will-power not to turn and smile at Loren, but he fought down his instincts and contented himself with sighing, "Yes, Staff Sergeant, I have. And I've done some pretty dumb things when it comes to women… but this… insanity is way beyond anything I might have done!"

"Yessir!"

"Right," Harm acknowledged dryly, "keeping in mind that you do not seem to have been the instigator of your… unusual domestic arrangements, the offer on the table is that you stay in the Corps, are reduced to E-4 and serve four months confinement here in the Quantico brig, rather than going to Leavenworth. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yessir!"

"And do you accept those terms?"

"Sir, what happens to the girls?"

"Well, you lose your base housing, of that I'm pretty certain. But family services will do all they can to help find your legal wife, that is Mary-Beth, suitable accommodation off-base, once she's settled in it is up to her whether she asks her sister to stay with her or not. The military will probably have no further interest in them, unless you make another try at obtaining dependant ID for Sue-Ellen, and I strongly advise you against making that attempt! Now, once you are out of confinement, I also advise you not to go around telling the world that you have two wives. The military might not care - although I wouldn't bet on that, nor on being treated so leniently next time - but the civilian authorities will almost certainly take exception. Do you understand that?"

"Yessir."

"Now are you willing to accept these terms?"

"Sir, I appreciate what you're trying to do for us, but losing two steps is pretty hard, with the babies coming an' all… an E-4's pay is going to get stretched pretty thin."

Loren looked apologetically at Harm as she interrupted. "Staff Sergeant," she began in acid tones, "You don't seem to realise that you could have been given a Dishonourable Discharge, loss of all benefits, reduction in rank to E-1 and two years in Leavenworth - with the possibility of those two years being at hard labour! You are being made a very generous offer. And if you'll take my advice, you'll grab it with both hands and thank your Guardian Angel for the chance!"

Hart turned to Harm, "Is the Lieutenant on the level, sir?"

Harm nodded, "Yes, Staff Sergeant, straight and level."

Hart thought for a moment or two, "Four months… that means I'd be out when the babies are born, right?"

"If you sign that plea agreement here and now Staff Sergeant, unless something goes wrong with either Mary-Beth or Sue Ellen's pregnancies, then I guarantee you'll be out when the babies get here!" Harm assured him.

"OK, sir. Where do I sign?"

The necessary signatures obtained, Harm carefully placed the plea bargain back in his brief-case and called in the MP to take Hart back to his cell, while he and Loren made their own way along the hallway to the brig C, where they handed in their visitor badges and signed out in the register. Harm had just laid his hand on the door handle, when he was hailed from behind. Turning he saw that the MP who had been Hart's escort was striding along the hallway towards him.

"Staff Sergeant?"

"Sir, ma'am, can you spare a minute?"

"What's your problem, Staff Sergeant?" Harm asked the now obviously nervous NCO.

"I'll walk you out to your car, sir," was the oblique reply.

Harm quirking an eyebrow, exchanged a look with Loren and said, "That's very obliging of you Staff Sergeant, thank you."

Walking across to the parking lot, the Staff Sergeant, Del Rio, by his name tag, said, "The other guy, sir, the one I said was a regular in the brig?"

"Yes?"

"Well, sir, he's been in the brig at least six times that I know of since I've been here, and that's only just over a year sir. Not that such things ain't unusual, Marines being what we are, an' all. But what is unusual sir, ma'am, is that he's still an E-5, never been anything higher, and never been busted down."

"What are you trying to say Staff Sergeant?" Harm asked, his interest piqued.

"I don't really know sir, it's just that it's too damn' strange… an' recently I picked up some scuttlebutt that sort of suggested that the Sergeant Major at MCCDC was using him as a sort of unofficial enforcer, sir," the younger man finished miserably, "And, sir, ma'am, you might want to try and get a look at the EMD squad."

"Why is that Staff Sergeant?"

"Sir, at the last count nineteen out of twenty-three individuals in that squad were women sir. All the way from E-2 up to and including E-5."

Harm stopped and looked straightly at the MP NCO. EMD - extra military duties - were a form of 'motivating' - in other words punishing - individuals whose performance fell short of acceptable standards. But for so high a proportion of personnel on EMD to be women was disturbing, and even more so when E-5s were being punished by that means. Apart from anything else, such treatment undermined their authority, making it harder for them to perform to acceptable standards, and putting them at risk of incurring even more EMD, but for it to be known that NCOs were receiving EMD could only mean that the Commanding Officer of the unit was not only aware of what was happening, but that he was condoning it.

"Staff Sergeant, do you have any idea what you're suggesting?"

To his credit Staff Sergeant Del Rio did not shrink. He came to attention and replied, "Sir, Yessir! The command in this unit is victimizing women marines, sir!"

Harm looked at him seeking for any hint that Del Rio had some sort of ulterior motive. "Are you married Staff Sergeant?"

"No, sir!"

"A girlfriend, perhaps?"

"Sir, yessir. She's a Technical Sergeant in the Air Force based up at Andrews, sir!"

"You maybe got a sister or a cousin in the Corps, maybe doing EMD?"

"Sir, nossir! I am the only member of my family in the Corps, sir, and I am not personally acquainted with any of the personnel on the current EMD squad, sir!"

"Alright, Staff Sergeant, thank you, dismissed!"

Del Rio replied crisply, "Aye, aye, sir!" saluted and waited for Harm to return his salute before making a crisp about face and returning to the brig.

Loren was silent as they returned to the JAG Motor Pool car and got in, and she remained silent until she realised that they were making straight for the VCP at the base main entrance.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"Back to Falls Church," Harm said levelly.

"But what about the allegations of mistreatment of female marines…" she began hotly.

"Loren, that's all they are, allegations. If we went marching into the CO's office demanding to see proof of why those personnel were on EMD, you can bet your boots that that each of them would have an inch-thick file showing exactly how, when, where and how many times they screwed up. We'd have gotten absolutely nowhere and wouldn't make the women's lives any easier - in fact we might even make things worse for them. No, we need to speak to the Admiral about this. Because Loren, what we have just seen is the warning tape around a very nasty minefield!"

**Wednesday 7 March 2001, 1220hrs Local, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (071720ZMar01)**

Carolyn Imes looked up as Theresa Coulter knocked on her office doorjamb. Standing she smiled in welcome and said, "Come on in Commander, take a seat."

"Thank you." Theresa sat as she'd been invited and nervously played with the brim of her cover which she held in her lap. Carolyn gave her a minute to compose herself and then asked gently, "Have you decided?"

Terri nodded, "I don't like it, but I'll do it. I went to see Harm last night…"

Carolyn looked up in quick alarm, but Terri merely smiled, and though the smile and her voice had a touch of melancholy, she said, "Oh, no, don't worry, your Lieutenant, Loren, was there and it was obvious that she belonged. I thought I was over my crush on Harm, but…" she shrugged, "Anyway, I won't put any moves on him, and it's obvious that he's head over heels about her. Oh, well, another chance missed… I should have said something after the Black Horse case…" she sighed sadly.

Carolyn smiled sympathetically; she was by no means immune to Harm's attractions either. "A what if, sigh?" she asked.

Terri looked keenly at her across the desk, "You too, huh?"

Carolyn just nodded before she said, "Right, what do you want and/or need if you're going to tear this autopsy report to shreds?"

"If possible, the original ME's original notes, which might give me a little more information, if not then, the next step is one I really don't want to contemplate right now…"

"And that is?"

"Exhumation." Terri said bleakly.

Carolyn winced. No matter how professional Theresa Coulter might appear to be, if the worst came to the worst, she would have to carry out an autopsy on the ten year old remains of her own mother. "Well, let's hope it won't come to that. Is there anything that we can do to avoid having to take that step?"

Terri nodded, "I noticed in the file that there was no mention of an interview with my ex-husband. He blamed my mother for our divorce, and him not getting a job he wanted, so that might have given him motive, but whether or not he had the opportunity…"

"OK," Carolyn said, "You've obviously reverted to your maiden name, what's his?"

"Chaddick, Rory Chaddick"

"Uh-huh, do you know where he is these days?"

Terri shrugged, "The last I heard of him was about three years ago, she tore a page out of her notebook and swiftly wrote on it. "That was his address, then."

Carolyn nodded,. "It's not too far out of town; we should be able to get out there to talk to him."

"If he doesn't run," Terri said bitterly, "that's what he's good at, running away."

"Well, we'll just have to see that he doesn't get the opportunity. What about the other witness, the one who said he saw your father leave the house shortly before your mom's time of death. Did you know him?"

"Captain French?" Terri queried, and in reply to Carolyn's nod she said thoughtfully, "Know him? Not really, I was at college when he moved into the Captain's row. I'd seen him when I was home on vacation, but as an ROTC Middie, I wasn't really at ease around senior officers, so no, not really. Besides, as I recall, he and dad weren't exactly friends."

"Why was that, do you know?"

"No, I never got to hear about why they didn't like each other, but I always got the feeling that the bad blood went back years…"

Carolyn shook her head in despair, "None of this was in the transcript of the original trial, nor in either the prosecution or defence notes. These sorts of background questions should have been asked at the interview stage, even if they weren't brought up during witness testimony. What the hell was she thinking?"

"Who?" Terri asked.

"The original defence attorney. Loren - Lieutenant Singer - spotted enough anomalies in the evidence, the scanty forensic report and the circumstantial nature of much of the rest of the evidence, but she - we - had no idea of any of this. Pre-existing bad-blood, especially when not disclosed, goes a hell of a way to discrediting Captain French's testimony. Oh, I'm not saying he was deliberately lying, Terri, but it should seem that he might have had an axe to grind and unconsciously let that colour his evidence."

Carolyn contemplated the woman sitting opposite her; it was evident to her that Terri was finding this whole conversation difficult. "Look, why don't you go back to your hotel, Terri, I'll get onto Bethesda and find out if the original notes are still somewhere on file, and I'll see about getting you lab privileges there, OK?" she smiled encouragingly.

Terri stood, smoothing the creases in her uniform skirt, "Yes, I'll do that. Thank you Commander."

"That's Carolyn, please - at least until we're on the stand!"

Watching Theresa Coulter leave her office and cross the bull pen, Carolyn turned her attention back to the file, what a mess this whole case was turning into. And it was all Loren Singer's damn' fault! She breathed deeply. No it wasn't Loren's fault; it was Alison Goddam Krennick's fault! If it comes to a trial for her incompetence, then please let me stay as prosecuting counsel, and then God have mercy on her, 'cause I shan't!"

**Wednesday 7 March 2001, 1400hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (071900ZMar01)**

"Come in Lieutenant," Harm stood as his visitor hovered in the doorway. "Come, take a seat, relax."

Lieutenant Blair did as he was bid, but he version of relaxed was not what Harm had had in mind, the younger officer was noticeably tense and nervous, his fingers drumming noiselessly on his thigh and his eyes constantly on the move, scanning, searching, as if for hidden dangers.

Harm noted the symptoms, and nodded thoughtfully, he'd try an experiment… "Would you care for a coffee, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, thank you sir!" H'mm caffeine was probably the last thing he needed, Harm told himself, but what was revealing was the almost parade ground style in which he'd responded to the offer. Harm stood and moving to the office door, he waylaid a passing petty officer, "Yeoman Two? Would you be so kind as to bring two cups of coffee to my office please? Uh… along with creamer and some sugar? Thank you."

He accompanied his request with a smile which although falling far short of the full-power version left the young Yeoman almost breathless, and with a tide of pink rising in her cheeks.

Harm chatted on inconsequential matters to Lieutenant Blair until the arrival of the coffee, and as the two of them drank he gradually wore around to the subject of Blair's last mission as a RIO and the aftermath of that mission.

Blair's face darkened as his nerve-driven displacement activities increased in both frequency and intensity, his fingers drumming ever more rapidly on his thigh and his eyes never still, never engaging with Harm's, as he continued to speak, "I never saw Andy's - my pilot's - chute after I punched out, but I saw the explosion as the bird hit, so I don't if Andy got out…" His voice nearly broke and his face worked as he tried to get his emotions back under control. I activated my beacon and started walking West, trying to get to the ocean… I figured if I could get to the ocean then everything would be OK, I could get hold of a boat… or something.

"That didn't work… I'd been walking two nights, holing up during the day and then I walked around a curve in some sort of path, and there they were, about twenty of them, all armed, mostly with AK 47's. They held at me at gunpoint while they searched me, took my weapon, and my beacon. A couple of them spoke English… well sort of… they told me that they were Bosniak fighters, fighting against Serb aggression, that they were friends of the US and that I was safe with them, and that they'd get me back to my own people. The leader of the group was a big guy they called 'Kovač' - the 'Blacksmith'.

For the first couple of days everything was fine, though I noticed at night that we seemed to be heading more to the North than due West, when I asked where we were going I was told that there was a large Serb force to the West, and that we were going to have circle around it. Anyway, that night we came to a village, the leader, The Blacksmith, started hollering, and this one old guy kept shaking his head I guess he just kept saying 'no', anyway I was pushed forward and the Blacksmith he kept pointing at me, and I could hear say 'America', and he kept saying it. Then this old guy, he said something and all the villagers cam and they handed over food, and bottles of drink, then they built a fire in the middle of the village and slaughtered a sheep, or maybe it was a goat, anyway, we stayed there for a day or two, and then we headed on out again. This time we seemed to be heading almost North, and when I asked I was told again, 'Serbians'. Then we came to another village, where there was a repeat performance, except that night, a young kid crept over to where I was sitting, he spoke pretty good English - told me he'd learned it at school and watching Star Trek on TV, and he asked me if it was true what Kovač had said, that I was a high ranking American Officer, come to Bosnia to see where the American army could best help. I told him that I was a navy flier who had been forced to eject and that as far as I knew, our Army wasn't coming.

"Seems this kid must have told somebody else in the village, because the next thing I knew Kovač and some of the older guys got into an argument, and... and... then he just let fly with his AK47 and shot them right then and there. The next thing, his men rounded up all the villagers, and except for six young women, they lined them up against the wall of one of the houses... and they killed them all... except the women... two of them couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. They dragged the women into one of the houses... and then the screaming began. It went on for hours, then it stopped, there were six or seven more gun-shots then it was all quiet. I... I was a coward, sir... I didn't want to die like that, so I kept my mouth shut." Blair's eyes flooded with tears, and with an impatient swipe of his hand he tried to brush them away.

"Sir the village wasn't an 'enemy' village, it was one of their own. It seems that those bastards were just bandits taking advantage of the situation."

"The next night, as soon as I thought they were asleep I tried to sneak off, but they came after me and they caught me. They beat the crap out of me, and then they started wrapping my wrists with wire and keeping a guard posted near me. I stopped being a guest and became their prisoner, except every time we got to a village I was trotted out as a proof that these bastards were fighting with US support, but needed supplies. And I was warned that if I opened my mouth in any of the villages, then the entire village would be murdered. There were other killings and rapes while I was there, but nothing like the scale of that first village.

"Anyway, sir, that's how we spent the summer and Autumn. Come winter, they just moved in on a village and took it over, cut the 'phone lines, and helped themselves to whatever the villagers had - including their womenfolk, and if anyone argued, then it was a quick killing. After a couple of 'examples' were made, the villagers mostly got the message and did as they were told. Then come spring we were up and on the move again. And that's they way it went on."

"And you never questioned what these people were doing?" Harm queried.

"Any doubts I had about what they were doing ended early that first summer, when we nearly ran into some Serbian militia. I'd expected that Kovač and his men would at least make a show of fighting the enemy, but they just melted into the brush and then ran as far and as fast as they could, dragging me with them. And I'll be honest, sir, I didn't reckon much to my chances of survival if the Serbs did get hold of me, so I ran too. But I kept watching their routine, looking for an edge, and they were pretty sloppy; every chance they got they'd drink the local spirits, some kind of peach brandy, I think. Anyway a couple of times even my guards got drunk, so I made a couple more attempts to escape, and each time I was brought back and had the crap kicked out of me, until I was told that if I made any more attempts they'd kill me. So I waited for a better chance. Then one day I saw a sign that said the Croatian border was only a couple of klicks away, so I made one more attempt, and got lucky, I walked straight into the arms of an Croatian border patrol, and they got me back to our people in Zagreb."

Harm nodded his understanding and then asked, "Can you give me your word that while you were with this Kovaks and his men that you never participated in any unlawful killings or any rapes?"

"Sir, no... I would never..."

"Alright, Lieutenant. Is there anyone who might be in a position to corroborate your story?"

"Stateside, sir? I doubt it. But the local authorities - what's left of them over there - must surely know something about Kovač and his thugs."

Harm nodded and made a note on a legal pad. "Thank you for coming in, Lieutenant. If your story holds up I think we might even be able to dispense with an Article 32, let alone a court-martial, but..." he shrugged and stood, extending his hand to the other officer, "You'll be hearing from us, very shortly, I hope..."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Harm watched as the Lieutenant left his office and then went to his office doorway, his eyes searching until he found who he was looking for, "Lieutenant Roberts?"

"Sir?" Bud replied turning his attention from whatever Harriett Simms was showing him.

"Can you spare me a moment, Lieutenant?"

Harm waited until Bud had crossed the bull pen and was within reach of a normal conversational voice before saying, "Bud, can you do a search for me. Look for any reports of 'war crimes' in the North East area of Bosnia in the week following the shoot down of Lieutenant's Phillips and Blair of VF-941."

Bud looked doubtful, "Those are pretty wide parameters, sir…"

Harm grimaced, "Yeah I know Bud, but that's all I've got to go on…"

**Wednesday 7 March 2001, 1612hrs Local, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, DC (072112ZMar01)**

Mac looked at the remains of the jar of pasta sauce splattered all over her kitchen area floor and vented with a strangled 'Gaaargh!" the nearest she could manage, with her jaws wired shut, to a full-throated scream. Nothing it seemed had gone right for her since Corporal Hewitt had carried her go-bag from the car to her apartment door.

First the damn' cast on her arm had snagged and ripped the seam on her precious cashmere sweater - and who the hell had been dumb enough to bring that to Bethesda as suitable for her to wear home? And she wasn't even going to try and repeat the nightmare that had been her attempt at taking a much longed for bath! The cast had had to be protected of course, and she had managed - eventually - to cut down a black trash bag so it was short enough, but then had discovered a total absence of elastic bands with which to secure it, and tying a strip of the discarded portion of the bag around the upper end of it had been damn frustrating, not mention almost ineffective, as water had leaked in anyway, and now it seemed she was looking at a trip back to the hospital to have her cast replaced.

But that hadn't been the worst part, oh no... Thank God there had been no-one to witness the utter humiliation of that bath! The water temperature had been perfect, she had added just the right amount of bath salts to whip up a rich creamy sudsy layer on top of the water, and then, oh the bliss as she'd carefully slid into the water, letting gravity take the strain as her body disappeared into bubble-bath heaven. And then the glorious comfort of the long, hot soak, until the water started to cool and the bubbles began to fade. How come it was so damn' difficult getting out of the bath with only one usable hand? Four times, she had attempted to stand to step out of the tub, and four times she had been unable to gain enough purchase. In the end, she'd had to pull the plug and let the water drain, before she'd been able to kneel and then slither out of the tub on her stomach, ending in a crumpled and grubby heap on the floor, having bumped her plaster cast covered arm on both the edge of the tub and the floor, and then having banged her still painful shoulder on the floor when gravity had overtaken her efforts at a controlled landing!

All the bath had achieved was to shorten the fuse on her temper and drive her into the shower to swill off any residue she might have collected with her undignified landing on the bathroom floor. Oh yeah, her attempt at dinner had been a great success too. The plastic container of beef tea she'd had in the fridge had developed more culture than had been seen since Fleming discovered penicillin, and there was nothing in the freezer the she could de-frost cook and then dump in the blender. Even the ice cream would have to be allowed to melt and then sucked up through a straw. The lack of an alternative had led to her attempt to screw the top off a jar of pasta sauce to heat up as a change from chicken soup. Crap! She'd have to go to the market, but not tonight, thank you very much. Situations like the one she was in now were the reason for take-outs!

Mac picked up the 'phone and dialled a familiar number, before remembering that she couldn't even 'phone for a take-out until people could understand what she was saying. Hanging up before the phone at Ho's House of Noodles could be answered she almost wept with frustration as she dialled a different number, but again she hung up, this time before she had finished dialling. She would not cave in at the first set-back and ask for help from Harriett. She was a marine, dammit! And the first thing she had learned about being a marine was that sometimes you just had to suck it up!

A missed meal wasn't too bad; she'd gone without meals before. She could make some tea, and then in the morning she'd hit the grocery store; buy some of those soups in cartons that just needed a pair of scissors to open, and some of those powdered flavourings to add to milk - especially chocolate, and some milk to go with them, oh and buy some frozen vegetables, peas or carrots, stuff that she could dump into the blender, and maybe some tomato juice...

**Wednesday 7 March 2001, 1740hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (072240ZMar01)**

"Hullo, sailor," came in a husky whisper from the doorway, jerking Harm's head up from the notes he was compiling on the Blair case.

"Hullo, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?" he asked, his tone of voice loading his words with innuendo.

"Oh I was just wondering if the handsome sailor would like to show the lonely girl a good time this evening… Or maybe the handsome sailor was ready to be shown a very good time by the lonely girl." She smiled and shrugged, "It doesn't really matter to me," she grinned, "as long as…"

"A very good time is had by all?" he interrupted with a grin.

"Oh, yes," she agreed, "but it has to be a very good time!"

"OK, your place or mine?"

"Well, your bed is bigger, but mine's cosier… so do you feel like being adventurous or cosy tonight?"

"H'mm… adventurous… so I take it that it's my place?"

"Yep"

"Right… Italian, Thai, Indian or Chinese?"

"Well, seeing as it's your place… Indian."

"OK… but why," he asked with a puzzled frown, "does whether it's my place or not make a difference to the menu?"

She gave him a pitying look, "Harm, do you really think that I'll tolerate my apartment smelling of curry for days on end before the smell finally dissipates?"

"H'mmm… good point… a tad selfish maybe, but still a good point…"

"And the best thing is, with the two apartments, we can spend those days until the smell of the curry is gone in being cosy."

"That's a very good argument, Lieutenant… Has anyone ever suggested that you might be peculiarly well suited to a career in law?"

"I do believe one or two folk might have mentioned that as a possible career path for me."

"H'mmm. I see." He eyed her thoughtfully, "Got your go-bag in the car?"

"Yeah, but I'm going to have to swing by my place, get changed and pick up a fresh uniform for the morning."

"OK. Get going now, and I'll be out of here in figures fifteen, and I'll meet you back at my place. Mind, if you can't see the Lexus in the alley, don't stop, just take a trip or two around the block until I get there. I don't want you sitting still, parked up on your own around there. Capish?"

"Yeah, I got it," she said casting her eyes heavenwards, "Honestly Harm, I'm a big girl and I can…"

"Loren, don't say that, please." He interrupted her; all trace of the bantering good humour they had been enjoying now vanished from his face. "Don't ever say that. In fact I don't even want you thinking it. Thinking like that can get you into a lot of trouble, some of it might even be something you can't handle," he said getting out of his chair and moving towards her. Stopping just outside her personal space, he said softly, "And if anything bad happened to you again, I don't think I could bear it. I love you far too much to ever see you hurt." Even as he spoke a shiver ran up his spine as remembered his thoughts of just a few days ago as he had sat by Mac's bed, wondering how he'd react if it had been Loren lying there.

Loren was about to protest that his alpha-male protective instincts were going into overdrive when she read the anxiety and the worry, no it was more than that, the fear that was in his eyes as he repeated his confession of love for her. Instead, she smiled up at him, and whispered, "Alright, I'll do it; if I get there before you do, I'll drive around in circles until you get there." She saw the doubt in his eyes and whispered again, "I promise."

His "Thank you," was just as soft.

Satisfied, he stepped back and his "Goodnight, Lieutenant." was sufficiently formal and businesslike to cause Admiral Chegwidden, whose attention, as he had been about to quit his own office, had been drawn to the scene at Rabb's office door, to nod in approval. He had barely taken three steps across the bull pen however, when Rabb's voice stopped him.

"Sir, do you have a minute or three? When Lieutenant Singer and I were at Quantico earlier, we heard some allegations that I believe need investigating…"

Chegwidden sighed, and eyed his subordinate with disfavour, but there was no help for it, despite his wish to get home in time for the telecast of the opening game of the pre-season. "I suppose you'd best step in to my office, Commander…"


	20. Chapter 20

**20**

**Thursday 8 March 2001, 0530hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC (081030ZMar01)**

Harm grunted as the buzzing of his alarm clock dragged him awake, and anxious that it shouldn't disturb Loren he quickly reached over and stopped the buzzer before he slid out of bed. Donning a singlet, shorts and sneakers, he quietly let himself out of the apartment and jogged the couple of blocks to the Gallaudet University Campus where, now warmed up, he stretched his legs into a run for the three laps that would give him five and a half miles. Easing down to a jog again as he reach Florida and Sixth NE at the end of his third lap, he jogged on the spot waiting for the lights to change before using the jog home as a cool down.

Re-entering the apartment he immediately heard the sound of running water, and with a smile he strolled into the bathroom, where Loren only became aware of his presence when the cooler air of the bathroom flooded into the shower staff as he opened the door and stepped in.

"Harm! What are you doing?" she protested, not sure whether she was joking or not.

"Me? I'm taking a shower. I always have a shower when I've been running!" he explained in a serious tone.

"But… but you can't shower with me!" she protested trying to cover herself with her hands.

"Why not? Showering together not only saves water, it can also be a whole lot of fun!" He leered exaggeratedly, and rapidly raised and lowered his eyebrows, Groucho Marx style.

At Loren's still doubtful look, he smiled more softly, and placed his hands on her shoulder and gently turned her around so that her back was to him. Dropping a kiss onto the soft skin of her shoulder where it merged into her neck, he said, "Just try this…" and squeezing a splash of her shower gel onto a sponge he began lathering her back, rubbing the sponge in circles until he felt the tension leave her body and heard a soft sigh. Smiling to himself, he took the shower nozzle started to rinse her back, and as he was doing so something caught his eye, the water had temporarily changed the texture of her skin and now he could see a myriad of faint white lines criss-crossing her back. Tracing one of them gently with a finger, he said softly, "Oh my God, Loren are these…?"

"Yeah," she said in a matter of fact tone and shrugging her shoulders, "belt marks. So what? I told you about my dad."

"Yeah… but… I never thought that he'd hit you so hard…" He gulped fighting down his rage, "Loren, I swear that nobody is ever going to hurt you again!"

Loren heard and felt the sincerity in his voice and her modesty forgotten turned to face him, her hand resting on his hip bones, "I know, " she acknowledged, "I know you, you'll try and protect from everything, like last night, telling me not to park up if you weren't home.. I know you mean it for the best, but Harm, you mustn't smother me. Remember, I told you, don't turn into me… please."

Harm nodded, I'll try… but it's not going to be easy for me…"

"I know that too!" she told him as she stood on tip-toes and reaching up to kiss him gently on the lips.

Harm's hands moved almost of their volition to her waist and he leaned into her deepening the kiss, losing himself in the feel, smell and taste of her, his pulse rate quickening as she moaned gently into his mouth.

Loren allowed herself to become lost in the kiss, loving the taste of him on her lips and tongue, loving the feel of his hands on her, her hands on him, loving their closeness, loving him. Then sanity intervened and with a wrench that she felt gut-deep, she broke the kiss, gasping, "Oh… Harm… no! I am not going to be late two days in one week. I'm sure that Gunny suspects something already!"

Harm fought down his disappointment, and debated whether to tell her that Gunny was way across the line from suspicion and was into the Dead Certain For Sure Zone, but settled for, "We will continue this…ah… discussion later."

"Oh, yes," Loren breathed as she backed out of the shower and swallowing hard regained use of her voice, "… we most certainly will!"

**Thursday 8 March 2001, 0700hrs Local, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, DC (081200ZMar01)**

Mac swore viciously although silently to herself as once again her sore ribs twinged causing her to drop her panty-hose onto the floor and press her hand against the source of the pain. Glaring at the abandoned hosiery she gritted her teeth, 'one more try,' she promised herself, 'I am not going to be beaten by a length of limp nylon!' She had eventually won the battle of the bra by putting it on back to front and then twisting it around her torso, although then getting her plastered arm through the strap had caused some unpleasant and uncomfortable sensations which she refused to dignify by calling them pain, but ten minutes later Mac had resigned herself to having cold legs for her visit to the store. The skirt she could manage but with only one functioning arm pants, and panty-hose were impossible to cope with, and it had been quite a struggle just to get into her panties. But that struggle had been an absolute necessity; there was no way ever that she would even consider going commando!

By now her stomach was growling, hastily swallowing her cup of now-tepid tea Mac grabbed her purse and a tote-bag and with her right arm in the sleeve she struggled with the buttons but with a gasp of triumph she finally fastened her coat across her left arm and with a determined glint in her eye headed for the stairs down to street level.

**Thursday 8 March 2001, 0910hrs Local, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (081410ZMar01)**

"Commander Imes… The Coulter re-trial… what if any progress there?"

"Going smoothly, sir," Carolyn smiled, "Commander Coulter has agreed to re-examine the forensic evidence, and has also supplied us with the name and a possible motive for a second suspect."

Chegwidden frowned, "I don't recall anything from the case about a possible second suspect?"

"No, sir. Apparently the question was never asked. The second possible suspect is the present Commander Coulter's ex-husband. Apparently there was bad blood between him and the victim, in that he blamed her for the failure of the marriage.

"Was he ever interviewed?" Chegwidden asked.

"If he was, there's no record of it anywhere in the file. Lieutenant Singer and I plan to visit his last known address this afternoon, and try and get some sort of statement from him.

"Good!" Chegwidden paused for a moment, "Is there anything else we need to iron out?"

"Yes, sir. It also appears that the other witness a Captain French, on whom the prosecution relied to place Captain Coulter at the scene, was an old acquaintance of his, and that there was some degree of ill-feeling between Captains Coulter and French."

Chegwidden emitted what could only be described as a growl, "Again if I remember aright, there was nothing in the file about a prior connection between French and Coulter."

"Nossir!"

"H'mph" he snorted, "Let me guess - the question was never asked!"

"No sir."

"So… the only evidence tying Coulter to the scene of the crime is that he was seen leaving the house, by Captain French, some six hours before the ME calculated the time of death."

"Yes, sir, and we intend to re-interview Captain French too, sir. But, there was also Captain Coulter's record of domestic violence, sir, and that his wife had thrown him out of the house some two days previous to her death."

Chegwidden raised his eyebrows, "And that's it? The sum total of the evidence was a sloppy autopsy report and circumstantial evidence from a neighbour who had a history with the accused, and background testimony from the accused's daughter, who had previously witnessed domestic abuse?"

"Pretty much, sir."

"How the hell did the panel convict? Better question, how the hell did it ever go to trial?"

A silence greeted his last question, but Harm remembered the case, or more accurately he remembered reading the case file shortly after he had been assigned to JAG. The then JAG, Admiral Brovo had been on leave and his deputy, Commander Ted Lindsey, had been in charge, and with his usual lack of legal acumen had decided that there was a case to answer and had pushed for an early trial. Interestingly enough, there had been no Article 32 hearing, and that can only have been because the accused had waived his rights to that hearing, and in Harm's experience that usually pointed to the accused's innocence… or his belief that there was insufficient evidence to convict.

All in all this had been was still proving to be a fascinating case. Almost fascinating enough to make him wish you hadn't recused himself. Almost.

Harm was snapped back to the here and now by the Admiral's voice, "Commander Rabb?" with enough snap in it to indicate that this wasn't the first time that Chegwidden had addressed him.

"Sorry, sir, I was just thinking back over the original Coulter case…"

"And?" The Admiral's voice definitely showed signs of his irritation, so Harm decided to forget history and concentrate on the here and now.

"Nothing pertinent, sir." He said apologetically.

"Well then, Mr Rabb, if you would care to stop profitless wool-gathering, perhaps you might like to bring us up to speed on the Blair case?" Chegwidden's voice dripped sarcasm from every syllable.

"Yes, sir!" Harm opened the file in front of him and swiftly ran down his notes. "Lieutenant Blair's story of co-operation with his captors in order to survive may well be the truth. The medical report from the surgeons who treated him, first on the _Coral Sea_ and then at Ramstein, show that his wrists had open, infected wounds as well as evidence of scarring consistent with having spent long periods bound with wire. In fact, his left wrist was so badly infected that at one point the medicos were considering amputation. He was also some forty pounds underweight, and his overall physical condition showed evidence of long-term malnutrition, including some of the symptoms of scurvy."

"Go on," Chegwidden ordered, his eyebrows now raised in mild surprise.

"The symptoms included shrinking gums, with loosened teeth, the inability of wounds to heal, and even the breaking open of old wounds. X-rays also showed old fractures of ribs and collar bones, as well as a cheek bone. However, while these indicators are absent from his previous flight physicals, there is nothing about them that definitely pointed to them having been deliberately inflicted as opposed to say, injuries sustained while ejecting and parachuting into rough, wooded and mountainous terrain."

"So, you believe his story then, Commander?"

"I am inclined to sir, but I would rather wait for some information from in-country to corroborate Lieutenant Blair's statement."

"Oh?"

"Yes, sir. If this Kovac character is as big and predatory a thug as Blair claims, then he must be known, by reputation at least, to the Bosnian authorities, and if we can correlate Blair's testimony with known incidents attributed to this bandit, then I would be very happy to recommend to the convening authority that no charges be raised against the Lieutenant."

"How do you expect to find this… corroboration?"

"I've asked Lieutenant Roberts to check for reports of bandit activity in the area where Blair's Tomcat went down, around the time that it was lost, and then if there such report to try and get hold of someone in authority in Bosnia and find confirmation that it was the bandits that Blair claims were holding him. With his medical report sir, that should be enough to clear him."

Chegwidden grunted, "Very well. Lieutenant Roberts, you'll need to expedite these enquiries," he slid a folder across the table towards Bud, "Complaints from 1 Marine Division, it seems that there is a degree of discontent amongst our green brethren that too many of them are coming home either in caskets or via Ramstein because of body armour failures. We need to find out where the problem is, and get it resolved. That's your job. Find out if the specifications are sufficiently stringent to produce a piece of equipment that is fit for purpose, and if they are, then find out why there are so many instances of equipment failure."

Chegwidden look at his notes and lifting his head peered down the table at Meg, "Commander Austin, I'll see you in my office immediately after this staff call!"

Meg looked up startled, as she searched her conscience; it felt clear enough, and she could think of no possible reason she should be summoned for another reaming out in private, but…"Aye, aye, sir!"

Harm turned towards his former partner, which had the beneficial side effect of turning his head away from the Admiral, as he quirked an eyebrow at and gave an encouraging grin to Meg.

In the meantime, Chegwidden was still speaking, "Commander Turner, are you ready to go to an Article 32 on the Conduct unbecoming charge?"

It took Sturgis Turner a second or two to realise that the Admiral was talking about the charge he had raised against Alison Krennick, but after a two second delay, he gathered his wits and replied "Yes, sir. I have taken statements from the accused and the witness, but to be totally comfortable I'd like a computer forensics specialist to check the hard drive on the accused's PC just to make sure that we have all the evidence available."

"Good, make it so!" Chegwidden glared at this assembled attorneys, before he shuffled his papers together prior to standing and dismissing the meeting.

**Thursday 8 March 2001 0930hrs Local, Records Archive, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (081430ZMar01)**

After what seemed a five mile hike down the hospital hallways and an elevator ride to the bowels of the earth Theresa Coulter looked again at the hastily sketched diagram in her hand - it really couldn't be called a map and peered down the length of the hallway in front of her. Bare concrete walls supported a bare concrete ceiling, which lined with plumbing and heating pipes and electrical conduits, and pierced every few feet by a light fitting, hung above an equally bare concrete floor. But that uninviting floor led to her destination, so squaring her shoulders and uneasily wishing that the heels of her regulation pumps didn't echo quite so loudly. Although she knew - well, was ninety-nine decimal nine per cent certain - that she had nothing to be afraid of her it was with a feeling of relief that that she spied her target.

Terri pushed open the door to find a Petty Officer Hospital Corpsman Second Class wheeling a trolley loaded with archive boxes across the room, heading for a pair of heavily scuff-marked swing-doors, who stopped, snapped to attention and asked, "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Uh… If you're the man in charge down here, I hope so. I'm Commander Coulter; I'm on an archive search. I believe you're expecting me?"

"One moment ma'am." The Corpsman pushed the trolley to one side and with a "By your leave, ma'am," sat at the work station in the corner of the room and typing a few letters into the computer nodded decisively and then stood. "Yes, ma'am. I should have been expecting you, but somehow with all this…" he indicated the loaded trolley, "I kinda didn't get round to opening my e-mails. I'm sorry, ma'am. Now, how may I help you?"

Terri smiled; she liked the way the Petty Officer had made no excuses, had just stated what he'd done wrong and why he'd done it, and then waited for any fall-out. "I'm looking for a set of autopsy notes from ten years back... by a Doctor Phillips, Commander Michael Phillips." Terri paused, expecting to hear some sort of disclaimer as to how difficult, or even how impossible it was going to be to find ten year old files.

However, the Corpsman surprised her, "OK Ma'am… Commander Phillips, M… do you have a name for the subject of the autopsy?"

Terri steeled herself, "Yes, the name is Coulter, Margaret, F."

The Petty Officer gave her a suspicious glance before saying tentatively, "Excuse me, ma'am, didn't you say that _your_ name was Coulter, too."

"I did."

"Ma'am, excuse me for asking, but are you related to Margaret Coulter?"

"Yes. I'm her daughter."

The Corpsman Petty Officer looked worried, "Ma'am, I don't want to cast any doubts on your honesty or integrity, but I'm not sure I should be allowing you to access those records."

Terri nodded in acknowledgement of the young man's concerns. "I can appreciate your feelings Corpsman, but I do need to see those notes and the file copy of the ME's report. The case is being re-tried and I have been called as a witness to rebut the findings in that report, and if I don't see the report, how can I rebut the findings."

"Ma'am, I do want help you… but…" he shrugged helplessly, the indecision in his expression clear for Terri to read.

Terri indicated the other chair, "May I?"

Shocked, he shot to his feet, "Ma'am, yes ma'am! Ma'am I am so sorry…"

"At ease Corpsman, thank you," Terri said as she sank down on to the uncomfortable blue plastic chair. She raised her hand to her mouth and tapped her teeth with her thumbnail as she thought. "Corpsman, do you have access to some form of 'phone book on that thing?" She pointed to his computer.

"Yes ma'am"

"Could you find the number for Commander Imes at JAG HQ in Falls Church? She can tell you whether or not I'm cleared to see those files." She added as she saw his continued hesitation "She is an attorney, you know, so if she says it's OK, you can't be blamed for following legal advice, can you?"

"Why don't you just give me the number ma'am?" he asked shrewdly.

"If I gave you the number, how could you be sure that is a JAG number and that I don't have an accomplice waiting on the other end of the line, ready just to take your call?"

The Corpsman picked up the humour in her voice and smiled in response, "I guess I couldn't, ma'am".

It took a few minutes before he found the number he needed and with an apologetic smile he dialed Carolyn Imes' office. Terri waited patiently until he had satisfied himself as to firstly Carolyn's bona fides and then her own. He finally replaced the handset in its cradle and with an almost audible gulp, he stood, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I guess I didn't ought to have doubted you, but…"

"That's OK," Terri reassured him, "In some ways it's comforting to know that people can't just wander in and out of archives at will. But… how about finding me those files right about now?"

"Yes, ma'am. Right on it, ma'am!"

**Thursday 8 March 2001, 0938hrs Local, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, DC (081438ZMar01)**

Mac kicked the door shut behind he and uncurled the cramped fingers of her right hand, letting go of the tote bag strap and allowing it slip off her shoulder to the floor. That had not been an experience through which she wanted to live again at any time soon. The grocery store which was five minutes away by vehicle was nearly a thirty minute walk in her current physical state, and by the time she had reached the store, he ribs were really hurting, and by the time she had reached it she'd had more than enough of people staring at face, where although the bruises were fading, they still remained vivid enough in all their multi-hued glory to attract attention. And damn! It was still too damn cold to wander about DC with bare legs!

All that had been bad enough, but while trying to control the shopping cart had been bad enough, she hadn't thought to worry about the weight of her shopping until she'd packed all in the tote-bag and slung it over her shoulder. Of course her left shoulder was still too tender to take the weight, so for the nearly half an hour it had taken her to walk from the store back home the strap of the bag had been cutting into her right shoulder, until she'd had to really grip the strap with her hand and try and lift it in an effort to take some of the weight of her now-chafed and bruised shoulder.

Now, thank God, all she needed to do was unpack the groceries and stow them away, then she was going to make a cup of tea and she was going to drink it while she sat on the edge of the bath bathing her feet. It was at times like this that a girl missed the soothing hands of someone who knew just how to restore tired and aching feet!

**Thursday 8 March 2001 0950hrs Local, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (081450ZMar01)**

A J Chegwidden sat back in the big chair as his subordinate crossed the expanse of carpet in front of his desk and halted, automatically assuming the at attention brace.

"At ease, Commander, take a seat."

Meg sat as she had been instructed, smoothing her skirt as she did so, and waited for her CO to speak.

Chegwidden opened a file folder on his desk and flicked to the page for which he was looking before he looked over the top of his reading glasses and spoke. "I've been going through your history, Commander. It seems that on at least one occasion, you successfully passed yourself off as an enlisted marine?"

Meg almost visibly shuddered as she felt goose bumps rise on her arms. The memory of how she very nearly drowned in a South Carolina swamp still vivid in her memory, but there was no helping for it, "Yes, sir. Boot Camp at Parris Island! Commander Rabb and I were investigating the death of a female recruit."

Chegwidden smiled grimly. "Your next investigation is a bit nearer home Commander, it's at Quantico. And hopefully there won't be any deaths this time around. Commander Rabb has received a report that female marines there are being victimised by means of excessive EMD, for no other reason than they are female. We, that is JAG, need to verify the report, and if it is true, put a very abrupt end to the practice. If this sort of thing is going on, and is supported, or even just condoned at the level we suspect, an open investigation would probably bring to light all sort of plausible reasons why these individuals are being placed on EMD. So, we need someone to go under cover, and in light of your previous experience, you're it. You are Sergeant Margaret Pierce, an E-5 with a somewhat spotty record." He allowed himself a slight grin at Meg's brief scowl of indignation. He pushed a manila envelope across the desk. "That is your full briefing, and your 'personal history'. We have checked on the MCCDC CO's and Sergeant Major's SRBs and ensured that their career and that of Sergeant Pierce have never crossed. The Gunny will take you shopping this afternoon at the Navy Yard BX, on the JAG's dime, and he will sort you out with the uniforms you require, and he will also square you away with how to wear them. Your role is to screw up sufficiently to find yourself on EMD."

Meg licked her suddenly dry lips nervously, "As an E-5, sir? Isn't it irregular for a non-com to be placed on EMD?"

"It is, Commander," the Admiral replied, "but the reports we have received indicate that it is common practice."

A still slightly nervous Meg nodded and bit her lip before asking, "Back up, sir?"

Chegwidden ran his hand over his scalp. "I'm sending Commander Rabb on an investigation into a second report that the Sergeant Major at Quantico is using an unofficial 'enforcer' to maintain compliance - I won't use 'discipline'. You worked a similar set up at Parris Island, so you should be OK. Tiner has your sealed orders, thank you Commander."

Meg stood and snapped to attention.

"Dismissed, Commander!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Thursday 8 March 2001 1015hrs Local, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (081515ZMar01)**

Meg closed her office door and sat behind her desk picking up her silver 'Bowie Knife' letter opener to slit the envelope containing Sergeant Margaret Pierce's - no, her - new life history. With some trepidation she started to read and as she read she started to relax. Whoever had put this pseudo-history together had used as much of her life as possible. Her date and place of birth remained the same; her parents' names remained the same, as did her high school. There was no mention of college, but boot camp was listed.

She winced at the memories of that investigation. Even if she discounted the experience of being mired in quicksand, it had not been exactly the most pleasant task she had undertaken, but at least if needed, she could talk with confidence about her time there. It was also a minor worry, there had been thirty one other women in that recruit platoon, and although given the size of the Corps and its many bases scattered across the word the likelihood of being recognised was slim, it was still there.

She was disturbed from her reading by a knock at the door, and on having given permission to enter, she was hardly surprised to see Gunnery Sergeant Galindez open the door and halt at attention in front of her desk.

"At ease, Gunnery Sergeant," she said, checking the time by her watch, "I didn't think we were due to go shopping until this afternoon?"

"No, ma'am."

"So… how can I help you, Gunny?"

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?" Galindez seemed uncharacteristically nervous.

"What's on your mind, Gunny?"

"Ma'am, I understand that you went through Boot Camp, some years ago?"

"Not that long ago, Gunny," Meg twinkled, "please don't make me any older than I am!"

Despite himself Victor Galindez found himself responding to the good humour in Meg's eyes and voice, "No, ma'am, I'll try to remember that," he grinned in return, but then his face became serious once more. "Ma'am, I don't know why you need to masquerade as a Sergeant in the Corps," he held up his hand to prevent her from interrupting, "And I sure as hell don't want to know, but by just wearing the uniform, you might be able to fool a civilian or a member of the other services, but appearances won't take you very far if you're mixing with Marines."

Meg nodded, that had been one of her concerns too. "What do you suggest, Gunnery Sergeant?"

"That you put yourself entirely in my hands for the next seventy two hours, ma'am, and I'll drill you in how to act as a Corps Non-Com, ma'am!"

Meg winced inwardly, "That's not going to be very comfortable, is it Gunny?"

Once again Victor Galindez grinned, only this time his grin wasn't quite so good-humoured, "No ma'am, it's likely to be pretty uncomfortable!"

Meg nodded, "It's a good thought, though, Gunny, I'll need to run it by the Admiral so we're cleared for tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"And Gunny?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Thank you! Or…" she eyed him speculatively, "should I be saving my thanks until the next few days are finished?"

Once again Galindez found himself grinning in response to her good humour, "Now, that sounds like a plan, ma'am!"

**Thursday 8 March 2001 1020hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (081520ZMar01)**

"Hey, beautiful," Harm smiled as Loren tapped on his office doorjamb.

"Harm!" she blushed and protested in a whisper through her smile of pleasure, "_pas devant les enfants_!"

"Oh, I'll be good, even though it breaks my heart!" he declaimed dramatically clasping both hands to his chest.

"Oh, shush, you fool!" she grinned at him, thankful that her back was to the bull pen so that nobody else could see the sappy grin she could feel plastered across her face.

"Alright, I will be good!" he promised her and sat up straight in his chair with an exaggerated expression of dutiful seriousness on his own face, "How may I help you, Lieutenant?" he inquired.

"Clown!" she admonished him, "But I come bearing sad news, Commander Imes and I are just about to head up to Bethesda, and then we're heading on out towards Hagerstown, to a trailer park, where we hope to find Commander Coulter's ex-husband. So…" she heaved a sigh, "I'm going to need a rain check on that lunch date… or… no, you're coming over to my place anyway, at… say nineteen hundred hours. I'll cook."

"I'm coming to your place? When was that decided?"

"Last night over your vegetable Jalfreezi, and my chicken Rogan Josh!" she reminded him with a laugh. "So bring your go-bag, with enough supplies for… four days? That ought to be enough time before your apartment is inhabitable again!"

"H'mm, four days of your cooking and pampering… uh… looking after me… I don't know Lieutenant, it's a mighty big ask!"

"Oh, I know. It's a filthy job, but…" she paused to let Harm join in the punch line, "Someone's got to do it!"

They both smiled and Loren turned to go, but turned back as Harm softly called her name.

"Yes?" she asked with her amazingly mobile eyebrow arching high on her forehead.

"Just in case you'd forgotten, tomorrow afternoon, if we're both clear, I'm taking you on that special trip, and just in case I'd forgotten earlier," he said quietly, "I love you."

Loren went beetroot red, and groaned, "Oh… that is so not fair!"

Harm grinned, "I know, but it means you get to stand there until your colour returns to normal, which means I get that minute or so extra just to look at you!"

"Oooh!" Loren ground out in frustration and very nearly stamped her foot, "You are not helping!"

**Thursday 8 March 2001 1022hrs Local, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (081522ZMar01)**

Admiral Chegwidden cursed silently as the intercom on his desk buzzed and the light flashed, disturbing his concentration on the file in front of him. Removing his reading glasses, he sighed in exasperation and pressed the answer button. "Yes, Tiner?"

"Admiral, sir, Mister Webb is here to see you."

Chegwidden's eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose for a second or two while he considered his response. His favoured one for the first few seconds had been to bid Tiner to tell Webb to go to hell, but after those few seconds he grunted, "Very well, send him in!"

Webb as usual failed to knock, but just opened the door and walked in, and as usual this minor act of disrespect grated on the admiral's nerves. Webb had, as far as the ex-SEAL, was concerned had used up more than his ration of goodwill as far as the Navy JAG Corps was concerned. He eyed the almost swaggering approach of the cocky State Department representative with both distaste and disfavour. He was well aware, as indeed were most of the JAG staff by now that in Webb's case, 'State Department' was a thin camouflage for 'CIA', and while one or two of Webb's schemes had eventually worked out well - more often than not despite him rather than because of him - his interference in Rabb's expedition to track down his father had nearly cost Rabb and MacKenzie their lives, and it had been with great satisfaction that Chegwidden had broken the runty little spy's nose for him. So what the hell Webb wanted now was almost immaterial, the sheer effrontery of the man in coming back to JAG, doubtless for support in one of his cockamamie schemes was almost beyond belief.

Webb in his turn eyed the older office with caution, despite his bravura appearance he wasn't anywhere near as confident as he liked to pretend. He too had vivid memories of the Admiral's fist slamming into his face, and was in no great hurry to repeat the experience. He was, however in a hurry to borrow Rabb and MacKenzie for an operation in which according to the law he ought not to be involved.

Deciding to act with the greatest circumspection Webb refrained from sitting without n invitation, and stood, waiting for the Admiral to speak.

Chegwidden kept a stony face and a stony silence, he knew exactly what Webb was playing at, but the spook had forgotten that the Navy Officer across the desk was not only a former SEAL but also an experienced attorney, well aware that maintaining silence was an effective took in getting another person to speak.

Webb stood impassively but he could feel a trickle of sweat running down his spine. He knew exactly what Chegwidden was doing, but then again Chegwidden could afford to play a long game. He wasn't the supplicant here, and Webb was.

Webb swallowed, seeing the flash of satisfaction that crossed the Admiral's face and hating him for it, and hating himself for caving in. "Good morning, Admiral."

"Webb" the Admiral acknowledged, "What can the Navy do for the… State Department?" he asked in a tone of artificial concern and emphasising, so very slightly, the last two words.

"Ummm… we were recently conducting an operation in the Philippines, into the disappearance of arms from an army base in Okinawa and the channeling of the cash to Philippines-based extremist groups with an anti-US Agenda."

"And what has this got to do with JAG?"

"On the surface, Admiral, nothing," Webb agreed, "but when we followed the chain of evidence back, it led us to Florida, where…"

"That's out of your jurisdiction isn't it Webb? Doesn't the case now need to be handed off to the FBI or Homeland Security?"

"Well, normally Admiral, yes. But there were so many things that happened during the overseas aspects of the investigation, that we became concerned that there was a leak either in the FBI or the DHS, so… we cut them out of the loop, and it was only after that that things started going our way."

"Even so, I fail to see how it becomes a JAG concern, unless the people you are looking at in Florida are Navy personnel?"

"No, Admiral, they're not but…"

"But nothing, Webb. If there's no Navy involvement, there's no JAG involvement."

"Admiral, this is a matter of national security! I need to get operatives in close to these people and find out where they are getting the money to finance these extremists!"

"I wish you the very best of good luck with that, Mr Webb."

"Admiral, I need Rabb and MacKenzie to do their thing…"

Chegwidden leaned back in his chair, and linked his fingers behind his head. A smile of unholy glee suffused his face. "You know, Webb, you're a pretty piss-poor excuse for a spy …"

Webb bridled, but an admonishing finger prevented him from objecting as Chegwidden leaned forward again. "Firstly, Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie is on hospital leave, and is likely to remain so for the next four or five weeks, and will then need to recuperate from her injuries, so will probably be on light duties for a month or so after that. And apart from that, your sources need to keep you better informed; Rabb and MacKenzie are no longer in a position where they could work comfortably undercover together."

"But Rabb is fit, though, Admiral?"

"Yes, he is." Chegwidden conceded.

"And there must be another female officer he could work with? What about that blonde Lieutenant, Sangster, or whatever her name is?"

Chegwidden's eyebrows rose to his non-existent hairline, "Lieutenant Singer?" he asked in incredulous tones. "Lieutenant Singer has neither the training, nor the experience to go on an undercover operation, and before you start cataloguing the other female officers of this headquarters, let me make it quite plain to you Webb, that the Navy's Judge Advocate General's Corps is no longer in the business of being the CIA's temporary employment agency! Furthermore, Webb, if you should attempt in the future to gain access to this building, without having a prior appointment with me - no else - me, you'll find that the Marine Security Detail have been given orders to deny you that access. And just in case you didn't quite understand what I have just said: In future your only access to this building or to the people who work in it will be through me, and then only by prior appointment! Understood?"

"Admiral! That's totally unreasonable…! Webb broke off whatever it was he was about to say, as Chegwidden sprang to his feet and started to walk around his desk towards his visitor. Webb stumbled backwards in the face of the officer's advance until his back was to the office door. Chegwidden stopped his advance, but continued to glare at Webb as he breathed heavily through his nose.

Webb, white-faced, fumbled behind him for the door handle and with what was almost a whimper of relief, he opened the door and almost fell through it in his eagerness to escape the Admiral's office, and then in front of the surprised members of the Ops staff, he practically ran across the bull pen towards the door leading to the staircase and elevators.

Chegwidden watched him go with fierce satisfaction. He nodded as the double doors at the far side of the bull pen swung shut behind the fleeing spy and turning to Tiner, said, "Tiner, who's today's Security Detail Duty Officer?"

"That would be Lieutenant Sharpe, sir."

Chegwidden nodded, "Good, call down to the CP and pass the word, with my compliments, for her to report to my office ASP."

Tiner, who had a pretty shrewd idea of what had just happened in his Chief's office had difficulty in restraining his grin, but he managed a crisp, "Aye, aye, sir!"

**Thursday 8 March 2001 1030hrs Local, Medical Examiner's Office, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (081530ZMar01)**

Terri Coulter looked levelly at the man confronting her. While not generally inclined to blow her own trumpet she was perfectly well aware of her professional reputation, and was used to be greeted if not with friendliness, at least with acceptance on the strength of that reputation. But she had, once or twice, come across individuals who resented her success, so unless jealousy was the reason, she was totally at a loss to account for the almost visible waves of hostility emanating from the officer confronting her.

"Do we have a problem here?" she asked.

"Apart from you invading my office and disrupting my schedule, no." he replied brusquely.

Terri fought to keep her rising anger under control, "Ma'am," she said.

"What?" he looked at her in blank amazement.

"That would be 'what, ma'am?'," she added pointedly. And as he still looked blankly at her, she took an even tighter hold on her anger, "You," she enunciated clearly, "are an officer in the navy, as well as being a pathologist. I too am a pathologist and an officer in that same navy. You, however, are a Lieutenant Commander, while I am a Commander. Therefore you will address me with the respect to which my rank is entitled, and in accordance with naval protocol. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant Commander?"

He flushed angrily and snapped to attention, "Yes, ma'am. Quite clear! May I have the Commander's permission to withdraw, ma'am?"

Terri kept him waiting for a full minute before answering, "Dismissed!"

As the man, now bristling with indignation, about faced and marched from the office, Terri shook her head. She wasn't normally in favour of pulling rank, but that… that… beetle's attitude had managed to press all her buttons in under three minutes!

Snorting with irritation she sat at the desk and opened the original file of her mother's autopsy together with the original ME's notes.

She was still working through the report, making her own notes in her meticulous handwriting when the arrival of Carolyn Imes and Loren Singer made her realise that she'd worked all the way through lunch and hen on into the early afternoon.

Pushing her chair back away from the desk, she stood and smiled briefly at the other women, "Good afternoon, Commander, Lieutenant."

"Good afternoon," Carolyn returned the greeting while Loren allowed herself only a half-smile and a quiet "Commander."

Terri re-seated herself, and waved Carolyn and Loren into two of the chairs in the room. She looked down at her notes, and then back up at the two attorneys.

"Is there something wrong, Commander?" Carolyn asked.

"Yes, yes, there is. A whole lot wrong," Terri answered as she dropped her face into cupped hands for a moment or two before sitting back in her chair and picking up her notes.

"Such as?" Loren asked.

"Well, for a start there is nothing in the autopsy that says a toxicology screen was run on my mother. But in the ME's notes, he states that she had 'elevated level of CO in her blood' - that's carbon monoxide. Now, a pathologist - an experienced pathologist might note the physical signs of CO poisoning, but he would never state that there was an abnormal level of CO in subject's blood, unless he'd had a tox screen done. But there is no tox report included in the autopsy, nor is there a screen mentioned in the report."

"Are you saying that the report lied?" Carolyn asked, her expression grave. If that was Terri's claim then it was very serious charge to be laid against the original ME.

"No…" Terri answered reluctantly, "No… I can't state that, all I can state is that the notes suggest that a tox screen was done, but it is now missing from the report, and that therefore the report is incomplete." She shrugged helplessly.

"But… that strengthens our case, doesn't it?" Loren ventured.

"Yes, it does," Terri agreed, standing and turning to clip an x-ray plate into position on the wall-mounted light ox, "and so does this. The ME gave cause of death as a subdural haemotoma - a bleed into the brain, resulting from a blow to the occipital bone - that's the bone to the back of the head, just above the neck. And he has X-rays to show a fracture of the occipital bone."

Carolyn considered for a moment, "That cause of death and the X-ray were pretty convincing arguments that went a long way in persuading the panel to convict, weren't they Loren?"

Loren tugged her notes - now threatening to reach the size of the original file from her briefcase, "Umm, yeah… she opened her notes on the desk, explaining, "These were taken from the transcript, of the trial. There was your evidence, Commander," she looked apologetically at Terri, "of verbal abuse. There was Captain French's testimony about having seen your father at the house some hours before the ME estimated the time of death and the forensic report."

"There's only one thing wrong with the finding of cause of death, Terri said heavily. She picked up a pen from the desk and using it as a pointer she turned back to the X-ray, "There, you see is the fracture to the skull, but… it has already started to heal."

"Which means," Carolyn said, "That the fracture was older, dating from before the day of death…"

"Which means that although the fracture may have been the cause of death, it wasn't inflicted peri-mortem." Terri added.

"Which means," Loren continued. "that although your father was in the house that day, he didn't - on that occasion - inflict the injury that caused death."

"So," Terri said thoughtfully, the sub-dural haematoma can't have been acute, but was chronic. Chronic sub-durals only lead to death in about twenty per cent of cases. And," she raised her eyes to the other two, "when you take the CO in her blood into account…"

Carolyn nodded, "Yes, this whole thing is beginning to stink… Loren and I were about to go and interview your ex-husband, but we'll get back to you, later…"

Terri made a swift decision. "I'll come with you, if he figures out you're anything to do with the law, he'll bolt, but if I'm there, he might just talk to me…"

**Thursday 8 March 2001 1650hrs Local, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (082150ZMar01)**

"Commander, sir?"

"Yes, Bud?"

"That bandit activity you wanted me to look at around the date that Lieutenant Blair was shot down, sir?"

"Yes, go ahead, Bud." Harm swung his chair around and look at Bud, whose face was shining, as it always did when he was in the grip of any strong emotion, and from the way his eyes were dancing, it seemed that this time the emotion was excitement.

"Well, sir, I checked our own data base for records of investigations and there was one that came right up, almost jumped off the screen at me. It's dated four or five days after the shoot-down, and it involves the massacre of an entire village in North East Bosnia near a place called Batkovic. The Bosnians have always blamed the Serbs for it, and the Serbs have always counter-claimed that the Bosnians did it themselves to create a cause célèbre. There are several other similar atrocities in that area, and again the argument of who did what is still ongoing. But I also checked news reports from the area this Kovac guy, is pretty well known as a ruthless bandit, and it would seem that he would be more than capable of slaughtering innocents villagers if he thought he could lay the blame elsewhere."

"OK, Bud, good work, thanks for that…"Harm idly twirled his pen over and under his fingers, "It's still all pretty circumstantial, but things may just be going our way. Can you get a report of what you've discovered typed up, and keep on trying to get some sort of local corroboration for Blair's story?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Thanks, man!"

**Thursday 8 March 2001, 2040hrs Local, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (090040ZMar01)**

"Well, did he?" Harm asked.

"Did he what?" Loren paused as she dished up the mashed potato.

"Did he bolt?"

Loren grinned, "He thought about it! He was working on his car when he saw Carolyn and I coming, and he sort of sauntered very quickly around the end of the trailer, only to reappear almost instantly, walking backwards with Terri right in his face!"

Harm grinned as he placed the chafing dish of green beans and carrots on the table, while Loren carefully slid a spatula under the two grilled salmon steaks and served them up onto the plates before they sat. Harm had already opened a bottle of Muscadet and waiting until Loren had seated herself poured them each a glass.

"So, once you had him corralled, did you have to hog tie him before he confessed?"

"Oh, he had plenty to say - and not all of it to Terri's liking - he admitted that he and Terri's mom never got with each other, and that he blamed her for his and Terri's divorce. He called her a neurotic control freak, who was bound and determined to keep Terri as close tied to her apron strings as she could. Even back then it seemed she was putting pressure on Terri not to complete ROTC, and then the husband got a job offer out West, in Nevada as deputy head of security at one of the big Casinos in Vegas, and wanted Terri to accompany him there. According to him, Mrs Coulter wasn't any too keen on the idea and… well… apparently he had a misdemeanor possession on his record which he glossed over when he applied for the job. Mrs Coulter 'phoned the Casino and told them about his record, so the job offer was withdrawn, and he's been living pretty much hand to mouth ever since. Shortly before her death, he confronted Mrs Coulter about his suspicions that she'd tipped off the casino about his shady past, and she admitted it to him. So, we have at least one other suspect with a credible motive - revenge."

Harm nodded as he squeezed a drop of fresh lemon juice onto his fish, "And the other officer, Captain French?"

"I've got Gunny tracking him down for me, but unfortunately it's going to take a few days, he's tied up with preparing Commander Austin for her investigation at Quantico."

Harm was about to take a sip of his wine, but instead he put his glass back on its coaster, "What investigation at Quantico?"

Loren gazed across the table at him, a stricken look in her eyes, "Oh, crap! You haven't heard, have you?"

"Heard what?" he demanded, "C'mon, Loren, give!"

"Umm… she's got orders to report to MCCDC on Monday as a Marine Corps Sergeant. Apparently she has to screw up enough to get placed on EMD."

"That's ridiculous!" he protested, "She doesn't know enough to pass as the most inept Sergeant in the Corps!"

"She did Boot Camp, though didn't she?" Loren inquired.

"She did a couple of weeks at Boot Camp on an undercover investigation, but that was years ago, and that nearly killed her! And at least I was on hand as her back-up!"

"Oh… you really haven' been told, have you…" Loren's voice trailed off miserably, "I wish I hadn't said anything…"

"It's not your fault, sweetheart," he told her earnestly, "I'm not angry at you, I'm just… venting." He finished in a much calmer voice.

"Oh… no… It's just that she said that you were going to be her back-up during your investigation into the 'Enforcer' allegations…"

"What investigation?" he said blankly.

Loren put her knife and fork down. "You haven't been briefed about _that_?" she asked in a tone of dismayed anger. "You really haven't?"

"Loren," Harm said helplessly, "I haven't got the faintest idea what you're on about!"

"Well, all I know is what I've already told you," she said, her anger and dismay now openly displaced by worry. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything!"

"No, it's not your fault… But what I can't understand, is why Meg knows what I'm going to be doing and I don't!"

"Yeah, well, what I can't understand is why Commander Austin's going on this investigation when it was to you and I that the allegations were made!"

Harm looked at her in alarm, "Loren, please don't tell me that you wanted this investigation?"

"I did! Although I hadn't thought it would involve joining the Marines!" she half-joked.

"Trust me Loren, I've gone undercover with the Marines, and I was lucky. I went as a Gunnery Sergeant, and even then it was damn tough. Meg survived a couple of weeks of Boot Camp, so she's got an advantage over you, but I can assure you that she won't find this assignment easy or any fun at all! At least she's got investigative experience behind her."

Loren pushed the scraps of her dinner around on her plate and looked at him with a mulish expression on her face. "That's a Catch-Twenty-two Harm, and you know it! I can't go on investigations because I haven't got any experience, but I can't get experience without going on investigations!"

Harm nodded, "You're right of course. But you do not need this type of investigation on which to cut your teeth. No - don't get all defensive on me. I know, any investigation can get rough if there's any element of criminality, but to start with you'll need to go on the less obviously dangerous ones. Mind though," Harm considered, "Whether the Admiral would let us two go on investigations together is another matter… and if I would be much happier on a joint investigation if I knew you were watching my six. Then again," he flashed her a pure fly-boy grin, "I'd be much happier just watching your six under any circumstances!"

"Harmon Rabb!" Loren gasped, fanning her suddenly red face with her napkin, "that's twice today you've turned me into a beetroot."

"And what does that get me?" he teased her, his eyes alight with laughter.

"KP duty for the rest of your stay!" she told him triumphantly.

"It was worth it," he grinned. "Anyway, my - our stay here - may not be for too long this weekend."

"Oh… are we going flying again?"

"Yes… and… no"

"Don't be aggravating, or there'll be no dessert!"

"H'mmm, decisions… decisions… what's for dessert?"

"Some of my delicious home-made ice-cream - Apricot sunrise."

"Apricot sunrise, what's that?"

"Oh, it's vanilla ice-cream with butterflied apricots in it, but one half of each apricot has been sliced so it looks like rays shooting off the sun."

Harm looked at her with honest surprise on his face. "Loren, when do you find time to do all this? I mean I know where you were the last two evenings, and I know what time you finished work… you're amazing!"

Loren cocked her head to one side, "Yes, I am, aren't I?" she said quite seriously.

Harm felt his heart rise to close of his throat. He had half been expecting her usual self-deprecating comment, or some other manifestation of her insecurities, but to hear her acknowledge that she wasn't a total failure robbed him of the power of words for a few moments.

Loren glanced across at him and then did a classic double-take, were those tears in his eyes? But before she could ask if he was alright, he coughed and cleared his throat, "Yes," he agreed soberly, "you are. Quite amazing".


	21. Chapter 21

**Friday 9 March 2001, 0500hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, ****4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC, 20032, (091000ZMar01)**

"Man on deck! Reveille, rise and shine! Out of your racks, move!" The hoarse scream jolted Meg Austin awake and for a moment she nearly panicked until she remembered that she was lying on a canvas cot that had been set up in the Gunny's living room. But...

"What the hell, Gunny?" she mumbled as she sat up holding the blanket to her chest.

The Gunny was suddenly looming over her, his face thrust towards hers, "You do not 'what the hell Gunny' me! Now get with the programme, Sergeant! Get your butt off that rack and report to me outside in five minutes, T-Shirt, utility pants and boots!"

Meg was now sufficiently awake to realise that Victor Galindez had started his Corps indoctrination weekend for her, and that as he had almost promised, she was not going to find it the least bit comfortable. Gritting her teeth, she replied, "Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!"

"Good! Now, move it!"

It seemed to Meg that she had never moved quite so fast as she scrambled into the clothes she'd been ordered to wear and almost fell down the four flights of stairs from the Gunny's apartment - no elevator, of course, and then out the through the building door and on to the sidewalk, where she halted, already shivering in the pre-dawn chill, but braced at attention in front of the similarly clad NCO.

Galindez looked her up and down in disapprobation, he knew that Commander Austin was going to find this weekend tough going, he intended to make it difficult for her, but he'd looked at her 'SRB' yesterday afternoon and he was going to have to try and instil nine years' worth of Corps as a Marine and NCO into a Navy officer in just three short days. It wasn't going to be easy for either of them. Still, she looked to be in good physical condition, but that was what he was about to find out.

He stepped right into her personal space, his face no more than six inches from hers as he erupted, "You are a freaking disgrace, Sergeant! You look like a sack of crap tied around the middle with a piece of string. And you are late! Get down, give me twenty! Not fast enough! Back on your feet! Now, down, twenty!"

This time Meg dropped like a stone and completed the twenty push-ups to the Gunny's cadence count, and as she finished he was screaming at her again, "Up! On your feet! Move!"

Meg scrambled to her feet her face burning with resentment and with the effort she had just expended. But she had barely time to draw breath before Galindez was yelling again, "Right! Follow me! On the double!" and he took off up the street at a fast clip, and as they ran side by side he glanced across at her. She was moving well, he acknowledged, and breathing easily, OK, she was keeping up for the moment, "Repeat after me! My, Corps, Your Corps, Our Corps, Marine Corps!" each phrase acting as a cadence count in time with the thud of their boots hitting the pavement.

He took her through that particular cadence twice more, before he changed to "If I die in a combat zone, box me up and ship me home! Pin my medals on my chest, tell my mom I done my best!"

By the time Gunny had led her back to the sidewalk outside his apartment block they had been running for forty-five minutes and Meg estimated that they had covered six or seven miles. Ordinarily that wouldn't have bothered her too much, but she was used to saving her breath for running, and having to chant had caused her to expend extra effort so that she felt as if she had already covered ten miles before starting the day's work.

"Right! Get back to your accommodation, Sergeant!" Galindez yelled at her, "You have eight minutes to shower and dress. Move!"

**Friday 9 March 2001, 0600hrs EST, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (091100ZMar01)**

Harm awoke to the persistent ringing of Loren's alarm clock, a brass-body, clockwork analogue monster the size of a turnip. To reach it he had to lean across the bed and over Loren' still recumbent body. Not that he had anything to complain about in that as it gave him the opportunity, one he had silenced the alarm, to lean down and kiss her bare shoulder, eliciting a drowsy 'M'mm' from Loren, and causing her to roll on to her back to look up at him with sleepily smiling eyes.

The temptation was more than he could stand, and he leaned in towards her and kissed her gently, a kiss that she was more than ready to return.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he told her as they broke the kiss.

"Good morning, to you too, sailor," she smiled back up at him. "That was quite a nice wake up, but it will be a better morning in about half an hour..."

"How so?" he inquired.

"Well," she said, allowing her fingers to play with the fine hairs on his chest, "you will have showered and shaved, and have the breakfast going, while I shower."

Harm rubbed his hand across his jaw and chin, "Yeah, a bit bristly," he admitted, "but are you sure you don't want to try and save water? You know, benefit the environment?"

"H'mm, it's a tempting idea, but..."

"But what?"

"But I don't think my shower is big enough for the two of us..."

"We can but try," he leered suggestively..."

"I told you it wasn't big enough," Loren giggled half an hour later as she applied the band-aid to the side of Harm's head as he sat at the kitchen table.

"Just one more hint of 'I told you so', woman, just one more hint, that's all..."

"And what, Grumpy?" Loren deposited a kiss on the band-aid, "See, mommy make it all better for you!"

Harm caught her around her the waist, and swung her onto his knee, "And I shall hug you, and kiss you, and pet you, and squeeze you and call you George..."

Loren leaned and dropped a gentle kiss on Harm's lips before she hung her arms around his neck and leaned back, looking at him gravely, "H'mm... I could go for the hugging, the petting, the squeezing and kissing bit... I dunno about being called George, though... I mean it could blow the whole don't ask, don't tell, thing."

"True... and since you have now blown my hopes out of the water twice in one day, how about we fix breakfast, or do you want to stop on the way to work...?"

"If we do stop on the way to work... can I have a jelly doughnut?" Loren teased him.

Harm laughed and stood, patting her on the rump as he did so, "Let go woman, and I'll start the eggs if you start the coffee?"

"You got a deal there, sailor," Loren laughed as she twisted out of his grasp.

**Friday 9 March 2001, 0915hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (091415ZMar01)**

"Nice addition to the uniform there, Commander," the admiral remarked dryly as he reached the end of the close of the week summing -up.

"Sir?" Harm responded with a puzzled frown as he realised that his CO's eyes had come to rest on him.

"The band-aid, Commander?"

"Oh… uh…" Harm felt his ears grow warm, "A slight accident in the shower this morning, sir, I uh… slipped and banged my head on the door frame…"

"Do we have to worry about you receiving yet another concussion, Commander?" the Admiral asked and then glared over the top of his reading glasses at Lieutenant Singer. "Is there something you find funny in the Commander's misfortune Lieutenant?" he demanded.

"N...no… sir," Loren denied, although her eyes were dancing with amusement and she was obviously having a hard time keeping a straight face.

"Sir," Harm intervened, anxious to draw the Admiral's attention away from Loren, "I can explain, sir… It's…"

Chegwidden took off his glass and shuffled his notes together preparatory to replacing them in his brief-case. He held up a hand in the universal gesture for 'stop', "I really don't want to know, Commander, just as long as you're fit for duty!"

"Yes, sir, perfectly fit, sir!"

"Good, then report to me in my office, as soon as this staff call is over!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Friday 9 March 2001, 0945hrs EST, Admiral Chegwidden's Office JAG HQ, Falls church, VA, (091445ZMar01)**

"Take a seat, Commander." Chegwidden waited until Harm has settled into his chair before continuing. "The temporary loss of Colonel MacKenzie has put this office into something of a bind. Although with the arrival of Commanders Austin and Turner, numbers are back up, overall the level of investigative experience has dropped. No matter what stage yours and the Colonel's somewhat mercurial relationship was in, it was always a source of pride, pride in my officers, not personal pride, that you could always work well together, even if I did have to confine you aboard a submarine for two weeks at one time!"

Harm was baffled, he couldn't even hazard a guess where this was going, "Yes, sir" he replied neutrally.

"Well, the Colonel will still be going TAD once she's cleared for active duty by the medicos, which will also leave me, this office, without a Chief of Staff. In the normal run of things, you would be the next logical choice for that position." Once again he held up his hand as Harm opened his mouth. "However your well-known aversion to paperwork renders that option questionable, to say the least. Also of course, you are one of the better investigators, and your abilities are better put to that use than to a job which you would perform reluctantly. Therefore I am making Commander Turner my Chief of Staff, leaving you free to investigate.

"Now, you obviously have no partner for the present, so I intend to match you temporarily with Commander Austin, Lieutenant Roberts and Lieutenant Singer, each in their turn, and each according to their abilities. To that end I am sending Commander Austin undercover to investigate the allegations of victimization of female marines at MCCDC. Once she has been placed on EMD you will be sent to Quantico to investigate the matching allegation that the Sergeant Major is using a bruiser as a means of inflicting unofficial punishment. You will, while there also have her back. Understood?"

"Aye, aye sir!"

To the Admiral's surprise, Harm remained seated, rather than springing to attention and waiting to be dismissed. Was there something else, Commander?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sure you have your reasons for wanting to delay my arrival at Quantico until Commander Austin is placed on EMD, but…"

"Are… are you _questioning_ my orders, Commander?" the Admiral asked in disbelief.

"No, sir… well, not really sir… it's just that Commander Austin isn't a marine, sir, and she could find herself in over her head before I can get to Quantico… and… well, sir… I'd just prefer to be there from the second she puts a boot on the ground."

Chegwidden changed his tone, "Harm, I get that you're concerned about the Commander's safety, but this is a very sensitive investigation." He stood and turned, staring out of his office window as he was prone to do when troubled, and speaking over his shoulder. "This is a very nasty case. Hell, there's an understatement if you like - if these allegations are true and the story gets out to the media, it'll be a helluva a black-eye, not just for the Marines and the Navy, but for all the armed forces. I mean, we thought we'd cleaned up our act after Tailhook, and then the Air Force Academy had that rape story break, and now we're beginning to hear stories about female personnel being assaulted and raped while on deployment." Chegwidden sighed, and turned back to face his junior officer.

"I am not advocating a cover-up, Commander, but I am demanding that this story stays under wraps unless and until we have incontrovertible proof that will stand up before a court-martial. And if we get that proof, that I can assure you that I will not rest until the perpetrators are convicted and punished. The problem we face is that if the story leaks prematurely or if we are unable to substantiate these allegations then the careers and lives of men who may be innocent may well be ruined."

"Understood, sir. But as a counter to that, with so much at stake personally for those involved, can we be sure that if they become aware of Meg's - of Commander Austin's real identity or even suspect her purpose, that they won't use violence to protect themselves. After all, sir, it's not too big a step and it is a common progression from intimidation to violence. That they haven't used violence - against women - in the past is no guarantee that they won't use it in the future, especially as the use of a bully-boy against male servicemen seems to be apparent."

"Point taken, Commander. But you have merely highlighted a problem, and as yet you have made no recommendation to obviate that very problem."

"Sir, I understand that the Gunny is trying to apply as much marine veneer to Commander Austin as he can in three days. Sir, even though the women at Quantico may be suffering, let the Gunny have the Commander for the extra week. It's not fair to the Commander to throw her to the lions inadequately prepared. If that was a reasonable choice, sir, you could have given the investigation to Lieutenant Singer."

"Don't be ridiculous, Commander! Lieutenant Singer wouldn't be able to maintain her cover for more than five minutes!"

"With respect, sir, Commander Austin may not last any longer than ten minutes! How would that be any different?"

"Dammit, Rabb! You _are_ questioning my orders!"

"Not your orders, sir. But maybe the timing of them?" Harm suggested.

Chegwidden glowered at the younger officer. "I will take your comments under advice, Commander! Now, dismiss!"

Rabb got to his feet and stood to attention, "Aye, aye, sir!"

**Friday 9 March 2001, 1200hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, ****4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC, 20032, (091700ZMar01)**

"Not good enough, Sergeant!" Victor Galindez barked, at the same time making Meg jump as he slammed his hand down on the table less than six inches from her own hand. "Sing it again, but this time try and make it sound like you got a pair!"

Meg gulped and in a wavering contralto she started, "From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli..."

Galindez heard her through, his emotions were a mixture of self-loathing, pride and trepidation. He hated himself for what he was doing to an officer he had started to respect as well as like, he was proud of her determination not to be beaten by the savage regime to which he was exposing her and just a little worried that when this was all over, she might just want a touch of payback!

"Better!" he snapped as Meg finished yet another rendition of the Marine Corps Hymn, but he was not finished yet, "What's the birthday of the Corps?" he demanded.

"November, tenth, seventeen seventy five, Gunnery Sergeant!" Meg responded crisply.

"Good!" Galindez placed an empty plate on the table. "Now, repeat the circumstances during which a hand salute is rendered and circumstances in which it is not rendered."

"Saluting while unarmed and armed. While armed. From order arms- Move the left arm smartly across the body with the forearm and wrist straight, fingers extended and joined, and the palm down. Ensure that the first joint of the forefinger touches the flash suppressor of your rifle. After executing the salute, resume the position of attention."

"Good!" Galindez placed two slices of toast on the plate, "Continue…"

"To perform a rifle salute while at trail arms-The movements are identical to those used for saluting at order arms, except that the rifle is held in the trail arms position."

"Right!" He added two slices of ham to the plate, "Next?"

"To perform a rifle salute when at right or left shoulder arms- Move the left or right arm across the body, fingers extended and joined, and the palm down. Ensure that the first joint of the forefinger touches the rear of the receiver just below the charging handle and the forearm is parallel to the deck."

Galindez nodded and added two eggs to the plate, "And?"

"To perform a rifle salute with slung arms- Reach across the body with the left hand and grasp the sling of your rifle. Release your right hand. Execute the hand salute."

Good. Well done!" Galindez added a spoon of beans to the plate. "You have," he glanced at his watch, "eight minutes to eat, before the next exercise!"

**Friday 9 March 2001, 1308hrs EST, Bullpen, JAG Ops, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (091808ZMar01)**

Loren stood by Carolyn Imes' office door scanning the bull pen personnel. For the task at hand, she really wanted Gunnery Sergeant Galindez' expertise, but with him so heavily involved in preparing Commander Austin for her stint as a Marine Corps Sergeant, that option was not available. He had become pretty close to Tiner, and maybe he had taught the younger man a thing or two, but Tiner, unfortunately, had his hands more than full with the Admiral. Loren's eyes continued to wander around the bull pen, looking for… looking for… well… she wasn't quite sure what she was looking for but her eyes lit on Petty Officer Personnel Specialist Second Class Woods.

"Woods!"

"Yes, ma'am!" the younger woman straightened from where she had been stooped over a computer keyboard and spun to face Loren, coming to attention as she did so.

"With me, Woods!"

Woods exchanged a nervous glance with her friend Legalman Two Jiminez and crossed the bull pen in Loren's wake, heading towards the blonde Lieutenant's office. Loren entered her office and sat at her desk and then to Woods' surprise, she indicated that the Petty Officer should be seated.

"Woods," she began in a level voice, "I need some help. Normally, I would pass this to the Gunny, but as he is not available, I've decided that I am going to give you the chance to shine. You've always struck me as being capable and efficient, now is your chance to prove it." She scribbled briefly on a post-it note and handed it to Woods. "I want to know where this officer is. I don't just want to know his current billet. I want to know where he physically is. For example if his billet is at Norfolk, but he has a house in Richmond, then if he is not at his duty station I want that house address. If he is not at his duty station or his home, then I want to know where he is. Understood?"

Woods almost sprung to her feet, her face shining with eagerness to please. "Ma'am! Yes, ma'am!"

"Thank you, Petty Officer, dismissed!"

Loren pushed her chair back from her desk and rolled her head to try and loosen up her neck muscles. Past experience had told her that if she failed to do so she would probably have the mother of all tension head-aches by the end of the day.

In the meantime she needed to get back to Carolyn Imes' office, ready to go over Commander Coulter's statement.

**Friday 9 March 2001, 1326hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (091826ZMar01)**

"Good afternoon, Carolyn, Loren," Terri Coulter spoke as she rapped on the doorjamb to the office.

"Come on in, Terri; sit down, please. We'd like to go over your testimony this afternoon - unless you have any problems that you want to touch on, first?"

"No… everything appears to be in order, so far." Terri replied, "I'm just waiting for the exhumation warrant, so I can carry out my own post-mortem. I may need some help with that, so I've spoken to a colleague at the Jeffersonian. I am good in my field, but she's the top-rated Forensic Anthropologist in the USA, and probably in the Western Hemisphere. If there's something there that I can't find, she will."

Loren looked up, her brows rising in interrogation, "Brennan?" she asked

"Yes, do you know her?" Terri countered.

"No… but I know of her." Loren turned to Carolyn in explanation, "She's worked with Colonel MacKenzie in the past, gathering evidence of genocide in the Balkans. As the Commander says, she's good. Very good; she's also done a lot of work with the FBI over the last couple of years."

Carolyn nodded, "OK, sounds if you've got all the bases covered there, but what I really want today is to run a check on your testimony, without you looking at the original transcript, and see if you can't come up with something that you missed the first time round. OK?"

Terri bristled, the events of that day were permanently engraved on her memory, "I don't see much point in that," she argued, "My memory of that day hasn't changed one iota, and I stand by the testimony I gave at the original trial."

"I'm sure you do, Terri," Carolyn said gently, "but the testimony you gave was in response to counsel's questions. If the questions are different, then perhaps your different set of answers might give us something extra to work on?"

Terri considered Carolyn's comments for a moment or two before reluctantly shrugging in agreement and replying, "OK, we'll give it a whirl."

"Great!" Carolyn smiled, "Let's start at the beginning. What was your then rank and duty station?"

"I was a Lieutenant (jg), two years out of Annapolis and in my second year of Medicine at Bethesda."

"You did pre-med at the Academy?" Carolyn asked in surprise.

"No, I got my bachelor's in bio-chemistry. I was intending to go into NBC Defence, but… things changed."

"OK. So you were a med student at Bethesda. Did you live at home with your parents, have an apartment or were you in BOQ?"

"I was in BOQ. A jg's pay wasn't about to let me set me up in an apartment, and my parents… well… it was difficult… in more ways than one. Apart from my father's drinking… I don't know whether it was a problem, but we - my mother and I - saw it as a problem. Then there was his verbal abuse… and of course my irregular schedule… and the sheer distance between Bethesda and my parents' quarters…"

"Right. And on the day you discovered your mother's body, was there a particular reason you visited, or was it just a routine keep-in-touch-visit?"

"Yeah, my mom had called me the previous evening. She said that she and dad had been fighting again at that she had thrown him out, and he was living in a motel somewhere. She was a bit… upset, so I figured that I'd call in and see that she was OK…"

"Did she say why she threw him out?" Loren asked.

"Only that they'd been fighting, and a couple of days before, while they were arguing, he'd pushed her and she'd fallen and hit her head on the table edge…" Terri's voice faded into silence as she realised the implication of what she'd said. "That would mean a manslaughter charge, instead of murder, wouldn't it?" she asked.

"Maybe. But if the fall had caused the fracture and had been a couple of days prior to death, that could explain the beginning of healing," Carolyn answered, reluctant to say anything under the circumstances. "but let's just wait for the results of the new autopsy before we start making any sweeping statements."

Terri nodded, not trying to guess what the evidence was before it was examined made good scientific as well as legal sense.

"So…" Carolyn continued, "you decided to visit your mom because she was upset?"

"Yes."

"OK, take us through the visit, step by step, if you can."

"Well… I knocked on the door; there was no answer, but I knew mom was at home…"

"How did you know that?" Loren interrupted, raising her eyes from the folder in her lap, where she was examining the scene of crime photographs.

"Oh…" Terri looked blank for a moment, "It's kind of complicated. Mom was kinda old-fashioned, she held that a woman's place was in the home and she didn't, she never left the house without dad, and then it was usually to go to the store."

"She _never_ left the house alone?" Carolyn asked her expression one of surprise.

"No… no, not that I can ever recall…" Terri answered slowly and as if the unusual nature of her mother's habits was impinging itself on her mind for the first time.

"So… there was no answer," Carolyn continued to probe, "What did you do then?"

"I opened the door and walked into the hallway…"

"What did you see?" Loren asked.

"Uh… well the hallway."

"Describe it if you can, please," Loren asked, answering Carolyn's curious gaze with a slight shake of her head.

"Well the stairs on the left going up to the second floor. A side table just inside the door, where we used to put car keys and such, the kitchen door dead ahead, and the lounge door about a third of the way along the right hand wall…"

"H'mm, what position were the doors in?" Loren wanted to know.

Terri concentrated fiercely, "I... I'm not quite sure…" she said, her brow furrowed in thoughts. "I think the kitchen door was open, but the lounge door was closed."

"Umm… Did you enter either the lounge or the kitchen?"

"Yes, I thought mom might be in the lounge, so I stuck my head around the door, but the room was empty."

Loren nodded, "According to the SOC photographs there was another door in the lounge, in the back wall. Where did that lead?"

"Through to the family dining room, which led on to the kitchen…"

"Was that door open or closed?"

"It was closed… I think…"

"Right, so your mother wasn't in the lounge. What did you do then?"

"I went back into the hallway, and I called her, asking was she in the kitchen… but she didn't reply, so I went upstairs. And before you ask, the bathroom door was shut, as was the door to the second bedroom - it used to be mine at one time, but mom and dad's bedroom door was open."

"And what did you do then?" Carolyn asked gently.

Terri bit her bottom lip as the memory of the next few minutes flooded her brain with vivid images, "I went to the bedroom door, and saw mom lying on the bed. She was lying on her side, her face away from the door and covered with an Afghan throw. I went to speak to her… but… she didn't respond. I placed a hand on her face, but it was so warm, I couldn't tell whether she was alive or dead, then I saw that she wasn't breathing and I felt for a pulse. There was none." Terri stopped speaking and she averted her face from the two attorneys, not wanting them to see that even after ten years her eyes had filled with tears.

"What did you do next?" Loren inquired.

"I… uh… opened the window… it was so hot… and then I used the bedside 'phone to call nine one one."

"H'mm, alright, it was July… but was it an exceptionally cold day, cold enough to close the bedroom window if your mom wanted to rest?"

"No… it was warm enough that's why I was surprised that heating was on."

"The heating was on?" Carolyn exclaimed in surprise.

"Yeah, it was so hot… while I was waiting for the ambulance and the MPs, I went down to the kitchen and I found that the furnace was on… so I switched it off."

"What about the fish-tank?" Loren said.

"Oh… yeah, mom kept it in her room," Terri exclaimed in surprise at the question. "I don't recall seeing it there that day, but it must have been, 'cause I forgot all about it, and then when I went back to collect my mom's things a few days later… to find something that she could be buried in, you know? Well, when I went back, the fish were all dead; there hadn't been anyone to feed them… It was strange, I felt really bad about that. Mom loved those fish… and I just left them starve…"

Loren bit her lip, and exchanged another look with Carolyn, before passing one of the photographs to her senior officer. Carolyn looked down at the photograph and her mouth dropped open with surprise. "What did you do with the dead fish, Terri?" she asked.

"Uh… I flushed them down the toilet," she replied somewhat embarrassed.

Carolyn nodded; it was a common, if slightly reprehensible, method of disposing of dead tropical fish. "I want you to have a look at this photograph, Terri; it was taken by the forensics team, the afternoon of your mother's death. It might help you feel a little better to know that you didn't let your mother's fish starve to death."

A bemused Terri reached out to accept the photograph from Carolyn's hand; it showed quite clearly the fish tank in her mother's bedroom. It also showed quite clearly that the fish were already dead, floating on their sides on the surface of the water.

"I… What… what's going on… What does this mean?"

"We're not sure yet, Carolyn flashed a warning glance at Loren, "All I can say for certain is that the fish in that tank died at the same time, or shortly before or after your mother. We are going to have to do some more investigation, and I hope that you're post mortem will agree with our findings. It looks like we're going to be quite busy. So, I'll call you on Monday and we can update each other…"

Terri feeling that she had summarily dismissed stood, and expression of confusion on her face, "What aren't you telling me?" she demanded.

"Only what we don't know, Terri," Carolyn replied truthfully, "Once we have carried out our further investigations, then we hope we'll be able to arrive at the truth of the matter. That is, if you think you can face the truth." She paused, "It might be an unpleasant one…"

"You do know something, don't you?" Terri challenged.

"Know?..No," Carolyn shook her head,"we don't know anything, but I'm beginning to suspect something, but I can't tell you what it is without properly examining the evidence. You wouldn't jeopardize a post-mortem by jumping to conclusions, would you? Well, no more can we jeopardize a case by doing just that."

Terri sighed with disappointment and the realisation that once again by drawing parallels between their professions, Carolyn had persuaded her to await the results of the evidence. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, she collected her cover and briefcase and with a "Until Monday," she quit the office, leaving Loren and Carolyn to watch her departure with expressionless faces.

Once Terri had crossed the bullpen and was out of earshot, Carolyn turned to Loren, "Are you thinking what I'm beginning to think?"

Loren nodded, "I'm hoping for accidental death by CO poisoning, but I'm beginning to think suicide," she said glumly.

Carolyn eyed her in something akin to despair, "Oh, shit! Well, get onto base housing maintenance, please Loren, and have them pull any records for that address - if they have them going back that length of time. In the meantime, I'm going to check with Bethesda and see if Mrs Coulter had any history of psych counseling."

Loren grimaced, both at the thought of her own task and in sympathy with Carolyn's forthcoming inquiry, "Good luck with that!" she wished the older woman.

**Friday 9 March 2001, 1625hrs EST, Admiral Chegwidden's Office JAG HQ, Falls church, VA, (092125ZMar01)**

Chegwidden stood, gazing out of his office window, one half of his mind idly noting that the cherry trees that dotted the courtyard were beginning to come into bloom, while the other half of his brain was trying to balance the safety of one of his officers against the need to resolve rapidly the situation with MCCDC - both the victimisation of female marines and the alleged use of an 'enforcer' against male marines. He was in partial agreement with Rabb over the potential risks that Austin faced, but this was a question of whether the risk of danger to one individual outweighed, or was outweighed by, the danger to many.

Reluctantly, Chegwidden came to the conclusion that Commander Austin would report to MCCDC Quantico at oh seven hundred Monday, March Twelfth. But he would ensure that she had more back-up to hand than just Commander Harmon Rabb.

**Friday 9 March 2001, 1700hrs EST, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office JAG HQ, Falls church, VA, (092200ZMar01)**

Loren looked up as Harm rapped on the doorframe of her office, "How may I help you, Commander?" she asked with a mischievous smile on her lips.

"You can help me, Lieutenant," he smiled "by securing your office, grabbing your cover, your sea-bag from your car, and putting your sweet little butt in the passenger seat of the Lexus," Harm told her with a grin.

Loren blushed, not only at the words he used, but at the tone in which he'd said them, but making a valiant effort, she relaxed back in her chair and lifted an eyebrow. "Impatient this weekend, are we, Commander?" she drawled.

"Not so much impatient, but we are operating on a deadline," he said quite seriously, "so unless you have anything that desperately needs your instant attention, let's head 'em up and move 'em out!"

"Harm, just where are we going?" she asked as she locked her desk drawers and turned off her computer.

"Well, tonight we're headed for Charlottesville, via my place so we can change and I can check my mail. Then tomorrow… bright and early… we're off on an adventure!"

"Oh, really. And where might that adventure be taking place?"

"That my little love, is classified, and strictly need to know. And at the moment, you don't. In short, 'tis a little surprise I have for you…"

**Friday 9 March 2001, 1740hrs EST, Bud and Harriett Roberts' Apartment, 1603 Corcoran St, NW, Washington DC (092240ZFeb01)**

Bud Roberts, with a nod to the sleeping toddler in his arms, mouthed to his wife, "I'll take him straight up."

Harriett nodded in reply and whispered resignedly, "Yeah, OK, I'll get the groceries," and stripping her uniform jacket, she turned around to go back outside to unload the mini-van. She had barely finished that task and was about to start emptying the grocery sacks and store their contents in fridge and freezer when she was interrupted by the insistent ringing of the 'phone.

"Robert's residence."

"_Arri-eh?"_

Harriett removed the phone from next to her ear and stared at it in momentary perplexity until the penny dropped. Raising the handset again she said cautiously, "Colonel?"

"_Yergh_."

"Oh… that's a relief, I thought for a second that… oh, well never mind. How are you ma'am?"

There was a pause, eventually broken by Mac's crestfallen voice, "_Arri-eh, nee' 'el_."

Bud stopped in the doorway as soon as he realised that Harriett was on the phone, but his eyebrows rose as he heard Harriett say, "You need help, ma'am?"

"_Yergh."_ Mac paused as she steeled herself to make a confession, "_Iss too difficult, Arrie-eh_."

"What is, ma'am?" Harriett asked, as she looked up and met her husband's vaguely disapproving gaze.

"_Li'e stoo diffcul' Arrie-eh, can I ta'e you u'on offer to 'el'_?"

"Of course you can, ma'am. You just stay put and I'll be right over."

"'_kyou, Arrie-eh_!"

Harriett put the 'phone down, and turned to Bud. "That was the Colonel, she can't manage after all. I'm going to head on over there and bring her back…"

Bud was troubled, he admired - or more accurately he used to admire - Mac, but he was all too well aware that her recent actions had come close to ending Harriett's career. Yes, it was partly Harriett's fault for letting her attachment to Mac lead her down paths that should never have been trodden, but still… and then there was the matter of just a couple of days ago. After all the trouble Harriett had been to arrange things so that Mac could stay with them until her ribs and shoulder, at least, were sufficiently healed, only to have her good-will thrown back in her face… "Harriett, he said cautiously, do you think that's a good idea…"

"Bud Roberts! The Colonel is our friend!" she refuted him indignantly, "And, yes, she's been awkward and stubborn, just like she always is. But she's always been good to little AJ too, and she's his Godmother. And I don't know about the Roberts, but the Simms don't turn their backs on their friends, just because it's inconvenient to help them once in a while!"

Bud nodded, he realised that he shouldn't have expected Harriett to say anything or indeed do anything different. Her ways, her loyalty to her friends, were just a couple of the reasons why he loved her so much. He crossed the room towards her, and placing his hands on her waist, he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. "If that's what you're happy with, sweetie, then it's fine by me. I just wanted to make sure that you were doing what you wanted to do, and not just because you felt duty bound."

Harriett's spurt of anger died as quickly as it had flared, and she raised herself on tip-toe, returning her husband's kiss with interest. "Bud Roberts, you are a good man," she told him, "Sometimes you're a little weird and strange, but underneath it all, Bud you are a good man, and I love you for it!"

"That's convenient," he told her earnestly, but with a smile on his face, "because, I happen to love you too!"

**Friday 9 March 2001, 1950hrs EST, Room 214, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (100050ZMar01)**

Harm swiped the key-card through the lock and on seeing the green light, threw open the door and made a very rapid scan of the room. Satisfied with what he saw, he stepped back to one side and smiling at Loren exclaimed, "Tah-dahhh!"

Loren cast him a quizzical glance, but then as he was obviously waiting for her to do so, she stepped past him and into the room where she suddenly stopped and gasped. Almost every horizontal surface was occupied by baskets of flowers. Again he had eschewed the more traditional roses in favour of medleys of woodland and forest wildflowers all arranged in their baskets against a back note of dark green forest ferns, lending their delicate scent to the air in the room.

The effect of the display was sufficient to stun Loren into wordless stillness, her senses almost overwhelmed. The tiny little voice at the back of her mind said slowly, 'well, I'll… he did all this? For you? And you said you didn't believe he could love you. How can you say that about a guy who does all this for you? For Loren Singer? And how can you doubt that he loves you? Stop denying it, girl, accept it and 'fess up.'

Loren turned towards Harm, her mouth working soundlessly as she fought to find her voice, "Ha… have I told you, actually told you, that I love you…?" she queried tremulously.

"I think you may have mentioned it a time or two," Harm replied gravely, "why?"

"I… I know you've said it to me and I… I just wanted to make sure that I'd said it back." Loren suddenly became shy again, "because although you said it, it didn't seem real to me, but now…" she made a vaguely helpless gesture at the flowers in the room, and her eyes misted over. Loren gulped, "You brought me woodland flowers the night we went to Sea Catch, and I loved them, but I figured it was just a one off thing… but now…"

Harm stepped up to her and laid his hands on her shoulders, "Loren, to me, these flowers are you. They just seem so much more fitting, more appropriate for you than roses or orchids. Those are Mata Hari type flowers, hot-house flowers, brash, overtly and overly sensual, right in your face, but these… these are you, small, natural, delicate but strong, light, rare, precious and infinitely beautiful."

Harm's words robbed her of the power of speech, and even of coherent thought, her mouth opened, but the only sound that issued from it was a breathless, "Oh…"

And then of its own accord, and without any sort of conscious direction from her brain, her body moved towards Harm, and reaching up she took his face between her two hands and drew it down to hers, kissing him softly but firmly, until she broke off and still holding his face in her hands, she smiled mistily, "That's just to say 'thank you for being you'."

"Well…" he said huskily, almost overcome by her reaction, "If there are any thanks needed around here, then I should be saying them to you. Loren, thank you for loving me, and thank you for allowing me to love you and thank you, for being you."

Loren continued to smile mistily up at him, "You are going to have to stop right there, Mister, because I need to go and fix my face, and I can't fix my face while you make me cry by keeping on saying all these wonderful things to me. So if you let me go to the bathroom to fix myself up, then in return, I'll let you take me to dinner… OK?" she ended playfully.

Harm leaned in and once more kissed her gently, "Sounds like a plan," he agreed with a smile. And then dropping his hands from her waist he stood back and let her disappear into the bathroom, his hand almost of its own accord feeling for the little box in his jacket pocket.

Loren reappeared some ten minutes later, her eyes bathed and her make-up - what little she wore - repaired and with an exaggerated swing of her hips she walked over to where Harm sat on the side of the bed and straddling his legs with her own she sank down so that she sat on his thighs, facing him, with her arms locked at the back of his neck. "Tell me, she said in a throaty voice, "have you ever noticed the size of the bathtub in that bathroom?"

"No… I can't say I have," he replied but with a frisson of anticipation running down his spine.

"Oh… well… it's quite a large tub," Loren said and then her voice took on a reflective tone, "It might even be big enough for two to share…"

"Oh…" Harm groaned, "decisions, decisions. Do we take the time to carry out an experiment to ascertain the capacity of the bathtub, or do we head for the restaurant and dinner?"

"Oh, I don't think there's any need to choose," she murmured suggestively, "We could do both."

"We could?"

"Sure, we could eat first, and do the physics, afterwards…"

"True, we could do just that," Harm agreed, and then lowering his tone to match her throatiness, he added, "And then after the physics… we could do the physical…"

"Oh, yes, we so could! Do you know something Mister? I like the way you think!"

**Friday 9 March 2001, 2100hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, ****4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC, 20032, (100100ZMar01)**

Meg looked up in surprise from her study book of Marine Corps history as Galindez's alarm clock buzzed into life, and the Gunnery Sergeant reached across the table and took the book from in front of her. "What...?" she began.

"Twenty-one hundred, ma'am," Galindez replied, reverting to normal military protocol, and seeing the look of confusion in her eyes, he smiled briefly. "School's over for the day, ma'am. But I suggest an early lights-out, 'cause it all starts again at oh five hundred."

Meg stretched her shoulders and arms in an effort to work the kinks out. The early morning PT had been bad enough, but the Gunny had harassed her all day, the slightest infraction or even suspicion of inattention on her part had been followed by the demand for her to get down and give him any number of push-ups, varying from ten to fifty, and although she might have thought that any given number that he'd snapped out had been purely arbitrary, each award of push ups had been carefully estimated so that although she might have been pushed to the limit, she had never been tasked to exceed it.

Now, as Galindez got up from the table, where he had been spit-shining his shoes, he headed for the fridge, "The bathroom is all yours ma'am, take as much time as you want, but... before you do... can I offer you a beer, ma'am?"

"Why, thank you, Gunny!" Meg exclaimed in surprise, "That surely would hit the spot right about now!"

"Here you go then, ma'am," Galindez grinned as he twisted the cap of a bottle and handed it to her, and then twisting off the cap of his own bottle he raised it towards her in a friendly salute, "Semper Fi, ma'am!"

"Oorah!" Meg replied and then took a mouthful of the refreshingly cold brew.

**Friday 9 March 2001, 2230hrs EST, Room 214, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (100330ZMar01)**

Returning to their room after dinner had involved a leisurely stroll along the hallway, Harm's arm around Loren's waist while she held his upper arm in her hand and leaned her head against his shoulder, both of them oblivious to the amused and for the most part tolerant stares they attracted from the few other hotel guests who were still up an about. One pair of eyes however belonged to a face where the eyebrows were raised in astonishment.

Lieutenant Commander Robert Williams was studying for his Master's Degree in Law at the Army's Judge Advocate General's Legal Centre and School, Charlottesville, but his previous duty station had been at NLSO Norfolk, and he was consequently very familiar with the personnel from JAG HQ, and he'd had no difficulty in recognising Harmon Rabb, and he was aware of a vague feeling of having recognised the blonde woman whom Rabb was escorting, as well as a greater degree of surprise at that companion not being Colonel MacKenzie. His silent ponderings were cut short by his wife's question, "Bobby, is something wrong? You've gotten very quiet all of a sudden?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he smiled reassuringly at his wife, "I just thought for a moment that I'd seen some I knew..."

The expression on Lieutenant Commander Angela Williams face transitioned from a happy smile to a moué of discontent; she hadn't made the one hundred and sixty plus mile journey from Fort Story at Little Creek on her one free weekend this month in order to listen to her husband ruminate on the identity of fellow-guests and with her eyes smoky behind her spectacles she leaned forwards across their restaurant table and murmured in a voice heavy with irony, "Fascinating, I'm sure..." and then her tone lightened even as her voice became husky, "but we're paying good money for a hotel room we haven't yet used... So... shall we?"

Bobby Williams grinned, "Oh, yes, we most certainly shall!" he agreed, signalling to the waitress to bring him the check for signature, and forgetting for the moment the very existence of Harmon Rabb and his mystery companion.

Harmon Rabb lay back on the bed as Loren, her back to him quickly stripped off her clothes and grabbing a short, crimson silk kimono style bathrobe from her sea-bag hastily donned it before turning to face him, "I'm going to draw a bath, and if you want... you can give me five minutes, and then we can find out if that tub is big enough for two!"

"Oh, I want, I want," he assured her, and smiling, waited until she had gone into the bathroom before switching on the radio and tuning it to a soft jazz station.

Ten minutes later the only sounds to be heard in room 214 were soft laughter and the gentle splashing of water against the background sound of George Benson's guitar playing.

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 0730hrs EST, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (101230ZMar01)**

Loren had been puzzled when after breakfast Harm had checked them out of the hotel, but all her inquiries as to what he had planned had met with the answer that she didn't need to know - yet. But first they were going flying, and as it was going to be a longish hop they needed to make sure that Sarah had sufficient fuel on board.

On arrival at the hangar they were met by a slightly grumpy Pop Walchowski, who he informed them, had gotten out of the habit of dragging his butt out of bed at Oh Christ hundred hours, but had only done it this once because Harm had said it was for a special occasion.

"What occasion, Pop?" Loren asked in an innocent voice.

Pop gave her a sidelong glance before he answered, "Waal, iffen I knowed what it wus, and iffen I was to tell you that, it's rather more'n likely that the Commander there would hang me from the nearest yardarm, so iffen you don't mind, Missy, I'd rather not be the guest of honour at a neck-tie party!"

Loren, despite her curiosity was compelled to grin at Pop, "Have you ever noticed," she said to him, "that your accent gets broader whenever you're trying to hide something?"

Pop pretended to consider her comment, his brow wrinkled with thought, until it cleared as if by magic and he turned a sly grin on her, "Nope, cain't say I hev!" he quipped in an even more pronounced accent.

Loren gurgled with laughter and then started as Harm dropped a hand on her shoulder, "If you've finished hitting on the hired help," he winked, "we need to fuel up!"

For once Loren was happy to be hand-pumping fuel into the Stearman, although it was well past sunrise the day was still waiting for the warmth of the sun to burn off the remnants of the overnight mist and the cold clamminess of the air made the temperature seem much lower than it was. As a result it didn't seem anything like the twenty minutes it usually took to fill the fuel tank, and Loren was almost sorry to hear Harm's instruction to "Belay pumping!".

The fuel drum secured and Harm having stowed their sea-bags in the aft luggage compartment and then with Loren having completed her pre-flight check as Harm shadowed her, the two of them donned their flying leathers and the pair climbed aboard the Stearman and once settled with headsets donned, Harm settled back in his seat and pressed the Intercom switch. "OK, Loren, I've filed our flight plan with the tower; take her up, and once we're airborne steer course zero one five!"

"Roger," Loren replied, "Steer course zero one five!" Loren pressed the starter button and held it down as the engine coughed into life and then settled down to its idling speed.

"Charlottesville Tower, this is Stearman November Six, requesting clearance to taxi to runway zero five."

"November Six, this is Charlottesville Tower, you are clear to taxi to runway zero five. Call in at threshold."

Loren nudged the throttle open and with increasing confidence she alternated the pressure on the rudder pedals in order to weave her way around the perimeter track until she reached the end of the runway, where again triggering the pressel switch she broadcast, "Charlottesville Tower, this is November Six, at threshold and requesting clearance for take-off."

"Go ahead November Six. You are cleared for take-off. Clear skies!"

Loren pushed the throttle wide open and the Stearman rumbled down the runway, Loren felt the tail come up and the increasing lightness of airplane as the speed indicator wound up towards the seventy knot mark and then the rumble of the wheels on the asphalt ceased as the yellow bi-plane practically flew itself off the ground, Loren only needing to nudge the stick back slightly in order for it to become airborne.

"Nice take off!" Harm complimented her through the intercom, "Now, zero one five and climb to Angels six!"

"Zero one five and Angels six, roger," Loren acknowledged.

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 1000hrs EST, Somewhere Over Central Pennsylvania (101500ZMar01)**

Harm had been craning his neck to see ahead and over the port side of the cockpit for about five minutes before his eyes picked up the landmark for which he had been searching. Nodding his head in satisfaction he called Loren on the intercom, "Loren, can you see a runway ahead and slightly to port of us?"

Loren banked the Stearman in order to open her view and searched the ground ahead, "Yes! I can see it!" she exclaimed.

"Good, call up Mifflin Tower and tell them we're on approach!"

Unseen by Harm, of course, Loren's eyebrows shot almost all the way up to her eyebrows, as she switched from intercom to broadcast, "Hello, Mifflin Tower, this is Stearman November Six announcing arrival from Charlottesville."

"Hello November six, this Mifflin tower, descend to Angels two and orbit the field, we have two other aircraft ahead of you in the pattern."

"Roger," Loren replied, and then switching back to intercom, she said, "Harm?"

"If you're happy, Loren, go ahead, but switch back to broadcast, ASAP!" Harm waited and then smiled as he heard the 'click' in his headphones that told him she had done just that.

They had made one and a half circuits of the field, which Loren put to good use, making a visual reconnaissance of the runway and the land marks she would use to gauge her final approach, before the tower called them.

"Stearman November six, this is Mifflin tower, descend to Angels one point five and call when on finals."

Despite her nervousness at the prospect of her first landing at a strange airfield, Loren's voice was firm and confident as she acknowledged the instructions and commenced a shallow descent to the required altitude before making a wide left hand one hundred and eighty degree turn, coming into line with the runway, "Mifflin Tower, this is Stearman November six, on final approach for landing."

Harm tensed slightly in the rear cockpit, while he had every confidence in Loren's ability he was well aware that a change to routine was a challenge, especially for a trainee pilot and he let his hands hover over the controls, ready to take instant command of the aircraft if he should need to.

He didn't need to; although the aircraft crabbed slightly in the crosswind, Loren set it down as smoothly and as gently as a mother would lay her baby in its crib, and with slightest touch of the rudder corrected the Stearman's drift to port before the wheels kissed the ground.

"Stearman November six, this is Mifflin Tower, continue on the runway until the second exit to starboard and head straight for the general aviation hangars."

Once again Loren acknowledged and again plying the rudders taxied the Stearman towards the designated area, where an airfield employee waited to guide them into position at the end of a line of general aviation airplanes.

Harm clambered out of the cockpit and stretched his back before removing his helmet and headset, as much as he loved flying, two hours plus as a passenger was reason enough, so his back reckoned, to stage a mild protest.

Loren on the other hand almost leapt from the front cockpit, her face alight with pleasure, and as she slid down the wing and her feet hit the ground, she used the impetus from her arrival to almost throw herself against Harm's chest, locking her hands behind his neck and pulling him down for her very enthusiastic kiss.

"Oh, my God!" she said as she broke the kiss, "I did it! Did you see me? I landed at a different field! I did the whole flight, from take-off to landing! Oh, Harm, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Despite the twinge of his discomfort from his back, Harm couldn't help but be infected with her pleasure in her accomplishment. "Yeah, I saw it," he grinned, "In fact I think I was there for some of it!"

Loren was far too happy, too wrapped up in the after-glow that comes with a successful outcome to a trial, to take exception to Harm's irony, she merely smiled up at him and murmured "God, I feel so good!"

Harm replied, "Good, because the weekend hasn't really started yet!" But instead of responding to her unspoken questions, he turned back to the Stearman and pulled their sea-bags from the luggage compartment and nodding towards the hangar he said, "Shall we?"

"Oh yes," Loren chuckled, "Let's!"

To her surprise Harm stopped at a small office inside the hangar and almost before she was aware of what he was doing he re-emerged brandishing a set of keys. Leading her out through the side door, he pressed the key fob and the lights on a mid-sized Ford flashed and Harm nodded in satisfaction and then taking Loren's sea-bag he stowed both bags in the trunk and opening the passenger door for her he said, "Ma'am, your carriage awaits!"

Loren got into the car and waited for Harm to walk around to the driver's side and settle himself behind the wheel before she challenged him, "OK International Man of Mystery, where are we and where are we going, and what dark plans are you harbouring?"

"Just have a little more patience, Loren, please. We're nearly there, and I don't want to spoil the surprise.

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 1030hrs EST, Somewhere In Central Pennsylvania (101530ZMar01)**

Twenty minutes or so after leaving the airport Loren was being bounced in her seat as the Ford negotiated an unpaved road that had left the highway some five minutes beforehand at a scattering of typically white-painted timber frame houses that forcibly reminded her of the sort of house in which she had struggled to young adulthood, and those memories crowded in upon her and laid a darkening cloud across her earlier euphoria until at last round a bend that skirted a grove of mixed deciduous trees Harm halted the car in front of an old but solidly-built traditional farmhouse, with a barn flanking the house on each side.

Harm looked across at her and with a gentle smile he said simply, "We're here."

Loren heard something different in his voice and looking at him saw something, gentler, more settled in his face. In an instant she was suffused by the feeling that this place - wherever it was - was somewhere very special to the man with whom she was in love.

"Where is 'here'?" she asked him gently.

"This is my Grandmother's house." He said softly, looking straight at her before he leaned in and kissed her gently. Breaking the kiss he said "Welcome to the Rabb family home."


	22. Chapter 22

**22**

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 0500hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, 4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC (101000ZMar01)**

For the second day in a row, Meg Austin was jerked from her sleep by Gunnery Sergeant Galindez's hoarse scream of "Man on deck! Up! Up! Outside in five, Utility pants, boots, T-shirt! Move it, Sergeant!"

Groaning as her muscles, stiffened from yesterday's unaccustomed exertions made their own silent protest, Meg almost rolled out her cot and fumbled her way into the prescribed uniform, before stumbling stiffly downstairs and out on to the sidewalk where Victor Galindez bounced on his toes as he gave her a critical visual inspection. His face was impassive as he did so, but he was grinning inside; Commander Austin had made it outside within the five minutes, and even looked like a squared away marine. His critical eye however didn't miss the way her movements were stiff and slow, she would need to stretch and warm up before they started the run he had planned otherwise she ran the risk of hurting herself.

"Ready!" he barked, "Copy me!" and went down into a fencer's lunge position, left leg leading and hands clasped on top of his left knee.

Meg groaned as she adopted the same position and watched carefully as he flexed and stretched his trailing leg by attempting to plant the heel of his foot on the ground.

Five more minutes of similar stretching exercises saw a rosy-faced Meg running on the spot, lifting her knees ever higher in time with Galindez' rasping cadence count. Watching their breath smoking in the cold air of just pre-dawn, the Gunnery Sergeant was satisfied that they were both loosened up sufficiently to start their run. "On my six!" he commanded as he moved off down the sidewalk at a brisk jog, and after a few steps broke into a cadence chant, "I don't know but I have heard, we're gonna jump from a big-ass bird!"

Despite herself Meg couldn't help but grin as she listened to the words, expecting from yesterday's experience to have to repeat them in the very near future.

"I don't know, but I've been told, an Eskimo's kiss is mighty cold!"

Meg grinned again, she'd heard many years ago the original version of that chant and strongly suspected that Gunny had too, but this time he had bowdlerised it for her benefit.

Chanting and singing while they ran, it was nearly an hour later that the Gunnery Sergeant and the Commander turned back into Seventh Street; Galindez glanced sideways at the woman running beside him, "Ready?"

"Hell, yeah!"

"OK - Go!"

The two of them sprinted for the front door of the Gunny's apartment block some two hundred yards away, legs reaching for the ground and arms pumping, racing each other just for the bragging rights of getting to the finish before the other.

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 0640hrs EST, Bud and Harriett Roberts' Apartment, 1603 Corcoran St, NW, Washington DC (101140ZFeb01)**

Harriett Simms knocked gently on the guest-room door and waited for some sound that signified that she'd been heard before she cracked open the door and stuck her head into the room, "Good morning, ma'am," she smiled brightly.

Mac was sitting on the side of her bed, staring disconsolately at the wrecked plaster cast on her arm, which was now aching to the extent where it would make a saint swear. But she brightened up as the blonde officer came into the room, "Mor'i'g, 'Arrier!"

"Good morning, ma'am! I've just come to wrap your arm so you can take a shower. Can you manage by yourself once you're in?"

Mac nodded, indicating that she was only wearing an old USN T-shirt she had pilfered from somebody else, "Bu' nee' ha' aaf'er shoer, p'ease."

"Sure thing, ma'am. I'm just going to get Little A J up and out of his jammies, so I'll be back in twenty minutes?" Harriett checked as she pulled a plastic bag up Mac's arm, over the plaster cast, frowning a little at its condition, and then fed a strong elastic band up over the bag to seal the mouth of it.

Mac had stood under the water jet reveling in the feeling of it as she massaged shampoo into her hair and scalp. OK, it felt a little weird on her head having her left hand wrapped in plastic, but the sheer joy of being able to take a shower after sponge-baths and yesterday's unsatisfactory experience more than outweighed the strangeness. Now, with a towel securely wrapped around her body and secured by an arm firmly clamping the wrap around together, she was back sitting in her bed and surveying the clothes she had laid out before crossing the hall to the bathroom.

Well, yesterday, she'd managed to put her bra on, and now with the drill for doing so established in her mind she saw no need to wait for Harriett to help her with that, nor with her underwear, although that was a greater challenge, and by the time Harriett tapped on the door a second time, Mac was almost fully dressed, needing only to be helped into her jeans and to stick her feet into a pair of moccasins.

"Ma'am, I really don't like the look of that plaster. You got it wet yesterday, didn't you?"

Mac's guilty start was all the evidence that Harriett needed, and she switched unthinkingly into what Mc had previously and laughingly called her ubermom mode. "Well! That's decided then!" she declared, her hands firmly planted on her hips, "I'll give Tiner a call and tell him that I'm taking a personal day - God knows how long they'll keep you waiting for a new cast, and I'll take you back up to Bethesda!"

"'Arrier, no! ca't take day off for e. 'sno fair on you fam'ly!"

"Ma'am, we're JAG, that makes you family too!"

"Bu' th' amira'!"

"Well, I'll just tell him that it was your fault, ma'am!"

"Arrier!" Mac wailed as best she could in protest.

"Well it is your fault, if you hadn't been so stubborn when you ordered the driver to take you home instead of here, we wouldn't have to waste out time taking you back to the hospital!"

Mac winced guiltily, Harriett was absolutely one hundred per cent right, and although Mac outranked her, her intransigence had gifted Harriett with the moral high ground, and by the looks of the light of battle in her eyes, she wasn't about to give it up any time soon.

"Bully," Mac grumped as she raised her hands in surrender.

"That's better, Harriett said, all smiles again, "now come on down and have some breakfast!"

Mac groaned and gave Harriett a fulminating glare, for the past ten minutes her nose had been telling her that the Roberts had bacon on the menu for this morning, and all she was likely to have was a protein drink, but at least the coffee would be hot. Picking up her glass drinking tube, she smiled in a show of compliance and followed Harriett along the hallway to the kitchen.

**Saturday 10March 2001, 0930hrs EST, Restaurant, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (101430ZMar01)**

Lieutenant Commander Angela Williams was beginning to get irritated with her husband. Yes, he had been all loving - very loving - attention last night, but this morning, all through breakfast he had appeared more interested in what was going on around him than in his wife who shared his breakfast table with him.

"What is wrong with you this morning, Bobby?" she demanded in exasperation.

"I'm trying to spot Rabb," he answered in a distracted manner, "the Commander from HQ?"

"Why, for God's sake," his wife demanded.

"Well, Rabb I know, and it's been accepted for years that he had a thing for Sarah MacKenzie - the marine JAG?" he prompted his wife.

"Yes, and this concerns us… uh… you exactly how?"

"Sarah MacKenzie is a brunette. The woman he was so close to last night was a blonde. But more than that she seemed vaguely familiar!"

Angela thought for a moment, "Well if this MacKenzie female had dyed her hair blond, would that change her appearance enough for you to think that she looked vaguely familiar?"

"Well… yes… it would," he agreed reluctantly, "but MacKenzie has something non-European about her, a darker complexion, not that she's black, but she looks as if she had a permanent sun tan, and the woman I saw last night looked pure Nordic, you know the fair hair, pale skin?"

"Does it really matter, Bobby?"

"Well, yes, it might…"

"How?" his wife demanded.

"If she's another officer from JAG, and that's about the only reason I can think of for feeling that I know her, or worse, if she's enlisted then he's committing an article one thirty-four offence."

"So what?"

"So, if I don't report my suspicions, then I'm in breach of the UCMJ too!"

Angela put her coffee cup back on its saucer, "Bobby Williams! You are surely not thinking of reporting what your mind tells you think you might have seen?"

"Look, Angela. We were the same rank when we started dating, and we decided to be completely open and above board about it, we went straight to Captain Anderson, told him were dating, we accepted all his restrictions on working together and facing each other in court and on personal interaction while on duty or in public in uniform. We told him we wanted to get married, and then abided by his order not do so until he'd found us billets near each other, even though it took a lot longer than we wanted. We did everything by the book. It seems obvious that Rabb isn't. Charlottesville is a hundred plus miles from DC, and it isn't as if it was a huge tourist attraction, so why come here? It can only be because it's so far off the beaten track that it's convenient for… clandestine assignations, and that means there must be something hinky about the relationship, or that Rabb doesn't want chain of command know about the relationship, and is trying to keep things under the radar."

"Or that there's nothing 'hinky' at all about the relationship, and they actually do have a valid reason to be in Charlottesville!" Angela snapped at her husband. "If you're so damned worried about, why don't you just ask him what brings him here to this place? I'll bet that he's got good and sufficient reason!"

"Or he's lying through his teeth!"

"For God's sake Bobby!" an appalled Angela replied, "Don't you dare say anything like that to him! Remember, even if he is in breach of the UCMJ, he's still a superior officer! And even if he is lying through his teeth, then all you can do is accept his word as an officer and a gentleman, and that absolves you from having to take any action!"

"But I'd still be derelict in my duty as an officer of the court!"

"Not if he tells you that he is not guilty of any wrong-doing!"

Bobby Williams threw down his napkin in disgust and buried his head in hands for a few seconds, "Look, I'll make a couple of inquiries at the desk, and then I'll talk to him. If he convinces me that everything's kosher, then I'll drop it, OK?"

Without waiting for his wife to answer, Bobby pushed his chair back from the table, got up and left the restaurant, heading for the receptionists' desk, where mustering up friendly smile, he greeted the young woman on duty, "Hi, can you help me, please?"

"I'll certainly try," she smiled back at him.

"It's just that last night, I thought I saw a colleague of mine in the restaurant, and I was hoping to have a word with this morning, but I haven't seen him in the restaurant. Can you tell me what room Comm… uh… Mister Rabb is in?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't tell you that. It is against hotel policy to give out any information concerning our guests, unless," she joked to take the rebuke out her words, "you have a warrant?"

"No, no… I don't got a warrant, he replied somewhat distractedly. He wanted to speak to Rabb, but he and Angela had plans for the day that didn't include sitting around the hotel lobby on the off-chance of spotting Rabb and his mystery blonde. Then something the receptionist had said triggered an alarm in his mind.

"You said you _couldn'_t give me any information, not that you_ can't_ give me any information," he looked at the receptionist as if he cross-examining a hostile witness, "Was there any particular reason for your using that particular tense?"

"Umm… sir…" the receptionist floundered, desperately looking around for some sort of help from a superior, help that wasn't forthcoming, "It's just that Mister Rabb checked out early this morning," and now that she'd breached the dam it seemed as if she couldn't help herself, "he seemed in an awful hurry too… he wouldn't even wait until the restaurant could seat him for breakfast…"

Williams felt a weight lift off his shoulder, it was obvious that Rabb had seen and recognised him last night, and had taken the first opportunity to vacate the hotel. It only confirmed his suspicion that there was something about the commander's presence here that wouldn't sit well with the naval authorities!

"Thank you… uh… Shelley," he smiled, as he read the young woman's name from her name plate, "Thank you very much."

Williams returned to his wife in the restaurant and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee before he spoke. "There can't be much doubt now Angela. He must have seen me last night. He and his woman skipped town first thing this morning!"

Angela looked across the table at her husband, "For God's sake. Bobby, be careful!"

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 1035hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (101535ZMar01)**

Harm pulled their sea-bags out from the Ford's trunk and slinging them both over one shoulder, he took Loren's hand in his and led her up the steps to the porch that ran the entire width of the house, where releasing her hand for the moment, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his key-ring. Unlocking the door, he stood back and with a gesture that forcibly reminded Loren of last night's arrival at the Boar's Head, he ushered Loren into the entry hall.

"Harm," Loren queried, "where is everybody?"

"Gramma lives here alone," he told her, "She's pretty much given up working the farm; she rents the pasture and the barns out to a neighbour, and just does a little in her vegetable patch - that is when she's not terrorizing the local population!"

"Terrorising?" Loren queried, wondering just what Harm meant.

"Yeah… she's got an old Willys' Jeep and as far as she's concerned, it's only got two speeds: Flank speed and finish with engines!"

Loren looked around the hall, seeing the pictures hanging there, "Is this your Grandmother?" she asked, pointing to one of the framed photographs.

"Yeah, that's her, taken about ten years ago," Harm smiled, "she was still working the farm then!"

"Did you take it?" Loren asked him, examining the image of a slender, grey-haired woman apparently in her seventies. The photographer had caught her in an unguarded moment as she paused for a moment on what was obviously a working day, she was dressed in a plaid shirt with an old pair of jeans, with working boots on her feet and heavy duty gauntlet gloves on her hands, looking into the camera with a faint smile. The photographer had either been very, very lucky, or very, very good he had caught perfectly the blend of humour and gentle strength that to Harm epitomized his grandmother.

"No, I didn't take it," Harm answered as his hand came up almost unconsciously to trace the outline of the lined face in front of him, "but I wish I had. It was taken by an old academy buddy of mine Jack Keeter. He started coming up here whenever he could to cheer me up after my ramp strike, and he and Gramma just hit it off, they're really fond of each other and he's almost like family to her. She knows perfectly well who he is, but she deliberately calls him Ketter or Keeper- much to his disgust - and usually preceded by 'that awful rascal, Jack'."

Loren watched his face as he spoke of his grandmother and read his expression, proud and fond yet seemingly tinged with a wistful sadness.

"How old is she now, Harm?"

"Just coming up on eighty-two, and as tough as whitleather," he replied.

Loren contented herself with a nod. "You really love her, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Harm replied, maybe a bit too sharply, "She's my Grandmother!"

"Yes, of course she is," Loren answered him gravely, "but you love her out of more than just duty, don't you?"

Harm was about to make a second sharp reply, when Loren's words really registered, "Yeah, yeah I do… I really do love her… in some ways, she's closer to me than my Mom. Not that I don't love my Mom, but we've had our differences in the past…"

"Uh-huh, where is your grandmother, anyway? Once you said this was her place, I'd hoped to meet her."

"Ah… she's away visiting Mom and Frank in la Jolla. I will bring you back up here to meet her Loren, but this weekend I'd planned to be just for us. I wanted to show you the places that were important to me, where I spent some the happiest times of my child, where I got myself back together after the crash…" he tailed off helplessly, a plea for understanding in his eyes, even as he shrugged helplessly.

Loren stepped into him, and rising on her toes she just managed to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "OK, we'll have this weekend just for us. Just as long as I get to meet your grandmother another time… oh, and while we're at it, your Mom and step-dad too?"

Harm let his hands rest on the upper swell of her hips as he smiled down into her face, "Oh, I'm sure we can arrange all three, in time."

"H'mm in time, huh? Well, what are we going to do now? All this time we've been stood here in the hall, and I still haven't seen the rest of the house!"

Harm laughed and said, "Yeah, we especially need to see the kitchen!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Gramma's a real traditionalist, won't have gas or electricity to cook on, so she still uses an old wood-burning range, and as she's away she might have drawn the fire!"

As he talked, he led Loren along the hallway and into the stone flagged-kitchen, where, just as he'd described the old cast-iron range dominated one wall, with a wood-box, currently half full, standing to one side. Harm knelt to investigate the state of the fire and then stood, a glum pout on his face. "Damn! She has drawn the fire!"

"Meaning what, exactly?" Loren asked as she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs from under the scrubbed oak-topped table.

"Meaning, I'm going to have loads of fun, trying to re-light it!" Harm replied with a groan.

"Oh come on, Harm, if your Grandmother does it, it can't be that hard!"

"You don't know this range!" Harm growled, casting a malevolent look at it, "There's an evil spirit that lives in there, and although it's afraid of Gramma, it doesn't give a damn about anybody else!"

"See, I told you it wouldn't be a problem," Loren said in tones of mock admiration to a soot and sweat streaked Harm some fifty minutes later when the fire finally consented to catch.

Harm contented himself with giving her a disgusted look before stripping off his shirt and turning on the faucet at the kitchen sink, knowing as he did so that he was heading for a cold-water wash.

Loren's "Mind you, if coping with that evil spirit means I get to see you with your shirt off, I'm all for drawing the fire every day!" did however draw a grudging grin from him as his pilot's ego started to re-inflate.

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 1300hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, 4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC (101800ZMar01)**

Meg agreed in principle that whoever did the cooking didn't do the washing up, but she still sighed as put the last of the dishes in the drying rack and turned around to see what Gunny had lined up for her next. She hoped it was nothing too strenuous, the bowl of chili and crackers she'd had for lunch threatened to make any physical activity this afternoon decidedly uncomfortable.

Victor Galindez had been studying Commander Austin as she'd completed this morning's drills and then eaten her lunch and again now, as she squared away the kitchen after eating. He didn't let it show on his face, but he was concerned about her. She was fit, as her run this morning had show. Even after their eight miles she had gotten ahead of him in the sprint to the front door of his apartment block, but she just didn't have the stamina that could only really be instilled during the full thirteen weeks Corps Boot Camp at either San Diego, or he gave a mental sniff of derision, at Parris Island. Much as it went against the grain, he needed to take it a little easier on her this afternoon, and he comforted himself that if she figured it out that was what he was doing, he could always say it was a reward for beating him in the sprint!

"Ready, Sergeant?" he challenged her.

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!" she snapped back.

He nodded, "OK, in the closet over there is the ironing board and the iron. This afternoon, I am going to demonstrate how to achieve that Marine Corps sharpness in your uniform. Once I've demonstrated how it's done, you can take over the iron, while we have a little pop-quiz!"

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!" Meg responded crisply, although inwardly groaning as she headed towards the closet; of all domestic chores, she loathed ironing the most, and now she was going to have to iron shirts and blouses and press jackets, pants and skirts under the exacting eye of Gunny Galindez! Damn it, she'd almost rather go for another eight mile run!

Her torture wasn't yet over, however. As she started rig the board, she saw that Galindez was holding in his hand the shoe box that contained the regulation-pattern pumps that she'd bought yesterday. Eyeing him suspiciously, she ventured, "Uh, Gunny, the shoes…?"

"Yes, Sergeant. You'll need to wear these with your Alphas when you report in on Monday morning, and seeing as they are new and haven't yet been broken in, I suggest you wear them for the rest of today and tomorrow, and try and get them to fit your feet. I've got enough sisters to know that it's not going to be pleasant, but if you don't break them in, they're going to cripple you. it's partly my fault, I should have thought about these yesterday" he shrugged apologetically.

"Oh, Gunny, can't I just wear my regulation navy pumps?"

"Wrong pattern, Sergeant! I know we want you to get EMD, but you really don't want to screw up in your first few minutes!"

"No Gunny, I suppose not," Meg sighed resignedly.

"That would be a 'No Gunnery Sergeant!'," Galindez reprimanded her.

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant! Sorry, Gunnery Sergeant!" Meg rapped out.

"Never apologise, Sergeant! It's a sign of weakness!"

"No, Gunnery Sergeant!"

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 1315hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (101815ZMar01)**

Harm and Loren stood side by side, silently enjoying each other's company and washing and drying the pots and dishes from their lunch, until as Loren dried off the last plate and handed it to Harm, she asked, "So… Mister Surprise Man, what have you got hidden up your tricky little sleeve for us this afternoon?

"Umm… I… uh… thought you might like to see some of my favourite places. I spent a lot of time here during school vacations as a kid. I… uh… didn't get on too well with Frank - my stepfather, you remember?"

Loren nodded her head in acknowledgement that she did remember him telling her about his troubled relationship with Frank Burnett, thinking that Frank may just have been the subject of one of the differences that had arisen between Harm and his mom.

"Uh… yeah… well… then I came here to recover… after my RIO… after my ramp strike. It's always been a kind of healing place for me… and I… uh… I just thought you might like to… to have a walk 'round with me, so… I can… uh… show you… them." Harm finally finished his sentence, leaving Loren looking at him in some perplexity.

Loren's eyes searched his face looking for a clue as to what was wrong, Harm was usually a polished orator, able to sway a jury by his appeals to their emotions rather than have them just stick to the facts, and the brilliance of his oratory had won more than one case when at first sight the weight of the facts as presented in the evidence should have ensured he lost, but now he seemed a bit edgy, and his eyes had a strange, rather glassy look to them as he stared at her earnestly.

"Yes, I'd love to see the place that meant so much to you when you were younger," she smiled and let her smile grow wider as she saw the strain melt away and his face split in his devastating grin.

"Come on, then" he almost sang, "Grab your jacket, and let's get going!"

Loren wasn't quite sure what she'd expected, maybe a brisk hike as he hurried her from spot to spot, so she was only slightly surprised when no more than a few steps from the front door, he slipped his arm around her waist. Nothing loath, she smiled up at him before her arm snaked its way around as much of him as she could encompass, and she let her head rest lightly against his upper arm.

The path he led her on curved around the side of the house and down a gentle slope, through a small patch of woodland to a shallow creek which ran lazily away to their left.

"This is where I used to come when I was about, seven or eight years old, when mom used to bring me up here for vacations," he smiled at the memories, "I'd spend all day splashing through the shallows here, trying to catch polliwogs, or young frogs. Man… I'd come down here just about straight after my breakfast and my chores, with a packet of sandwiches, and a bottle of soda. I'd spend all day here, and then come sundown, I'd head back up to the house, tired, happy and incredibly muddy and soaking wet. Gramma would scold me for messing up my clothes - hell they were just jeans and a T, but she'd pop me into a hot bath, give me my supper and then pack me off to bed. Then the next day, I'd have my breakfast, she'd give me another packet of sandwiches, and a bottle of soda, and later, half an hour or so after I'd done my chores, I'd be back here, trying to catch pollywogs - completely forgetting her warning about keeping clean and dry, but she knew I would!"

Loren looked up into his face as he spoke, and the remembered happiness of his younger, more innocent, days which had brought a smile to his face, evoked an answering smile of her own. "I'll bet you were a handful as a kid!" she remarked.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," he grinned back at her, taking her hand in his and starting walk away from the stream. "The barn we passed on the way here?"

She nodded.

"Well, I don't know if you saw, but in back of it, the end facing away from the house, there's a hay-loft, with a door that used to have a block and tackle coming from a beam?"

"Yeah, I know the type of thing."

"Uh-huh, well one day, I… uh… borrowed one of Gramma's red curtains from the house, and used a safety pin to hold it together around my neck. I was going to be Superman… and…"

"You tried to fly out of the hay-loft?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah…" he had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, "broke my wrist…"

It was too much for Loren, she broke into a peal of delighted laughter, "Oh… your poor grandmother!" she gasped as her laughter died away. And then her jaw dropped as Harm led her around a twist in the path. She hadn't realised they'd been climbing a slight incline all the way from the stream until she saw that they were now clear of the trees and standing in a clearing on the top a low bluff, affording them a view back down the way they had come to the house and yard with the two barns, but in front of them was a waist-high stone wall with a wide, double, cast iron gate. Harm opened the gate and reaching back for her hand he led her through them.

Inside the wall the grass was neatly trimmed, but what immediately caught Loren's eye were the rows of headstones. Harm led her between the rows to the last of the stones nestled almost against the far wall, and dropped to one knee, tugging on Loren's hand so that she followed him. The carved lettering was old, so old that it was almost illegible, but with Harm's help, she traced out the inscription,

_Sacred to the Memory of Aengus Frasier Rabb  
>Asleep in the Arms of The Lord,<br>15__th__ Day of August in the Year of Our Lord, 1713  
>27<em>_th__ Day of June in the Year of Our Lord 1748_

"The Rabbs were one of the first families to settle this side of the Susquehanna, and Aengus was the head of that branch of the family."

"But he was so young when he died… only thirty-five…" Loren whispered.

"Yeah, he was one of the first casualties in what we know as the French and Indian Wars. The place was attacked by the local tribes in the pay of the French" Harm nodded at the next headstone over, "That's Susannah, his wife, and beyond her are Donald, Margaret, and Janet, three of their children. All with the same date of death. Rory and Catherine, the two youngest, survived. They were adopted by the Native Americans who attacked the house. Rory came back when he was grown, and re-built. Catherine married one of the militia who recovered them, and settled in Pittsburgh."

Harm got to his feet again, "Every time I visit," he said, extending a helping hand to Loren, "I stop by here, to say… well… just to pay my respects."

Loren nodded her understanding, and as she turned to follow Harm, she stopped again. Just inside the gate were two more stones, seemingly much newer than the others in the small family cemetery, one of them so new that it almost shone in the spring sunlight.

Harm feeling the tug on his hand as she stopped, turned to look at her, and seeing her arrested expression, he followed her line of sight. With a slight tug on her hand, he led her across to the two stones, of identical pattern, and watched Loren's face as she read the inscriptions; he was so familiar with them that he no longer needed to read them,

Loren looked at the older stone first:

_In Memoriam  
>Lieutenant David H Rabb USN<br>16 January 1919  
>8 May 1942<em>

and then the obviously more recent one

_In Memoriam  
>Lieutenant Harmon D Rabb, Sr, USN<br>24 November 1942  
>11 July 1980<em>

With the question obvious in her eyes as she lifted them once more to Harm, he answered it before she spoke, "No, Loren, they're not here." He indicated the older of the two commemorative marker, "That's in memory of Grampa, Gramma's husband, he was shot down over the Pacific, they never found his body. "That's in memory of my dad. Like I told you before, he was shot down over Vietnam. He died and was buried in an unknown location in Russia… but…" he stopped, obviously struggling with something.

Loren squeezed his hand gently, "Go on… if you want to…" she said encouragingly.

"Well… it's something I found out when I went back to Russia late last year," he hesitated again, drawing a deep breath before he continued, "Dad was being held by the Soviets, in a camp. But he escaped from the camp, and he found and made a place for himself on a farm way out in the backwoods of Siberia, the guy that owned the farm had a sister… and… well… to cut matters short, I've got a half-brother. He's a Sergeant in the Russian Army."

Loren blinked in astonishment. She knew that something had happened during Harm's second trip to Russia… but this… "Harm, are you sure he's your brother?" she asked quietly

"Oh yeah!" he gave a bark of sardonic laughter, "There's no doubt about it. He's got the Rabb genes; he's a pilot. OK, he only flies helicopters, but he's still a flyer!"

Loren again nodded, but kept her eyes fixed on his, "How do you feel about that?"

Harm shrugged, and turned his head so that he was looking out, over the bluff and into the far distance. "I don't really know… I mean, I know I shouldn't judge, but when I was at the Wall, I met a woman who knew him on the old _Ticonderoga_, she admitted that they'd kissed, on the evening of the night he went MIA… but I got the feeling that there might have been more… and then to find he'd fathered a son on another woman… If it had just been that, then I guess I could have understood it. You know, like he had no hope of getting home, so he tried to make a new life with a new wife." He shrugged again, "But on top of the story about the kiss on the old_ Ticonderoga_, well, it hurts… like he betrayed Mom and me, not once, but twice, and then, to add insult to injury, he gave up on us… on me. I felt the same way when Mom had him declared legally dead, that she'd given up him. But I never did, I kept on looking… and now sometimes I feel like he wasn't the man I loved, looked up to, respected and kept in my thoughts for all those years…"

Loren laid a hand on his forearm, "Harm, I can't tell you what to think or what to feel… but when he met this woman on board… it was wartime. People do all sorts of things under stress that they wouldn't dream of doing under normal circumstances. Like this woman said, it was a kiss, it could have been just for comfort, or an under the mistletoe type of thing… you did say it was just before your dad went MIA, didn't you? And that was Christmas Eve, right?"

"Yeah… I suppose so…"

"OK," Loren said a little more brightly, "And this other woman… in Russia. You said it was in the Siberian backwoods, right? Well, without papers, what chance do you think he would ever have had to get out of the Soviet Union? Not just Russia, Harm, but the Soviet Union. The distances are immense, and with police checkpoints all over the place, what chance would he have had to get a ship out of there, or even to a US consulate or the embassy? And he'd been a prisoner for so long… and he must have known it couldn't last. Do you really begrudge him grabbing for just a chance at some last happiness in his life?"

Harm turned back towards her, his face losing the somber expression it had worn as he'd struggled with the conflicting emotions that recent talks about his father always seemed to bring on. "You know, Loren Singer, you are an incredibly bright, beautiful woman, and you are also a very persuasive advocate." He lifted both her hands to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles, "I didn't mean for today to become so gloom-laden, but there are a couple of more spots I want to show you before we head back to the house, and they don't have so many mixed memories!"

Loren blushed with pleasure at his words, and grinned up at him. "You'd better make it quick, Mister Home-Boy Man, 'cause from the look of it, we don't have too long left before sundown!"

"You're right," he smiled back, "but we haven't got too much further to go, and the going's pretty easy from here," as he indicated a tree-free track that curved around the edge of the bluff to the south and west.

Hand in hand once again they followed the track around, always slightly down hill, until Harm turned off the beaten path and led Loren along a deer trail through the trees to their left. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing until they broke free of the trees once more to find themselves in a clearing through which the upper reaches of the creek ran, and in the middle of which lay the trunk of a fallen forest giant which had created the clearing by its demise.

Harm led her by the hand, and sat on the fallen tree, tugging her hand to sit her down with him. With a grimace of distaste at the mossy condition of the offered seat, Loren gave a half laugh and surrendered, knowing that her jeans would definitely need a thorough wash before she could wear them around the apartment again.

Harm pulled her in close and said, "Now that we're sat down, look, over there…" he pointed out the direction and Loren smiled with delight. A congruence of angles of sight opened a tunnel through the trees on the opposite side of the creek leaving open a vista of a long valley, stretching away to the south-west. "Do you see that notch in the hills in the far distance?" Loren nodded, her head against Harm's bicep, "Well, it's a mite early in the year for it, but later on in the summer, we can sit here at sunset and watch the sun go down, right through that notch. You know I said that the farm was a healing place?" he continued.

Again Loren nodded wordlessly.

"Once I could walk this far, this was the ER when I was recovering from the ramp strike, and then when Diane came up to help with my recovery, we'd bring something to eat and drink, and we'd just sit here and talk…" he smiled, "No, I'm not getting gloomy again, this place has far too many good memories to allow me to do that. And I'd like to add to those memories, and bring you back up here in the summer, just so we can sit here and watch those sunsets!"

"M'mm sounds like a plan!" Loren murmured in reply.

Harm took a quick look at the sky and then his watch and decided that they could wait a few more minutes before he took Loren to the last place on his mental itinerary, in the meantime he was quite content to sit in silence with her, just taking pleasure in her nearness.

For her part Loren was also happy to sit with Harm's arm around her. She'd never had anything like the sense of comfort that seemed to flow from him to her, and he was certainly far more gentle and loving with her than her family had ever been, and not even with her previous lovers had she ever felt so cherished, so protected and yet not smothered.

Harm squinted down at what he could see of her face, her expression was one of calm and peace, and he fought back his own grin, contenting himself with a half-smile as he realised that Loren's present aspect was one that she wore all too infrequently. He unconsciously tightened his grip on her shoulders, as she opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "Something wrong?" she asked quietly.

Harm let his smile blossom, "No, nothing at all, but it's time we moved on…"

Loren disengaged Harms arm from around her shoulders and let him stand, waiting, as she knew he expected her to do, for him to offer her his hands to help her to her feet.

"Are you up for a little bit of a climb?" he asked her.

Loren chuckled, "Lay on MacDuff!" she replied.

"H'mm, not quite the right context," he teased her gently, "but at least you got the quotation right!"

"What, all of a sudden you're a Shakespeare scholar?" she challenged him in return.

"No, not really, but apart from her Agatha Christie, and similar mysteries, for years the only other books Gramma had on her shelves were The Bible, a Complete Works of Shakespeare, similar of Chaucer, and all of Fenimore-Cooper's work. I read The Last of the Mohicans and his other stuff the second summer I spent here - the same summer I broke my wrist, and then moved onto the Shakespeare. I… uh… still re-read some of my favourite plays whenever I'm here…"

"Well that's nothing to be shy about!" Loren responded, and then as the slope started to make itself felt, "Uh, where exactly are we headed?" she asked, squinting against the lowering sun which was now almost directly in their faces.

"We're almost there," Harm promised her as he extended a hand to help her up a steep pitch of slippery short grass, "Ah," he breathed, "and here we are! This is King's Castle," he told her proudly, "it's the highest point on the property."

Loren took a couple of deep breaths. She hadn't realised how high they'd climbed, but from where they stood on a rounded, grassy knoll the view could only be described as magnificent. The valley ran away in front of them to the south west, and she realised that in clear visibility anyone standing where they were must have been able to see for nearly thirty miles before the hills on the far side of the valley curved around and cur off the view.

"Oh, my word," she breathed, "This… this is stupendous…"

Harm smiled at her obvious joy in the view, "Just look down there," he told her, indicating a spot off to the left.

Loren did as she was bid and gasped. Far, far below was the Rabb farmhouse, looking like a child's toy, "Harm! Just how far have we climbed?"

"Uh… about two thousand feet," he confessed,

"Impossible!" Loren denied.

"Not really," Harm explained. "We took it in three quite easy stages. You probably hadn't realised we'd climbed so high!"

"So, Mister Shakespeare Scholar, you're now Mister Mind Reader Man, too?"

"Uh… no… why?" A puzzled Harm answered.

"Because you just said almost word what I was thinking a minute or so ago!"

"Ah," he smirked, "Great minds think alike!"

"Or fools don't differ!" Loren huffed, expecting an instant rebuttal, but when Harm made no answer she looked up at him again, to find that once more he was gazing off into the distance.

"Harm?"

"Hush a moment please, Loren, I'm waiting…"

"For?"

Harm stepped behind her and folded her into his arms, "Look there," he told her as the bottom edge of the sun touched the line of hills on the far side of the valley, and as it did so, Harm released her from his arms and placing his hands on her shoulders he gently turned her to face him, and stepped sideways turning her with him again until she could feel the last of the sun on the side of her face, as he let his hands travel down her arms until he was holding both her hands in his..

"Loren Singer, I know we agreed that we'd take things slowly between us, but I can't do that. Since we have got to know each other, we became friends, but you are so much more than just a friend; I have come to realise that you are everything to me. You make me a better person just by being you, and you make me complete. Loren Singer, I love you so very, very much, would you please me do me the inestimable honour of becoming my wife?"

Loren's mouth dropped open as she fought for words and her eyes misted over, "Harm, I love you… I do… and I really want to say 'yes, I'll marry you', but I need to know do you really, really want me? Harm, I'm damaged goods. With all my past history and the load of baggage I have, are you sure I'm worth it, are sure you want to marry me? Because…"

"Loren," he interrupted her, "Apart from the fact that I've told you before that I never again want to hear you refer to yourself as damaged goods, I am one hundred per cent sure that I love you, that I want to marry you, I want to have my children with you and raise them to be strong young men and women. And when I'm old and gray and wrinkled and toothless and sitting in my rocking chair on the porch down there, I want to be sitting in that chair, with you on my knee and your arms around my neck. Loren Singer, I have loved you for what seems to be ever, and I vow that I will continue to love you from here to eternity. Will you marry me?"

Loren's tears overflowed and ran unheeded down her cheeks, "Yes, I'll marry you," she gulped.

"Oh, thank God!" Harm whispered and letting go of her hands, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out the small velvet-covered box he'd been carrying around for the last two weeks. Opening the box, he revealed a slim gold band with a single small diamond glinting in the last of the sunlight. "This, was Gramma's engagement ring, she gave it to my dad when he and mom decided to get engaged. Mom sent it to me some time ago, with the instruction that I was to give it to the woman who, if I ever found her, and in her words, 'was dam fool enough to say yes!'. I found you. Will you consent to wear it as a token of my limitless love for you?"

Loren, still almost incapable of coherent speech just smiled through her tears and held her hand out, "Yes, please," she finally managed and let further tears fall as Harm slid the ring onto her finger, before he took her in his arms while she raised her face for his kiss.

Panting for breath, they broke apart and without knowing how they stood facing each other joined in a double hand-clasp. Loren looked up at Harm, aware now that she could barely see his face, "Harm, how on earth are we going to get back in one piece!" she giggled.

Harm grinned triumphantly, knowing that she couldn't see his face, but hoping that she might still be able to see the flash of his teeth, and releasing her right hand he dug his left hand into his pocket, "Flashlight!" he said.

"Oh, well, aren't you the happy little boy-scout!" she laughed up at him, as his arm encircled her waist again, and she settled her head against his bicep.

"Oh yes, ma'am, and the beauty of it is," he said leading her around the base of the knoll, "it's a smooth switchback, all the way down to the yard, so we shouldn't fall and break our necks!"

"Oh, that's convenient!" Loren chuckled.

"M'mm… Loren?"

"You said you wanted to meet my folks, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, once we get home tomorrow evening, and I 'phone Mom and Frank, he'll probably have to hog-tie her to prevent from jumping on the next flight out of San Diego, but you'll need to brace yourself in the not too distant future!"

"Brace myself? Should I be worried?"

"No… it's just that Mom's been on at me for ages to get married… she keeps dropping hints that she wants grandkids before she's too old to enjoy them!"

"Uh-huh… do you want kids, Harm?" Loren asked him, a wistful note in her voice

"Hell yes! A whole football team!"

Loren looked up at him, a fleeting feeling of alarm shooting through her, as she remembered her mother trying to cope with a large family. "A football team? No way!"

"Well, maybe not a football team… A basketball team?"

Loren laughed, "You can't negotiate a plea bargain like that with me Mister Lawyer Man. Nope, not even a basketball team!"

"But more than one, right?" he asked slightly anxiously.

"Oh, yeah, two… maybe even three… but, on my timetable, not yours, not your mom's, mine!"

"Uh… how about our timetable?"

"OK, counselor, you got yourself a deal, after all!"

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 1800hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, 4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC (102300ZMar01)**

Meg had just about had enough for one day! Her feet in her new shoes were killing her, ably aided and abetted by her back which was protesting at the prolonged, semi-stooped posture she'd assumed during the hours she'd spent at the ironing board in a vain attempt to meet Gunnery Sergeant Galindez' high standards.

Galindez looked at her in his turn and slowly shook his head. This wasn't going to work. Commander Austin was producing a good, if not high, standard of presentation, but she was far too slow, she'd never had to learn to speed iron, with the sharing of one iron between thirty-some women in a barrack-room. Any female graduate of Parris Island would detect her for an imitation of the real thing in five minutes flat. He would have to re-think this and come up with a new solution, pretty damn' quick!

"OK, Sergeant, this isn't working. Unplug the iron, and leave it to cool. Take a seat and let your feet relax!"

"It's not good, is it Gunny?" Meg asked him ruefully.

"No, Sergeant, it's not. Your uniforms are just about up to standard, but there's no way on God's earth that you're slick enough when you're ironing. Nope, I'm going to have think this one out, and come up with a different answer! In the meantime, give your feet a rest, and get some shine on those shoes, while I fix us some dinner! Here, he tossed her yesterday's paper, try not to get polish all over yourself, the furniture or the carpet!" but his grin took any possible sting out of his words.

"Thanks, Gunny," Meg replied with a weak smile.

**Saturday 10 March 2001, 2232hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (110332ZMar01)**

Loren smiled up at Harm as he placed the empty coffee cups on the worktop next to the sink and re-joined her at the kitchen table, where she sat with a pile of photograph albums, 'gathering the evidence for use for blackmail' as he'd said in a not entirely serious grumble.

"Yeah, but look at how cute you were!" she giggled as she pointed out a solemn seven year old Harmon Rabb gazing out of the page at her.

"Yeah, that's my 'man of steel' look… so that must have been the summer I decided I was going to be Superman - before I tried to fly! But there are much more interesting pictures than that one!"

"H'mm…" Loren was rather casually leafing through the albums, not in any particular order, when one photograph caught her attention, "Oh… I've seen that one before… in your office… and in your apartment… is that…?"

"Yeah, that's my dad… and me… that was taken on the _Ticonderoga_, just before his last deployment… He talked the skipper and the CAG into letting me come aboard for the day, even though by strict standards I was too young to be a Tiger. Anyway, dad let me climb into the cockpit of his F-4, and was stood on the ladder, explaining the controls to me…"

Loren examined the photograph more carefully, "You're probably sick of people telling you this, but you are so very much like your father, to look at, if you were to grow a moustache, it would be difficult to tell you apart from this photograph."

Harm winced inwardly, he had indeed heard the same opinion expressed many times, and he supposed he'd be hearing it again, but he forced himself to grin, "Yeah, he agreed with a an authentic sounding chuckle, "that's the Rabbs genes. That's just another one of the reasons I don't have a problem about accepting Sergei as my brother!"

Loren smiled, but although she couldn't hear anything in Harm's voice or see it in his face, she knew somehow that she'd just blundered into a very touchy area, and she closed the album in question, reaching for one of the others in the pile, but then stopped as the light reflecting off the diamond on her finger flashed in her eye.

"Oh… Harm, I can't believe you did this! You planned the whole weekend, from driving down to Charlottesville, to flying up here, the visit to the family plot, everything, right down to the timing to get us up on King's castle at sunset!"

"Well, not quite everything," he admitted with a grin, "I hadn't planned on taking nearly an hour to get that damn range lit!"

Loren smiled, "Well, I just put that down to the comic relief for the day!"

"Hey, it wasn't that funny!"

"Well you weren't sitting where I was!" she teased him.

"No… but you are now sitting where I can get you!" he growled pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly.

"Oh… wow!" she breathed when he finally let her go, "Oh, boy…" she gulped, "Let me tell you something, Mr Unexpected Proposal Man, you had better make damned good on that promise in the not too distant future!"

"What promise?" he asked in a puzzled voice.

"The promise inherent in that last kiss!"

"Oh…_ that_ promise! When did you have in mind, six months, a year?"

"No… tomorrow if you like, if you can find a minister! But I was thinking of the other promise in that kiss, and that one you had better keep within the next couple of hours!"

"Oh… I don't know about that Loren, after all, it's been a pretty long day, and I'm kinda tired…"

"Don't even go there, buster!" she warned him as she snuggled closer into the circle of his arm.

Harm contented himself with a smile, and softly dropped kiss on to the top of her head, "I wouldn't dare!" he smiled.

Loren looked up at him and smiled back and fell silent.

Harm held her for a while and then said, "OK, allowing for inflation, I'll give you a nickel for them..."

"M'mm... did you mean what you said, up there on ridge?"

"What, that I love you and want to marry you?"

"No, stoopid… I know that! I mean when you said you saw us in a rocking chair on the porch here… do you really see us living here at some point?"

"Yeah, I do… I've always intended that when I retire, I'd move up here to live. California's OK, but I've gotten used to living somewhere where there are actual seasons and not the same old, same old all year round. Besides, like I showed you today, there have been Rabbs here since way before the Revolutionary War, and I'm the last one, at least until we have a son, so it's up to me to keep the family heritage in the family."

"Family is really important to you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I wish it could have been like that for me," Loren said softly just before she fell silent again. But it wasn't long before she raised her face to his again and stretching up kissed him long and lovingly.

"Harm?"

He looked down into her eyes, now a smoky blue, darker than he'd ever seen them before, "Yes?"

"Take me to bed, and make love to me." she told him.

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 0718hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (111218ZMar01)**

Harm and Loren lay quietly in bed, just hovering on the absolute brink of wakefulness, exchanging sleepily loving kisses that held the promise of much more active participation just as soon as their bodies had caught up with their libidos. So intent were they on each other that they ignored all the sounds of the countryside coming to life about them, and consequently were taken completely by surprise as the bedroom door crashed open with an accompanying yell of "Stay still I have you covered!"

Loren gave a shriek and dived under the covers to hide her naked body while Harm bolted upright in bed staring in horror at the figure in the doorway. For a few seconds neither party spoke, and then Harm found his voice. "Frank? What the hell…? he croaked.

"Harm? What in God's name are you doing here?" his step-father demanded, easing the safety back on to Gramma's shotgun as he lowered the muzzle to the floor.


	23. Chapter 23

**23**

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 0600hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, 4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC (111100ZMar01)**

"Man on deck!" Victor Galindez called out as opened the door connecting his bedroom with his lounge. Grinning to himself as Meg Austin, clutching the sleeping bag around her groaned and sat up on her canvas cot. Victor kept his eyes fixed firmly straight ahead as he walked past her en route to the kitchen, saying as he went, "Eggs, toast, OJ and coffee alright for you ma'am?"

"Uh… yes… yes, thank you," Meg replied in a voice that matched her mental confusion, "Umm… what's going on Gunny?"

"I'll explain over breakfast ma'am. It'll be ready in about ten minutes, so the bathroom's all yours if you need it!"

Feeling slightly more human after a quick wash and brush-up, although wondering what was happening Meg joined Gunny Galindez at the breakfast bar, where he smilingly poured a coffee for her and pushed a plate of toast, mounded with scrambled eggs towards her. "You're trying to figure out what I'm playing at ma'am?"

Meg nodded, a forkful of egg suspended halfway between her plate and her mouth. "Don't let it get cold, ma'am," Galindez cautioned her as he brought his own plate to the bar. "It's thisaways, your short-term fitness is pretty good, but you haven't got the sort of stamina that you should have developed over nine years in the Corps, and your upper body strength isn't all that it should be for that length of service. I could run your as… uh… your six off again today, but it wouldn't prove anything, and being as your supposed to report tomorrow morning, all that would happen is that you'd report in tired. And just about the same with your uniform. You can iron it, but not quickly enough to fool anyone with whom you'd be sharing quarters. The stamina thing I can't fix, we just don't got the time. The uniform thing I can fix. Tomorrow, I can get over to the BX again, now we've got your size and get a-hold of an extra three sets of utility uniforms, and then each evening – after your EMD, I can meet you on base and hand you a set of uniforms for the next day."

"But that gives you extra work, Gunny, I can't ask you to do that!"

"You didn't." Galindez said tersely, "I offered." He relaxed slightly, "Ma'am, it's the only way to both keep your cover going, and keep you out of more trouble than you need. All we've got to do is meet up each evening, somewhere sort of private. You give me your dirty uniform; I give you a clean one."

"And how do I explain to any roommate why I'm sneaking off each evening?" Meg replied, a hint of laughter in her eyes as she thought of the most likely explanation.

Galindez squirmed slightly on his bar-stool and took a mouthful of eggs and a sip of coffee before answering, "Well, ma'am… if anyone asks, or anyone sees us… well… I, uh… guess, you could say… uh… that you were meeting your… uh… boyfriend…" he finished lamely.

Meg dropped her eyes to hide the laughter that she was sure he'd see in them, she was right as to the reason he'd put forward, and more than that, the hard-bitten Gunnery Sergeant sat opposite her was blushing! It probably wasn't fair, but hell, she reckoned he was due a bit of payback for the last forty-eight hours. "Why, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez!" she exclaimed in entirely assumed shock.

"Uh… sorry, ma'am, it's just that if you'd been a brunette, I'd have suggested you pose as my sister, but with you being so… so…"

"Anglo, Gunny?"

"No, ma'am!" Galindez snapped sharply, his eyes betraying a flash of irritation. "That never entered my mind. I was going to say so bl… so fair, an' all, that idea would never fly!"

Meg was instantly contrite, "I'm sorry, Gunny, I hadn't meant to offend you!"

"No, ma'am." Galindez paused. "Way back when, at boot camp in San Diego, our DI went to great pains to ensure that we understood that there was no 'Anglo', no 'Gringo', no 'Greaser' or 'black' or 'white or 'brown' or anything like that in the Corps. All marines were the same colour – green!"

Meg nodded her understanding, "Wasn't always like for you though, was it Gunny?"

Galindez looked down at his plate, "No, ma'am," he agreed.

Sensing this was a touchy subject with the marine, Meg, let it drop, and abandoning the teasing note that had been in her voice, she returned to Galindez' idea. "It might just work, Gunny. After all, they can't keep me on EMD every minute between taps and reveille, can they?"

"No ma'am, but they might just try it!" Galindez grinned, his usual understated good humour returned. "Besides, if it's known you've got a boyfriend on the scene, it might just stop those jarheads down there hitting on you and it'll give me a good reason for being in the vicinity."

"Won't someone recognise you, Gunny?" Meg asked in some concern.

Galindez shrugged, "I haven't been to MCCDC in five, maybe six years. I doubt if there's anyone down there knows that I'm at JAG, and if someone does recognise me from my past, well… hey, I'm only visiting my girlfriend. Besides, I'll be within minutes of you if it turns out you should need back up!"

"I thought that was Commander Rabb's job?"

"I believe so, Ma'am, but two are always better than one and besides…." He trailed off with a sly grin creeping across his face.

"Besides what, Gunny?"

Galindez grinned openly, "Besides, and with all due respect to Commander Rabb, he's not a marine!"

Meg remembered some of the tricks that Harm had pulled in the past and laughed. "Gunny, he might just surprise you!" and then sobering, she asked "what have you got in mind for today?"

"Well, ma'am, I reckon it's time to hit the books, really read up on the Corps and the way they do things, and we'll talk through how you should act towards superiors and subordinates. Then you should get a good night's sleep, ready for an early reveille in the morning!"

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 0718hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (111218ZMar01)**

Harm's eyes locked in horror on Frank's as a voice floated up the stairs, "Frank, what is it, darling, shall I call the police?"

"Uh… no! Everything's OK – it's only Harm!"

Harm? Oh, Harm, darling, what are you doing here? Trish's voice became clearer as she mounted the stairs.

Harm stared at Frank, even more appalled than he had been when the door had flown open. "Mom? Mom's here? Frank! Will you get the hell out of here – and shut the Goddam door!"

Frank who seemed almost as paralysed as Harm gave himself a visible shake and stepped back into the hall, and drew a deep breath, turning to face the figures of his wife and her mother-in-law as the topped the stairs. In an unconscious move to protect a fellow man he moved so that his back was against the door, effectively barring access to the door handle to both Trish and Gramma Sarah.

"You did say it was Harm, didn't you, darling?" asked Trish as she tried to reach past Frank to the door handle.

"Yes, it's Harm, but you can't go in there!" Frank blurted out as her caught hold of Trish's wrist.

"What's wrong Frank?" Quick alarm flooded Trish's face.

"Umm… he's not dressed," Frank hedged.

"What nonsense… I've seen Harm in his pyjamas scores of times!" Trish protested

"As have I Frank Burnett! So you just hush up your nonsense, and let me see my grandson!"

Frank cast a despairing look at the two women and sagging back against the door, a sudden sensation of cold gripping his stomach, he closed his eyes and confessed, "Uh… you can't go in there… he's… uh… he's not alone. Come on, Trish, and you Grams, let's just go back down to the kitchen. He'll be with us, just as soon as he's recovered his wits!"

The two women exchanged stunned looks and then allowed Frank to lead them back downstairs.

Harm heard them move away from the door, and as soon as he was certain that the door wasn't going to crash open again he shot out of bed and grabbed his jeans and T-Shirt from the chair on which he had thrown them last night, and growled to Loren, "It's OK, the door's shut!"

Loren re-emerged from the shelter of the bed-clothes and took one look at Harm's harassed expression and burst into laughter. Of all the reactions Harm had expected, laughter wasn't anywhere in the top half of the list. He paused in the act of shoving his feet into his sneakers and glared balefully at the love of his life. "What's so damned funny?" he growled.

"Oh, your face!" Loren giggled.

A reluctant grin forced its way across Harm's face as he replied, "At least I didn't shriek and dive under the covers!"

Loren regarded him thoughtfully, the mischief on her face still plain to read, "No… you didn't…" she said slowly, "but… I'll bet that… you just sat there staring at… whoever it was… like a rabbit mesmerised by a weasel!"

Harm shrugged, "What can I say… first off, I was staring down the muzzle of a twelve-gauge shotgun, which is kind of mesmerising of its own self, and secondly it was Frank Burnett, my step-dad. And thirdly, and even worse, my mom's with him, and so is Grams. Loren, you said you wanted to meet my folks. Well, it looks like you got what you wanted. Enjoy!" he finished dryly.

"Your family – your whole family?" Loren yelped. Harm nodded grimly. Loren was thunderstruck and flopped back on the pillow, covered her eyes with her forearm and moaned "Oh, God!"

"Yeah… not so funny now, is it? Well, how do want to play this… do you want to wait until you've done the shower and make up thing, or just throw on some clothes and come downstairs with me? Because, knowing my mom, if I don't make an appearance within the next few minutes, she'll be back up here hammering at the door!"

Loren shook her head slowly, and held up her left hand so that Harm could see the ring, "We're in this together, Harm, so give me just a couple of minutes to find some clothes and drag a brush through my hair, and I'll be right beside you." She paused and smiled, "Just like I will for the next fifty years!"

Harm crossed to the bed, and sat on it reaching for Loren, who came willingly into his arms. He dropped a soft kiss on her lips, and said, "I knew there had to be a reason or two that I love you!"

"Only one or two?" she grinned as she slipped from beneath the covers and dived into her clothes.

"Oh… I'll probably think of more every day that we're together!"

Loren raised her head from where she was concentrating on looping her belt through her jeans, "Oh yeah, I do like the way you think," she breathed.

Harm just smiled, quite content to watch Loren as she dressed, and then pulled her brush through her hair half a dozen times, and then scrunchie in teeth, she pulled her hair back into a pony tail. Finished in her hurried dressing and grooming, she turned towards Harm with a brave smile on her face.

"Ready?" he queried.

"Yeah…" she drew a deep breath, "Now I know how the Christians felt just before they met the lions!"

"Oh, it probably won't be that easy, trust me," Harm muttered gloomily.

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 0800hrs EST, Bud and Harriett Roberts' Apartment, 1603 Corcoran St, NW, Washington DC (111300ZMar01)**

Mac opened her bedroom door just as Harriett was about to rap on it. "Oh, good morning Mac!" Harriett eyed Mac's attire of bathrobe, revealing her bare legs, her feet shoved into a pair of battered mules, and more tellingly the plastic bag and bath towel draped across her shoulder. Harriett's eyes lit up with amusement, "Going somewhere, Mac?" she asked innocently.

Mac scowled at her friend, "Yergh! Loo'in' fo' you! Arm, bag, hel', p'ease?"

"Of course, Mac; after all, we don't want that nice new cast to get all wet and soggy like the last one do we? Especially after all that time that nice Corpsman spent yesterday replacing the old one!" Harriett commented in a voice of supreme innocence, while fighting down her laughter as she led Mac back to her bed and indicated that she should sit down.

Mac's scowl did not let up, if anything it intensified, "you're enj'ying this a'nt you?" she demanded.

Harriett let her grin break through as she rolled the plastic bag up Mac's arm and spread the rubber band around her fingers, "Oh yeah!"

"Gonna gerryou for this!" Mac threatened.

"I'm sure you will, Mac. But for the moment I'm going to love every minute!" Harriett grinned unrepentantly. "There. That's done." She cocked her head enquiringly on one side, "Shower? Or do you think you could handle a bath?"

Mac hesitated, the idea of a long hot soak in scented water was immensely appealing, but the discomfort to her still knitting ribs, brought on by an incautious stretch decided her otherwise. Regretfully shaking her head in negation, she looked up at Harriett, "Noo, show'r."

Harriett grimaced in sympathy, much as she enjoyed teasing her friend and senior officer, she did feel real sympathy for Mac, "OK, shower it is, I'll come back in fifteen? To give you a hand?"

Mac nodded, her dissatisfaction with her plight plain to see, but she mustered a weak half-smile "Than's 'Arrier"

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 0803hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (111303ZMar01)**

Harm took Loren's hand in his as they stopped just outside the kitchen door and gave a comforting squeeze. Loren looked up at him her always expressive eyebrow raised in a question. Harm's face was pale and wore a sick grin as he drew air into his lungs and muttered, "Once more into the breach, dear friends…"

"Wow, thanks, Your Majesty," Loren quipped, in an effort to hide her nervousness, but then immediately betrayed herself by freeing her hand from his and hastily wiping both of hers on her jeans, "Come on, sailor, waiting isn't going to make this any easier!"

Harm gulped and nodded, reaching for her hand again, he used his other to grasp the door handle and open the door. He and Loren stepped into the kitchen to find themselves confronted by three pairs of eyes.

"Morning Grams, mom, Frank," Harm greeted them a little too cheerfully as he scanned their faces. Frank looked apologetic, Grams looked curious, but with maybe just a hint of amusement showing in her face, Trish Burnett however had her mouth set in a thin-lipped straight line, and her grey eyes showed not iota of warmth. Harm silently gulped and raising Loren's hand to his lips he dropped a kiss on her knuckles. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Loren Singer. Loren is my fiancée." Harm laid the statement out baldly and looked at each face in turn, challenging them to comment.

Harm left them to think about that as he held a chair for Loren to sit. She looked up at him a little anxiously, and he responded with a smile, "Loren, I'd like to introduce you to my Grandmother, Sarah Rabb, my mom, Trish Burnett and her husband Frank."

Loren licked her lips nervously, "Good morning, it's good to meet you!"

Frank was the first to speak, his natural good manners compelling him to meet civility with civility. "Good morning, Loren. It is an unexpected pleasure to meet you!" he said with what to Loren looked like a real smile of welcome.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Grams, mom?" Harm prompted.

Sarah Rabb nodded, she saw and read the look on her grandson's face, and it was eerily similar to the expression his father wore when he was fuming about something, but was unable, or was constrained by circumstances, to vent his feelings. The news of an engagement was a bit of a shock, as was their presence here, true she had given him a key a long time ago and told him that he was always welcome, but on all previous occasions he had 'phoned ahead, not to ask permission, he didn't need that, but just to let her know he would be arriving. And this was the first time he'd brought company, well, female company, for about three years when he'd brought that other Sarah with him for a weekend. Still, his neglect was no good reason for making the poor girl who'd agreed to marry him uncomfortable. Sarah Rabb let her face crinkle into a smile, "Indeed, Loren, yes, good morning, you are very welcome in my home," she placed a subtle emphasis on her last two words and turned an ironic eye on Trish.

Trish had been quite prepared to be furious with her son for bringing a… a… floozy to his grandmother's house, but the announcement of his engagement, if it hadn't entirely reconciled her to the younger woman's presence in the house, and certainly not in her son's bed under her very nose, had temporarily stunned her into silence. After a few seconds more, she finally managed, "Fiancée?"

"Yes, mom," Harm replied tightly, giving Loren's hand another comforting squeeze under the cover of the table.

"As in, fiancée, as in engaged to be married?" Trish asked, as if the concept was difficult for her to grasp somehow.

"Yes, mom."

"Oh…" Trish sat staring wonderingly at the blonde woman on the opposite side of the table. Then "Oh," again, "Oh, my word. Loren, what must you be thinking of me… It's just that… until today, I'd never even heard your name. Not that it's your fault!" She glared across the table at her son. "You didn't think that I might have liked to have gotten a hands down on this, before you sprung it as a complete surprise?" she demanded.

"I think you mean a 'heads up,' dear," Frank put in helpfully, with a quick wink on Trish's blindside at Loren.

"Whatever!" Trish snapped, waving off Frank's less than helpful contribution as an irrelevancy.

"Umm, mom, I didn't say anything to you, because I didn't know whether or not Loren was going to say 'yes', when I asked her!"

Loren's eyes suddenly sparkled with laughter, and she gave Harm's hand a squeeze. He cocked his head at her, "Yes? You wish to add something?"

"Witness examination one oh one!" she chuckled.

Harm looked stunned for a second, "Oh God, yes!" he exclaimed before he too broke into laughter.

Trish, who had begun to thaw, froze up again, "Just what is so funny?"

"Oh… I'm sorry, mom, but Loren just reminded me of one of the first things they teach you in law school – never ask a question to which you don't know the answer!"

Harm and Loren waited with smiles on their faces as they watched the three work through their thought processes. Grams was the first to cotton on, and she smiled broadly, "So, Loren, you really must have knocked him off his feet!"

Frank, only a second or two behind in his understanding, gave a snort of amusement, and surprised Harm, by leaning towards him from where he sat at the end of the table and clapped him on the shoulder, "Congratulations, son!"

Harm grinned shyly, "Thanks, Frank!"

"So, Harmon," Sarah Rabb intervened in the hope of giving Trish a few more seconds to regain her composure, "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday evening, ma'am" Loren contributed her mite to the conversation.

"Yeah, up on King's Castle," Harm confirmed.

Sarah Rabb raised her hand to her throat, "Oh my," she said faintly, as her eyes misted over.

"Grams!" Frank and Harm exclaimed in chorus, and half rose to their feet, and then Frank sat back leaving Harm to finish, "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"Oh, just you hush up, nothing's wrong you foolish boy!" Sarah sniffled, digging into the pocket of her jean jacket for a Kleenex, and then she looked at Loren with a watery smile, "It's where my David, Harmon's granddaddy proposed to me!"

Trish had regained most, if not all, of her usual equanimity, and managed a smile at Loren before she turned back to her son, "And did you use…?"

Harm looked fondly at his mother, "Of course I did, mom. Show them please, Loren."

Loren smiled and brought her left hand up above the table, from where she had nervously been twisting the ring on her finger, not yet really accustomed to its presence, and showed them the Rabb family ring on her left hand.

Sarah Rabb smiled happily, but although Trish had passed the ring to Harm for exactly this purpose, she couldn't help but feel a slight pang of jealousy seeing the ring her first husband had bought her on the hand of a another woman. Fighting down her instincts, Trish mustered up a further smile and said in a strained voice, "It looks very good on your finger, Loren. It looks at home."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Trish regarded her steadily, but refrained from commenting other than an "H'mm…"

Harm looked at his parent with a mixture of fondness and impatience. He loved her dearly, but at times she could be so… mommish! Added to the exasperation that a man in his mid-thirties feels when his mother keeps nagging him about her lack of grandchildren, relations between them had been slightly strained for years; he felt that she had betrayed his father by having him legally declared dead and then in marrying Frank. He had resented Frank so much through his teenage years, and even though he now knew that it had been entirely through Frank's efforts at persuading his mother that he'd been able to attend the Academy, he was still not entirely comfortable with the older man. It was only once the width of the continent separated him from his family that they'd eventually begun to repair the sagging fences between them. It was, he reflected a sad fact that although he loved them, the further away he was from his mom and Frank, the better they got on together. Which reminded him.

"OK, you've given us the third degree, and you've got your answer. I brought Loren up here this weekend specifically to propose to her, if it felt right." He picked up Loren's hand from where it rested on the table and raised to his lips. "And it did feel right. And it was," he confirmed with such a look at Loren that both Trish and Sarah, seeing it, exchanged a knowing glance at each other and smiled, while Frank relaxed back in his chair with a broad grin.

Harm saw the smiles and relaxed slightly it looked like they had all accepted his decision, and that despite the difficult first few moments, and no doubt an individual grilling to follow, they had also accepted Loren. But…

"So now you all know why we're here. What the heck are you all doing here, when you're supposed to be in California? And Frank, what the heck were you doing, playing around with Grams' shotgun? If either Loren or myself had been armed, you could have gotten yourself dead, and how would I explain that to mom?"

Frank had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, "Well, to answer your questions in order," he began diffidently, "Your mom had an unexpected chance of a meeting with a new up and coming artist from Philly… it was all a bit nebulous, and then I got a call from Howard Wheeler, scheduling a policy meeting in DC, along with people from GMC, Ford and Chevrolet, and of course with the State representatives. There are some new acts being proposed that would add costs to manufacture without necessarily benefitting the environment, which… Anyway, because the meeting was called at short notice, Wheeler sent the company jet, but it had had to go down to Santa Fe first to pick Stevie Howells and then to Sacramento for George Flint, and as your mom needed to get to Philly, and Grams was visiting with us, so even though it was an over-nighter, we took advantage of the flight from San Diego and got the pilot to take us to Philly and got here just before we woke you."

Harm nodded his understanding, Howard Wheeler was a couple of places higher on the totem pole than Frank, and was known as a politically savvy executive who kept a finger firmly placed on the Washington pulse, and if anything threatened the major manufacturing business, then he would be among the first to pick up any word and would act swiftly to counter any new measures, or at least minimise their impact. Loren just sat quietly and listened in some surprise; Harm on the few occasions he had mentioned his step-father had always referred to him as the used-car salesman. It was obvious though, from what he'd just said that if he had ever held such a position he had by now climbed a long way up the corporate ladder.

"OK, that sounds reasonable… but what about the shotgun?" Harm demanded.

"Well, we weren't expecting anyone to be here, and when we saw the car outside… well, Grams didn't recognise it, and it had Pennsylvania plates… Is it your car Loren?"

"No… it's a rental… I think. Harm arranged for it, and we picked it up at the airport…"

"Airport? Have you been somewhere, darling?" Trish asked.

"No, mom, we… or rather Loren flew us up yesterday in Sarah," Harm said with obvious pride in her achievement and with one more of his full power smiles in Loren's direction. "We landed at Mifflin County, and picked up the rental, we'll be dropping it back there this afternoon."

"Oh… Loren, you're a pilot?" Frank asked interestedly. As Sarah got up from the table, and producing two mugs of coffee set one down in front of Harm and Loren before taking her seat again.

"Not yet, Mr Burnett, Harm's teaching me," Loren answered and then dropped her eyes, slightly embarrassed.

Frank, Trish and Sarah once again exchanged a significant look. If Harm had trusted Loren to pilot his beloved Stearman up from the DC area, it not only showed how confident he was in the young woman's flying abilities, but was also further proof of his serious intentions towards her.

Harm grinned, he knew just what Frank was up to, "Stop trying to dodge the bullet, Frank! What were you doing playing John Wayne?"

"Well… like I said, we didn't recognise the car, and we knew there shouldn't be anybody here, and you could have been anybody… I don't know, maybe someone on the run who found a deserted farmhouse to lie up in…"

"Exactly my point, Frank!" Harm slammed his hand down on the table making everybody jump and eliciting squeaks of alarm from both Loren and Trish, and when he continued his voice had become harsh, hard and commanding. "Look, I know you're a pretty fair hand at skeet shooting, but it's an entirely different thing if the target can shoot back. And you let mom and Grams into the house! Next time, if there is a next time, call the cops and stay out! Got it?"

Rarely had the adult Harm spoken so forcefully to Frank, and although Harm's tone invoked Frank's instinct to bristle and defend himself, he was forced to admit that on this occasion Harm had been right. And somewhat abashed, he mumbled, "Yeah, got it. Sorry, Harm."

Relieved that he had gotten his message across with so little resistance Harm was able to relax again and leaned back in his chair, his hand once again, seemingly of its own volition seeking for and finding Loren's. "OK, we'll let it rest, then." And then reverting to the subject of Frank's forthcoming meeting he asked "These government changes, are they going to affect the shop-floor in any way? Job losses, maybe?"

Frank nodded, "Maybe."

"So… Bobbie Latham will be at the conference then."

"You sound like you know her?"

Before Harm could answer, Sarah got up from the table, "Well, as we didn't expect to eat here today, there's nothing defrosted. Frank, dear, why don't you and Harm take a trip down to Joseph Martin's and pick up something for lunch for all of us, and something for dinner too.."

"Uh, Grams, Loren and I can't stay for dinner, we have to head back for DC this afternoon. It's a two hour and some minutes flight, and we need to be in Charlottesville by seven, before it gets dark, so we need to be away from here by four…"

"Oh…" Sarah Rabb stood in thought, "Well, you just get something that Trish and I can make up into sandwiches, we won't see you go empty handed."

"Grams, there's no call for that; we can easily get something when we get back to DC."

"No such thing! Just you hush up your nonsense Harmon Rabb and do as you're told!"

Harm was a trained military officer and he knew when further resistance was futile, and when to run up the white flag, so he just sighed and said, "Yes, ma'am!" and pushed his chair back from the table as Frank did likewise.

Loren felt a rush of panic as she realised that she was to be left alone with Harm's formidable grandmother and his mother, whom she was certain hated her already, and said, "Uh… I'll come with you, Harm!"

"You'll do no such thing, child!" Sarah intervened, "You'll sit there like a Christian and finish your coffee…"

Loren cast a piteous look at Harm, who stepped forward, "Grams…" he began.

"Just go, Harm. We aren't going to eat your Loren!" She gave him a gentle nudge in the direction of the door, and smiled reassuringly as she followed Harm and Frank out onto the porch, "Go on, I think I like Loren, and I won't let Trish bite her."

"Thanks, Grams!" Harm smiled and hurried over to Frank's rental – a Chrysler of course, he smiled – and left his grandmother standing on the porch.

Frank waited until Harm was securely belted into his seat before he slipped the gear lever into 'drive' and pulled away from the yard.

Harm sat back and look across at Frank, "I suppose you want chapter and verse?"

Frank pursed his lips, smiled and shook his head. "Nope, I'll get more than I want to know later, suitably editorialised, from Trish." He paused, "You do know that we've been got out of the way so that Trish and Grams can grill Loren, don't you?"

Harm uttered a bark of sardonic laughter, "Oh yeah!"

Sarah stood on the porch and watched the car disappear down the dirt road towards what was left of Belleville, a small town that was getting smaller and older as the young folk grew to adulthood and moved out to find work in the cities that didn't involve back breaking farm-work from can see to can't see seven days a week. Shaking her head despondently, she stood for a moment gathering herself, before turning and heading with determined stride along the hallway and back into the kitchen, entering just in time to see Trish pouring them each a fresh cup of coffee while asking Loren, "So… how long have you known my son?"

Loren stared at the woman who was to become her mother in law, and although as soon as Harm's grandmother had ordered the two men to leave the women alone she had braced herself for interrogation, a sinking feeling still gripped her, and nervously wetting her lips with her tongue, she swallowed and said in a small voice, "About a year ma'am."

Trish nodded; at least they'd had time to get to know each other, but it just so like her infuriating son not to say anything to his mother about the women in his life! Although to be fair, he hadn't said anything about any woman since Diane's appalling death, nearly five years ago now. No… that wasn't quite true… he had been enthusiastic about his new partner, and had consistently praised her to the heavens… until about nine or ten months ago, and then he'd just stopped talking about her. She eyed the blonde woman opposite with new respect. She was pretty enough, if not classically beautiful, but she must have hidden depths to make Harm concentrate on her to the exclusion of other women. He had told her that his new partner was the image of Diane, and Diane, she knew, had been a very beautiful young woman, and while she also knew that Harm was not the kind of man to lose his head over physical appearance, he would be a strange sort of man who wasn't attracted to beauty.

Loren was beginning to feel uncomfortable under Trish's scrutiny, but she knew that prolonged silence was a weapon, and she was just as prepared to use it as Trish was.

Sarah took her seat, "Please pass the cream Trish… thank you." She added the creamer to her coffee and then turned to Loren, "Now, dear, we'll try not to make this into a third degree, but we are consumed with curiosity. You see, my grandson, although having many excellent qualities, is not only infuriatingly tight-lipped about all sorts of things, he is also one of the world's worst correspondents. And he hasn't so much as even mentioned your name to either his mother or me, so I hope you'll pardon both our surprise in finding you here and our 'satiable curiosity! He's very much like his father and grandfather, all the Rabb men are, they all seem to hold the belief that actions speak louder than words. You may have noticed that?"

Loren relaxed slightly, Harm's grandmother at least seemed prepared to be, if not friendly, at least non-confrontational, "Yes, ma'am, I had noticed… it seems like he had planned this whole weekend in advance and without a word to me. Right from the flowers, to the flight up here and then yester…"

"Flowers?" Trish interrupted, "I'm sorry, Loren… but are you saying that Harm bought you flowers?"

"Yes, ma'am. On our first date he bought me a bouquet of wildflowers, and then on Friday he'd arranged to have the hotel fill the room with baskets of wildflowers and forest ferns…" Loren said somewhat defensively, did Harm's mom think that she wasn't worth the expense of flowers, or something?

Trish and Sarah exchanged astonished glances and then Trish in an awed voice asked, "Alright, who is this man that brought you here and what has he done with my son?"

"Ma'am?" Loren asked in confusion.

"Well… first off, let's have a bit less of the ma'am," Trish said, "If you're going to be my son's wife, I guess we'd better both get used to you calling me mom…" Trish saw the shutters slam closed in Loren's eyes and hastily added "or if you think that's a little too much too soon, then you'd best call me Trish. I cannot be called ma'am, yes it's very polite, but it makes me feel ancient!"

"Yes, ma'… uh… Trish?" Loren said, trying out the feel of the name on her tongue.

"Yes, that's much better!" Trish beamed, and Loren saw the stiff matriarch of whom she was nervous change into a just a woman concerned about her son, and for the first time since she had entered the kitchen Loren felt herself relax.

The change in Loren didn't go unnoticed by neither Trish nor Sarah; the rather stern faced young woman lost the pinched expressionless look she had worn since they first clapped eyes on her and turned into an open, more friendly being.

Trish smiled encouragingly, "Secondly, as far as I know you are only the second female guest that Harm has ever brought here. The only previous one was Diane – I think?" she looked at Sarah for corroboration.

Sarah shook her head, "The girl who looked so much like Diane, Sarah her name was, he brought her up here one weekend about three years ago."

Trish looked at Grams in surprise, "Oh, I didn't know about that!" and then turned back to Loren, "But do you know about Diane?"

Loren nodded, "Yes, Trish. Harm's told me all about her."

Trish smiled in satisfaction, "And while Diane never doubted that Harm loved her, she used to complain that he didn't have a romantic bone in his body! So," she finished somewhat whimsically, "What has that man done with my son?"

Sarah looked at them both, "I don't think it's a question of what 'that man' has done _with_ Harm, Trish, I rather think it's more a question of what Loren's done _to_ him… and I think I know the answer to that question."

Loren could feel herself blushing, and hastily looked away from the table, desperately wishing for something with which to cool her heated face.

Sarah saw Loren's confusion and felt her heart go out to the younger woman, she realised that Loren must have been wound up tighter than a watch spring, so smilingly she said, "Well, don't just sit there, dear, give us the low down and dirty, just how did my inarticulate oaf of a grandson propose to you?"

Loren looked startled, and then smiled in remembrance, "He dragged me over every inch of the property, I think. Up to the family plot, and then to a clearing near the creek, where there's a huge fallen tree…?"

Both of the older women nodded.

"Then he timed it so that we reached the top of… King's Castle?" the two other women nodded, "And he showed me the view all the way down the valley, and he waited right until sunset, then he told me that he loved me, and asked me to marry him. And when I said yes…" Loren's eyes flooded and her throat tightened, and she just managed to finish her sentence, "he said 'oh, thank God'."

Trish was around the table in a flash, crouching next to Loren's chair, and taking her in her arms, "There, there, Loren it's alright, sweetheart!"

"Oh…" Loren sniffled, "That's what Harm calls me!" she tried to smile through her tears.

"Here, " Trish reached into here slacks pocket and produced a handkerchief, "I know those are happy tears, but if my son comes back and finds you with tear stains on your face, he'll probably have a conniption fit!"

"M'mmm, sorry," Loren mumbled.

"You just hush up your nonsense, now, do you hear?" Sarah said, her severe tone belied by the smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. "That grandson of mine has caused me to cry more'n a bucketful of tears over the years, but I still love him!"

"You too, Grams?" Trish asked, playing up to Sarah's lead.

"Oh, my word yes! Staring with his playing he was Superman, and trying to fly out of the hayloft in the big barn!"

"He told me about that," Loren giggled damply, "I thought he was spinning a yarn!"

"Not a bit of it!" Sarah declared. "He came in from the barn, with one of my red curtains pinned around his neck, and holding his arm, with his bottom lip, pushed out in a pout – you've seen that?"

"Oh, yes," Loren smiled, "These days, it's more often because he thinks he isn't going to get his own way!"

Grams laughed, "Well on that occasion, he was half hurt and half scared I'd take a strap to him, he stood right there by the back door and said, 'Grams, I think I'm gonna have a bruise!'"

All three women laughed at Gram's story, although at the back of Gram and Trish's mind were the memories of the tears they had shed the summer that he had gone missing, the summer he had sneaked off to Viet Nam in search of his MIA father, and again when the news arrived of his ramp strike and the injuries he had suffered at that time, but by some sort of mutual, unspoken agreement, they wouldn't darken today by telling Loren those stories.

Trish took the chair that Harm had been sitting in, and smiled at Sarah and Loren, "We're not much better than my rascal son! We started at the wrong end, with the proposal. It would have made much better sense to start at the beginning. So, Loren… how did you meet my son?"

Loren blinked, "He really hasn't said anything to you about me, has he?"

"Not a word, dear. The only woman he's mentioned to me in the last five years is his partner, A Sarah MacKenzie. At one time I thought he might be falling for her, but he hasn't mentioned her much these last few months."

"No… he wouldn't," Loren said slowly, "Not since she got engaged…"

"Oh, do you know her?" Trish asked.

"Yes. I do know her. We all work at JAG. That's where I met Harm."

"You work with Harm? At JAG? Are you a lawyer too?"

"Yes… a Lieutenant…"

"But… aren't there rules…?"

"Yes, there are rules," Loren confirmed, "But Harm and myself aren't partners in the work sense, I don't report to him, and he doesn't write my fitreps – my fitness reports – our CO is aware of our situation, and as long as we maintain decorum while in uniform, and don't bring any personal quarrels to work, then he has no problem with our relationship." Loren suddenly gave a little self-conscious laugh, "Oh… that's going to change from tomorrow, though!"

Trish and Sarah exchanged a look, "Why would that be, dear?" Sarah asked.

"Because married couples aren't allowed to serve in the same command… or they never used to be… or has that changed along with everything else?" Trish asked.

"No, ma'am… I mean, Trish" Loren hastily amended her response as Trish's eyebrows started to climb toward the top of her forehead. "The Admiral is going to have to start looking for a new billet for one of us, but at least, the Navy's fairly sympathetic to spousal co-location these days, that much has changed!"

"H'mm… does that mean you'll have to delay the wedding until new billets can be found?" Trish asked.

"I hope not," Loren said rather blushing pink, and staring at her hands in her lap.

"Forgive me for asking, dear, " Sarah said gently, "but, are you pregnant? It doesn't matter if you are…"

Loren shook her head, "No, no I'm not pregnant. We haven't discussed a wedding date yet - but I don't think we want to wait too long. And we haven't decided when we want to have children. We both want children, although not a football team! Oh, that's a bit of a private joke, I'm sorry."

Sarah and Trish grinned and Sarah waved her hand indicating that Loren should continue, "We… uh… sort of talked about it… about having children some time in the future… two would be good or maybe even three, but we never talked about the when…"

Trish and Sarah exchanged another smile, both happy that Harm seemed to have found someone whose ideas seemed match his… and theirs.

Then an unhappy thought crossed Trish's mind, "You say that you've known Harmon for over a year, and yet he didn't stop talking about his partner until about nine or ten months ago… so when did you two start… uh… when did you become an item?"

"Oh…" Loren was thunderstruck. "Oh dear… this is going to sound strange… we started getting close in January… and we started dating last month…" She blushed furiously red. 'Oh God,' she thought as she saw Trish and Sarah staring at her open mouthed, 'please let the floor just open up and swallow me. Or someone just shoot me now, and put me out of my misery!'

Trish was probably the first one to recover the use of her wits, and she let out a shout of laughter, "Well! If that isn't just like him!"

"Lord, yes!" Sarah agreed, wiping her own tears of laughter from her eyes.

"I'm sorry…" a bewildered Loren asked, wondering just what sort of family she was pledged to enter.

"Oh, Loren," Trish slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. "For years we've been urging Harm that it was time he settled down, but he kept putting us off, saying that when he found the right woman, he would know, and he wouldn't waste any time in letting her know!"

Loren looked back to the day Harm had first said he loved her, at Bethesda, and in front of Colonel MacKenzie too! "No," she smiled at the memory, "he didn't waste any time! But I made him sweat a little, I guess!"

"Good for you, dear!" Trish smiled.

"Amen to that!" Sarah agreed.

"Amen to what?" Harm asked as he used his hip to barge open the door from the hallway, his arms fully occupied with two large brown paper grocery sacks. "Make a hole, there," he grunted as he lurched towards the table, Loren and Trish skittering out of his way as he dumped the sacks onto the table. "I'll be back! I just need to give Frank a hand!"

Trish was the first to move, and her face alive with curiosity she pulled open one of the sacks and peered into it, "I thought we said he was to get something just for today," she said in stunned surprise, "He's got enough here to feed a regiment!"

"Nonsense woman"" a similarly burdened Frank told her as he too entered into the kitchen clutching a pair of grocery sacks.

"Mind your back, there, Frank!" Harm re-entered the kitchen, bearing yet another grocery sack.

Sarah and Trish stared at the bags and then at Harm and Frank, while Loren seeing their thunderstruck faces hastily bit down on her knuckles in a bid not to break into open laughter.

"Did… did… did you have to buy the whole damned store?" Grams asked in an incredulous and faint voice.

"Well, we didn't have to," Frank admitted, "but it did seem like a good idea at the time!"

"Relax, mom, Grams," Harmon flashed them both his full blown grin. "Two of those sacks are mine. Joe had a deal running on brown pasta and wild rice. We'll be taking them back to DC, along with these…" he thrust a hand into one of the sacks and brought it out a glass half-gallon jar, the contents of which gleamed a rich, dark red in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

"Harmon Rabb!" Sarah almost shouted, "Don't you dare tell me that those are some of Elizabeth Danforth's pickled cherries!"

"They are just that, Grams," Harm retorted with the smuggest smile Loren could ever recall him wearing, "And what's more, they were the last jar!"

"Harmon! You just leave those right there on the table!" Sarah ordered.

"Not a chance, Grams! These babies are all mine!" Harm retorted cradling the jar possessively.

Loren looked backwards and forwards between Grams and Harm, a look of utter confusion on her face, while I appeared that Trish and Frank were both fighting off a fit of hysterical laughter.

Sarah drew herself up to her full height and glared at her grandson, "Harmon Rabb! Give them to me!"

"No."

"Harmon David Rabb!" Sarah thundered, bringing the weight of his full name against him, "Give me that jar of pickled cherries, now!"

"No!"

"Harmon, what on earth do you want with a half-gallon of pickled cherries?" Sarah asked in much more reasonable tones.

"I'm going to give them to Loren so she can make ice-cream with them!"

"Oh… do you really make ice-cream?" a deflated Sarah asked Loren.

"Yes, ma'… uh… Grams, I do…"

"And damn' good ice-cream it is too!" Harm assured the assemblage, "Ben and Jerry's eat your heart out! But never mind Grams, I bought you something else instead."

"What?" demanded a suspicious Grams.

"Oh, just the second to last jar of Miz Danforth's pickled cherries!" he grinned in sheer pleasure at having put one over on his grandmother, and in the look of sheer pleasure that suffused her face.

"Harmon David Rabb! You are far too old to be playing tricks like that!" Sarah scolded him, but she couldn't resist the smile that broke out on her face in response to his grin.

"Aw, Grams, you didn't really think I'd take the last jar of Liz Danforth's cherries, and not leave them for you, did you?"

"Normally no, but those cherries…"

"Well, we'll leave you to exult over them, Grams, but Loren and I need to freshen up a mite and pack our bags if we're going to leave after lunch!"

"What do you want for lunch?" Grams called after them as he seized Loren's hand and almost dragged her to the door.

"Whatever you feel like getting ready!" his voice floated down the stairs as he and Loren returned to their room and he closed the door behind them. Without letting go of Loren's hand he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her enthusiastically, an enthusiasm which she whole-heartedly reciprocated.

"Wow!" Loren gasped when he released her. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for!"

"Umm… that was a three-in-one special," Harm smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to him in invitation.

"What three?" Loren asked, her eyes alight with a blend of curiosity and amusement.

"Well, firstly, because I hadn't kissed you properly this morning, secondly for abandoning you to the not so tender mercies of my mom and Grams, and thirdly just because I love you!"

Loren sobered quickly, "Do you, Harm?"

Harm looked puzzled, "Do me what?"

"Do you really love me Harm? Do you love me for what I am, for who I am, and not just as some sort of second prize, because you can't have Sarah MacKenzie?"

"Loren! No! Never, ever think that! And what in hell's name brought that on? What did my mother say to you?" Harm made to get up off the bed, the expression on his face sending a frisson of alarm through Loren, and she hastily grabbed his hand.

"Harm, no! Your mom never said anything of the sort… she just said that your calls home were full of talk of Colonel MacKenzie until about nine months ago, and you haven't really mentioned her since! That was about the time you got back from Australia…" she added more quietly and thoughtfully, "Harm, you've never told me what happened out there…"

Harm took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "It began before Australia, Loren. About eighteen months ago, I really thought that Mac and I were in pretty good way into having a solid relationship, especially after her court martial…"

Loren nodded; everyone at Falls Church knew that Sarah MacKenzie had faced a court-martial over the death of her husband.

Harm continued, "Anyway, it took a while, but I thought we were heading for a good place, and then I got my eyes fixed, and I changed my designator and went back to flying. I figured that if we weren't in the same chain of command, it would make life easier." He shrugged, "Or maybe even then I subconsciously realised that we weren't right for each other, in any way except as work partners. Because we were a damn' good team. I never thought she'd resent me for going back to flying, but she did. Hell, she never even told me when she got her promotion." He shook his head in bewilderment, even after all the time that had passed since them he still couldn't understand why she never told him, he would have been the first to congratulate her and wish her well.

"So when the CAG and the Skipper of the Patrick Henry told me I was in a career dead-end as an aviator, I returned to JAG, and I was damn lucky to be able to do so, but she was still so hostile. Before I left it had been Harm and Mac. When I got back it was 'Commander' and 'Colonel', and in some ways it was worse, she'd been made CoS, and she never let me forget for a day. Even when I got my third ring, she never let slip an opportunity to remind me that she's been longer in grade! Anyway, there was an investigation in Australia, she came out to join it, and then one night, right out of the blue she said she wanted more than we had. She caught me totally flat-footed; I hadn't thought we were anywhere in that ball-park and it seemed that she wanted a fling while we were away from Washington. I was still dealing with a lot of stuff, and wasn't prepared to burden anyone with that, and then again I wanted more than just a fling, I wanted the full deal, the two point five kids, the white picket fence, and the dog… the whole lot. So I said I couldn't, not yet. She wasn't willing to wait, and the very next day she turned to Brumby, and then turned up at the airport with his ring on her finger. And that was that. It was difficult, I won't deny that, and I still, despite all, think of her as my friend, although one I was disappointed in, but I hope we'll get our friendship back to what it was in the early days. But I don't love her anymore, Loren, and you are not a consolation prize of any sort, and I don't ever want to hear you say that again, either! Do you hear me?"

Loren nodded, her eyes again shining with unshed tears, "I hear you, Harm."

"Good. And if you need any further proof, remember I spent months circling around Mac, but something always seemed to hold me back. But with you, once I got to know you, not just Lieutenant Singer, once I got to know Loren Singer, and how much we have in common and how bright, brave and beautiful she is, I was totally lost, and that's another thing," he added thoughtfully, "Mac and I… we are so different in so many ways, that I seriously doubt if we could ever have made a go of a real relationship, so no, you are not a consolation prize, nor a second best choice. You are the only woman since Diane that I have really loved, and you are the only woman I have ever asked to marry me! OK now?"

Loren nodded, "Yeah, I'm OK, I really am. It's just that it doesn't seem quite real sometimes, and that I'm going to wake up and find it was all a dream!"

Harm chuckled and took both her hands in his, "Loren, the way mom was breathing fire at you when Frank and I left, that dream would have qualified as a nightmare! Was it very bad?"

Loren smiled, "No… not too bad… it was a bit awkward at first, but it seemed that Grams was batting for me, and then… I'm not quite sure what happened, or who said what, oh yes, your Mom and Grams asked me how you'd proposed, and I just got all sort of weepy, remembering yesterday evening, and I started crying. Did you know that your grandfather proposed to Grams on King's Castle?

Harm shook his head, "No… I didn't know that, not until Grams mentioned it today."

"Anyway, I started crying, and your mom came straight to me and gave me a hug and a hanky."

"Whew!" Harm wiped pretended sweat off his brow. "So, apart from the third degree, what else did you talk about?"

"Well, your grandmother asked me if I was pregnant…" Loren said mischievously.

Harm blinked, conscious that the tips of his ears were burning red, "Why on earth would she ask that?"

"Oh, your mom asked me had we set a date for the wedding, and I said no, but that I didn't want to wait too long… so I suppose your grandmother might have thought we had an urgent need to get married."

"I'll… I'll…"

"Don't say it, Harm! I don't want to have to testify at your trial!"

"H'mm. Of course, if we're married, you couldn't be compelled to testify against me could you?" Loren snuggled in closer to Harm as he slipped an arm around Loren's shoulder.

"Yes… that's true…" she agreed in a sultry tone.

"How long does it take to put a wedding together?" he asked, "Could you do it in three months?"

"Of course!" Loren wriggled upright and looked at him. "Are you sure? What will your mom say?"

"Don't care. It's our wedding, not hers!" So… what do you say about the first weekend in July?"

Loren grinned, "I say, it's a date!"


	24. Chapter 24

**24**

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1000hrs, Boars Head Inn, Charlottesville, VA, (111500zMar01)**

Lieutenant Commanders Robert and Angela Williams waited until the desk clerk had swiped their credit card through her PDQ machine and printed off a copy of their receipted bill. And with a cheerful "Drive safely," which didn't sound as artificial as such biddings usually do, watched as the husband picked up both bags and with his wife alongside him walked casually to the door, where the valet had already brought round Angela's 97 Ford Taurus ready for them to stow their bags and head back towards the tidewater country.

Angela handled the car with confidence as she threaded it through the late Sunday morning traffic in Charlottesville as she headed for the I-64 towards Richmond and eventually Norfolk, but it wasn't until she had reached the highway and set the cruise control that she turned to her husband and said, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, have you decided what you're going to do about your grand ethical dilemma?"

Robert Williams winced at the sarcasm that dripped of Angela's every word, "No, I haven't decided yet!" he said. "Look, Angela, I know you think it's unwarranted interference, but regs are quite clear, if any member of the Navy sees an offence being committed, and does not report that offence then that member becomes guilty of an offence him or herself. Look, I've got nothing against Rabb, I barely know the man, but I am not inclined to risk my career by turning a blind eye to what might be a blatant case of fraternisation!"

"That's the problem, isn't Robert!" Angela's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, and her knuckles shone white on the steering wheel. "It is a case of might be's, and what ifs. There is no proof that whatever Commander Rabb was doing in Charlottesville on Friday was contrary to regulations. The only thing that aroused your suspicions is a vague feeling that you recognised his dinner companion."

"And the fact that they left early on Saturday morning!"

"They might have had a perfectly legitimate reason for leaving early… maybe one of them felt unwell and wanted to get back home… or Charlottesville is a hundred or so miles from DC, maybe they had to work back on Friday and that is as far as they wanted to drive that evening, and they left early on Saturday because there was someplace they needed to be!"

"But even so…"

"Even so. What if they are having a relationship, but their CO or COs know about it? For God's sake Bobby, remember how much scrutiny we came under, even though we played it by the book. Maybe they are in a kosher relationship and just wanted to jump out from under the microscope for the weekend!"

Robert looked across at Angela, she was getting really worked up about this, and although when she was in this mood, he found her exciting, he really didn't want to push too many more of her buttons. But she hadn't finished.

"You say you don't want to risk you career by not reporting an offence. How about the damage your career will sustain if you do report your suspicions, and they turn out to be unfounded?"

"Well… there's always the sexual misconduct hot line…"

"Robert Williams! Don't you even think about using that hotline! That whole set-up stinks! It's less than three months since that poor Lieutenant was 'investigated' on the basis of an anonymous complaint laid against her on that hotline!"

"Yeah, but she was found not guilty, no charges were ever raised against her!"

"Oh, Bobby, how can you be so naïve? There will always be those who believe that no matter what the investigation turned up – or failed to turn up – that she was guilty of some form of impropriety. After all" Angela's voice took on an edge of bitter sarcasm, "There's no smoke without fire!"

"Well what do you want me to do?" Her exasperated husband demanded.

"Oh… what I want is for you to forget the whole thing! But you're not going to do that, are you?"

"Angela, I can't!" he protested despairingly.

"Alright then! She slammed on the brakes and pulled off the highway onto the shoulder and as the car came to rest in swirl of gravel dust, she finally twisted her head to look at him, "OK, if you can't forget it, then man up! Go and see him, face to face, don't telephone or e-mail, tell him what you saw, and ask him for his word that there is nothing for you to report!"

Robert looked at her appalled, "You mean… just walk up to him and ask him if he's having an improper relationship?"

"Yes, just that!"

"I… I can't do that…"

"Bobby, it's either that, or forget the whole thing. There is no other honourable way out!"

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1005hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (111505ZMar01)**

Harm kissed Loren thoroughly, but then pushed himself back up to a sitting position and groaned, "My family have the worst timing ever!" he complained.

Loren merely cocked her head to one side and said. "Oh?"

"Yes, 'oh'. What I really want to do now is get undressed, get back into bed with you and make love until it's time for us to leave, but…"

"Yeah, but…"

"So… you go ahead and use the shower, and I'll make a start on packing."

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1052hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (111552ZMar01)**

Freshly showered and with hair and make-up just so, Loren followed Harm back downstairs, reaching the kitchen, Harm dropped their go-bags just inside the door and reaching for Loren's hand, he drew her towards the table and seated her before hooking his foot around one of the two available kitchen chairs and pulling it alongside Loren for his own use.

Grams was at the range waiting for her old-fashioned percolator to finish a fresh brew of coffee, while Trish was occupied in slicing and buttering a loaf of bread, as Frank dismembered a cold roast chicken, adding its flesh to a platter already partially covered with sliced ham, while a bowl of mashed egg stood to one side.

"Feeling more the thing now, Loren?" Trish inquired having taken in Loren's changed appearance.

"Yes, thank you, Trish," Loren replied, as Harm's eyebrow rose on his forehead at her form of address.

"Don't look so scandalised, Harmon!" his mother reproved him, "Loren isn't quite comfortable with calling me 'mom', and I am definitely not comfortable with her calling me 'ma'am"!"

"Well, maybe she'll feel easier calling you 'mom' once we get into July," Harm suggested reaching for Loren's hand under the cover of the table.

"Why should she feel any better in Jul… Oh! You've decided on a date. Already?"

"Yeah, the first weekend in July… Why what's wrong?" Both Trish and Frank frowned when Harm mentioned the date,

"That's not a very good idea, Harmon," Grams supplied from the vicinity of the range, "You're forgetting that's the Fourth of July weekend."

Harm looked blankly at his mother and stepfather as he absorbed what they said, and then feeling remarkably foolish, he turned to Loren with an unspoken question in his eyes. They exchanged a look for a few seconds before he nodded and Loren said, "OK, it's no big deal; let's make it the previous weekend, which would be…"

Frank pulled a pocket diary from his inside breast pocket and flipped it open to the year's calendar, "That would be Saturday, June Thirtieth?"

"Works for me," Harm agreed smiling at Loren.

"Yep," Loren returned his smile, "It's a date, then!"

"So, Mom," Harm turned back towards Trish, "does that give you enough time to buy a new hat?"

"June Thirtieth? I should think so… where were you thinking of having the ceremony? Annapolis?"

Harm grinned and shook his head, "Well, I'll give the academy chapel a call, but I shouldn't think we'd have a hope in hell of getting a slot at such short notice…" he thought for a moment or two, "Loren, what about the Episcopalian Church in Falls Church, the one we use for the Christmas Services?"

Loren's face lit up in a smile, "Yes, I'd love that!" Then feeling that her enthusiasm might have been a slap in the face for Harm, she hurriedly explained, "I know that as an academy graduate you're entitled to get married in the academy chapel… but, unless you really want that, I'm not really all that much in favour of pomp and circumstance… so unless you really want Annapolis, I'll be happy with a simple service in what I've come to think of as the JAG church…" Loren let her voice trail off as she waited, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth, for Harm's reaction.

Harm, keeping Loren's hand firmly clasped in his, looked around at his family, "Well, that's settled then, subject to the availability of the church, Saturday June Thirtieth. We will, of course, be issuing formal invitations."

Trish nodded, temporarily bereft of words, while Frank grinned and leaning across the table, reached out his hand to shake Harm's and then smiled at Loren, "Welcome to the family, Loren!," and then the smile fading slightly he turned back towards Harm, "If you need any help with the expenses, you know you can come to me, right?"

"Yeah I know, Frank… and Frank?"

Frank silently indicated that Harm should continue, "Thanks, Frank – for everything."

Frank's eyes misted as he realised that Harm was trying to put right all that has passed between them over the last twenty five years.

Lunch was informal, and for a while it seemed as if everything was going well; Trish seemed to be warming to Loren and as she became more accepting, so Loren became less guarded, until Harm who was talking to Frank became aware of a sudden chill running down his spine as he herd Trish ask, "Tell us about your family, Loren. Where are they from, what do they do, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Harm winced inwardly as he saw Loren's defences go up and the shutters come crashing down, "I have no family, Mrs Burnett," she stated quite calmly, but in icy tones.

"But…" Trish began, and then catching Harm's eye she saw the almost imperceptible shake of his head and the warning in his face, and with quiet dignity, she extended her hand towards Loren, "I am sorry, I seem to have not only raised a difficult subject, but to have allowed my curiosity to get the better of my manners. Loren, please forgive me?"

Loren gazed at her open-mouthed; she had expected almost anything except an apology. She swallowed twice to try and find her surprise-robbed voice before managing a quiet, "There's no apology needed, Trish. It's not your fault you walked into a quagmire, when there are no warning signs!"

Trish demurred, "Maybe not for blundering, Loren – but certainly for letting my curiosity leading me into rudeness!"

Loren gazed across the table at Trish, "Well, in that case…" she said, with just the merest hint of a smile on her lips, "How about a plea-bargain?"

Trish, despite her deep sense of embarrassment, mustered a passable imitation of a smile, "Very well, Loren, make me an offer?"

Loren pretended to consider for a few moments longer before she made her proposition, "How about, if I don't mention it, you don't mention it either?"

Trish sat silenced for a moment, "That's… that's more than generous, Loren. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Frank grinned broadly while Harm smiled in silent satisfaction, while his heart swelled with both love and pride. Sarah Rabb stood by her range, keenly watching the interplay between the members of her family. She heaved a silent sigh at that thought. Only Harm was hers, by blood, but the ties of mutual affection had kept Trish bound to her during the long years since Harm Senior had been listed as MIA, and that affection had extended itself to Frank when he married Sarah's former daughter in law, and now her grandson had brought another young woman home. Sarah Rabb would wait to make her final decision about Loren, but from she had seen so far, she was already favourably inclined to the blonde.

Nodding decisively, she placed a chopping board and knife in front of Loren together with a four large potatoes, "Just peel and dice those for me, Loren. About the size of the top joint of your thumb will be fine!"

Loren cast a startled look at the tall, silver-haired woman, but responding to the implicit command, she merely replied, "Yes, ma'am!" and picking up one of the potatoes started to peel it.

Sarah turned then to Frank, "If you could set the table please, Frank, dear? And Harmon and Trish, would you see if you can find half a dozen eggs in the hen house. They're not laying particularly will just now, but we might get lucky…"

"That's more than we did this morning," Harm bent to whisper in Loren's ear as he made to leave the table, and leaving her open mouthed with shock and bright crimson as the import of his words sunk in. Even so, she couldn't help but respond to the laughter in his eyes, and through her smile, she said, "Oh… you are so going to pay for that!"

Harm has reached the hall door before he turned back to look at Loren and drop an outrageously slow and exaggerated wink at her, which the desired effect, from his point of view, of increasing her blush and temporarily rendering her speechless.

As the door closed behind mother and son, some of the colour started to leach from Loren's face, and she managed a shaky laugh, saying to Sarah and Frank, "He's such a shocking flirt!"

The knowing grins her effort received in return were enough to make her drop her gaze and concentrate on the vegetables in front of her.

Harm closed the door behind him and stepped out onto the porch where Trish stood at the top of the steps waiting for him, "Your arm, please darling?"

Harm smiled and crooked his right arm for Trish to be able to tuck her arm in his. A request it might have been, but a request from his mother carried much the same weight as a request from a superior officer, but…"Feeling the years, mom?" he teased her.

"You are a very bad man, Harmon Rabb!" his mother scolded him, but with the same imp of laughter her eyes that he had revealed to Loren, "You are rude, impertinent, and… oh… it is good to see you son!" she finished as they headed across to the small barn.

"It's good to see you too, mom, even if the circumstances were a bit off. I would have liked to break my… our news, a little less dramatically… but…" he shrugged, "What's done is done… I just hope it isn't past mending!"

"Of course it's not, darling! I admit, I've only spoken half a dozen words to Loren, but she seems pleasant enough, a bit quiet perhaps. I would have thought to see you with someone a bit more…" she shrugged, "I don't know… more… outgoing, less reserved... perhaps?"

"Yeah, well… Loren is reserved, self-reliant, she doesn't make friends easily… she's ambitious – not that there's anything wrong with that, it's a good officer-like quality, but there are things in her past that have made her so… well… closed in. She's been with us at Falls Church for a year, and it's only in the last three months or so that I've got to know the woman behind the façade." He gave a short bark of laughter, "At work she's been nicknamed the Ice Queen – amongst other things, some not quite so polite, but she's a good friend, once you get past that… that front, and once you get to know her, and her story, then it makes it easier to understand her."

"And just what is her story, Harm?"

"I'm not going to go into details, Mom, for a couple of reasons. Firstly, just thinking about it makes me as mad as hell, and secondly I won't betray her confidence. All I will say is that she had an abusive childhood and she left home at sixteen and everything she has achieved, she has done by dint of her own efforts, and although she doesn't think that she's done much, I am so very proud of her. Mom, Loren, is one of the bravest people I've ever met! She is bright, bold, beautiful, determined, and I love her so very much."

Trish threw a startled look up at her son, it seemed to her that his voice had become constricted as he spoke his last sentence, and she wasn't too sure that the gleam in his eyes wasn't an unshed tear or two.

"Well, darling, it is enough for me that you have chosen her, and if she is all that you have said, then you've found a woman who is a match for you! Is she… is she as stubborn as you?"

"Oh, Mom, you have no idea!" he chuckled.

And Trish, feeling comforted by his response, returned that comfort with a gentle squeeze on his forearm.

Loren, Sarah and Frank were disturbed by the sound of laughter as Trish and Harm returned from their foraging expedition and a call from Trish for "Someone please open the door!"

The demand for assistance was amply demonstrated as the two egg-hunters made their way into the kitchen, both had their hands full of eggs. Loren calculated that there must have been at least three dozen of them cradled in Harm's big hands and Trish's smaller more delicate ones.

"I thought you said they weren't laying, Grams!" Harm teased his grandmother.

"H'mph! If that's all you found, then it's obvious they're not! I'll have to keep an eye on them and see which have stopped laying."

Harm winced, "Oh… come in number forty-two, your time's up!"

Loren cast a jaundiced eye up at him "Harm, you know that's what happens when a bird stops laying!"

"I know, I know," he sighed, carefully placing the last of the eggs in a brown earthenware bowl, "but that doesn't mean I have to like it!"

"Well you liked my chicken stews well enough!" Sarah said in reproving tones.

"Only because I was too young to make the connection between live hens and chicken soup!" he grinned back at her unrepentantly.

"He was nearly thirty!" Sarah confided in a stage whisper to a chuckling Loren as Frank and Trish burst out into laughter.

"Hey, when did this suddenly become pick on Harm day?" he protested, before he too succumbed to the humour surrounding him.

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1358hrs EST, Bud and Harriett Roberts' Apartment, 1603 Corcoran St, NW, Washington DC (101858ZFeb01)**

Bud and Harriett were in the final stages of policing the kitchen while a bored Mac fretted as she sat on the couch in the Roberts' lounge. Ostensibly she was keeping an eye on little AJ, but as he was fast asleep on the mat in his play-pen she seriously doubted whether he could get into any mischief, and although grateful for the assistance that Harriet was giving her, she was bored , bored, bored. And had the sinking feeling that no matter how bored she might feel now, she would be climbing the walls by the time she was able to look after herself with any degree of safety or comfort, and the prospect of being stuck in this tiny apartment – even smaller than her own – on her own for the most of the day was making her feel almost physically ill. It wasn't that she was ungrateful for Bud and Harriet's attempts to include her in the minutiae if their daily lives, it was just that as far as her needs were considered, those lives were almost completely devoid of mental stimulation.

Mac ran a quick mental catalogue of what she had with her and sighed. She was going to have to ask Bud or Harriet for yet another favour, and already she felt she was suffocating under the weight of the favours they had already done for her.

Curbing her impatience until Bud and Harriet re-joined her at the end of their domestic chores, Mac bit the bullet, "Arrieh, c'n you tek me back to my pla thi' afernoo? I nee' s'more things…"

"You don't have to come Mac," Harriett interrupted her, "Bud and I can go and pick up what you want, and you can take it easy and just keep an eye on Little A J!"

"Yeah, I know… bu… I cou' use some freshair?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Not a problem, Mac, when do you want to go?"

"Now?" Mac asked hopefully.

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1412hrs EST, Sarah Rabb's Farmhouse, Near Belleville, PA (111912ZMar01)**

Carefully wedging the two half-gallon crocks between their go-bags in the Ford's trunk, Harm and Loren were further burdened by Sarah presenting them with a deep-dish apple crisp, "It's just fitting that you have some home-made apple crisp to go with Loren's home-made ice-cream!" she told her protesting grandson in no uncertain terms.

Flinging his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender Harm conceded as gracefully as he could and used his flight jacket to cushion the dish from the bumps in the road.

Bags, baggage and goodies secured for the short trip to the airfield, Harm and Loren turned to make their farewells. "Grams, we'll stop by and have a proper visit in a couple of weeks…"

"Well. Make sure you call ahead this time, just to make certain that I'm to home that weekend," then she paused her eyes gleaming wickedly, "or not… as the case might be!"

Loren caught Harm's eye and then as what Sarah Rabb had said sunk into her consciousness she again blushed fire-engine red and weakly protested, "Harm… Grams…"

Harm took his grandmother into a swift, gentle hug and whispered in her ear, "You are a wicked old woman, and I love you to pieces!"

"You just hush up your nonsense!" she retorted, "And mind who you're calling old! You're not so big yet that I can't box your ears!" She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, "You take care of yourself, now – both of you!" she turned her head to make it obvious that she included Loren in her farewell.

"We will, Grams," he reassured her with a smile, before turning towards his step-father, "Frank, it was good to see you – even if it was from the wrong end of a twelve-gauge!"

Frank grinned somewhat shamefacedly, "You're not going to be in any hurry to let me forget that are you?" he asked.

"Hell, no!" Harm retorted with a laugh.

Frank looked skywards and asked in supplicatory tones, "Why me. Lord?"

There was a slightly awkward pause before Trish stepped forward and opening her arms asked hesitantly, "Loren?"

Not without misgivings, Loren swallowed and stepped forward into Trish's embrace, not knowing quite what to expect from this worldly and sophisticated older woman, more than likely just an extravagant air-kiss, she thought, so she was slightly taken aback when the hug was firm and a pair of cool lips were pressed briefly to her cheek. Maintaining a hold on Loren's shoulders, Trish smiled at her, "I know this first meeting has had its tense moments, Loren, but I do hope that as we get to know each other better, so we'll learn to like each other better?"

Loren smiled, her face coming alive, "Yes, I'd like that ma'… uh… Trish!"

"Good! Now, I need to ask you just one thing… as a favour to me…."

"Yes, Trish?"

"Look after him, Loren, look after his heart."

"Oh, I have to Trish…" Loren looked straight into her prospective mother in law's eyes, "You see, he has my heart locked away in his."

Trish's mouth dropped open in a soundless 'oh' of surprise, and then pulled Loren into her in a fiercer embrace. "You'll do," she told the blonde, "You'll do to ride the river with!"

Harm had approached to make his own farewell to his mother and was near enough to hear her last remarks as she released Loren, and his eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. And as Trish let her hands drop from Loren's shoulders, he caught her up in his arms and lifting her off her feet, despite her laughing protests, he spun her round. "I heard what you just said, Mom. Thank you! She is fit to ride the river!"

"Yes, I think she is. Take care son! Frank and I will try to find time to visit with you while we're in DC. So expect a call!"

"We will, but we may not be spending much time at the loft, so if you call me, call me on my cell!"

He planted an extravagant smacking kiss on her cheek, and with a casual half-salute to the three of them, he turned to Loren, "We gotta go, sweetheart, we're wasting daylight!"

"Just hold your horses there, son," Frank stopped him, "Grams and I still have to say goodbye to your Loren," he stepped forward and swept her up to a firm hug, whispering in her ear, "Don't worry about Trish, she just doesn't like surprises, but she's starting to like you, she'll come round, you'll see. All she really wants is for Harm to be happy… oh… and lots of grandchildren!"

Loren blushed and chuckled, "Well we'll just have to negotiate on that! Thank you for being so understanding!"

"It was my pleasure Loren, as it was to meet you! Take care!"

"I will, and thank you again."

Loren stepped back and braced herself as she turned to face the Rabb matriarch. Frank might be some big-shot in one of the major motor manufacturing companies in the USA, and Trish might be the artistic sophisticate, but Sarah Rabb the farmer and the aviator's widow and mother and grandmother of aviators was the sprung steel backbone of the family.

"Mrs Rabb… Grams…" Loren said hesitatingly, "Thank you for letting us visit with you – even though you weren't here…"

"Hush up your nonsense, child," Sarah Rabb smiled, "Like I told that scapegrace grandson of mine, you make sure you come back real soon." She dropped her voice conspiratorially, "I can always use his strong back and weak mind around the place for the heavier chores, and while he's busy with them, I can tell you all his little secrets, and I've got a whole album of his bath time photographs!"

"Grams! I heard that!" Harm complained.

"You were meant to!" his grandmother told him as she eyed him severely, and then her gaze softened as she turned her eyes back to Loren, stooping she placed a soft kiss on Loren's forehead. "I think you'll be good for him, and I know he'll do his best to make you happy. Be safe, now."

Loren's breath caught in her throat, "I will… and… thank you."

To the accompaniment of a final barrage of 'goodbyes' Harm and Loren climbed into their rental, and mindful of the precious cargo – particularly the jar of pickled cherries – Harm slowly negotiated the drive to the two lane black top at the end of the stand of trees, leaving Sarah, Trish and Frank on the farmhouse steps, watching the Ford until it disappeared from sight.

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1400hrs EST, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, 4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC, 20032, (111900ZMar01)**

"All set, ma'am?" Victor Galindez asked Meg Austin.

"Roger that Gunny. Everything stowed according to SOPs, just the one suitcase with my naval kit to be dropped off at my quarters before I head on down to Quantico."

"Right, ma'am. Uh… ma'am… I've been thinking… I know we agreed it's too big a risk for you to have anything naval with you; it would only take one snap barracks inspection to blow your cover wide open. But, you might just need your navy uniform and ID in a hurry… so instead of stashing it all here in DC, I was thinking that maybe I could keep it in the trunk of my car, and thataways it would be handy for you at short notice!"

Meg considered the option, if she needed her navy ID it would probably be in response to some form of emergency, and if things did go south the physical presence of the Gunny would be of enormous help, although she hoped it wouldn't come to that. But there was a possibility, no matter how slight, that the revelation of her true identity could pose a real physical threat to her well being

"That's not a bad idea, Gunny. And let's face it, we've already arranged for you to be undercover as my loving boyfriend, who makes the effort to see me every evening!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Victor replied smartly, although the thought of being Meg's boyfriend, even if only for the sake of the investigation, made the tips of his ears burn, and he silently gave thanks to Santa Maria for his colouring which on this occasion, as it had done in the past, allowed his embarrassment to remain undiscovered.

Meg grinned at him, an entirely unaffected Texas Cowgirl grin. This weekend had been tough in so many ways, and yet in the company of this quiet, unassuming Marine Corps NCO, she had in some weird fashion enjoyed the experience, although she was glad that it was now over. "Now," she continued, "I've got your cell number on speed dial. And you have mine?" the rising inflection of her voice made it a question rather than a statement.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Not 'ma'am,' Gunny, not from here on in. According to my ID, I'm Sergeant Margaret Pierce, so you'd damn well better start thinking of me and calling me by that name!" She sighed heavily, "At least there's on good thing about this alias, I still get to be called 'Meg'!"

"Yes, ma…uh… Meg," Victor acknowledged before he too sighed, "but it's going to be difficult…"

"Same here… Victor… but we'll just have to be good little Marines and suck it up!"

Victor grinned, "I reckon so… Meg."

"Good! Now, you've looked after me all weekend, so, boyfriend o' mine, what say we got and get some dinner? My treat?"

"Oh, yeah! What did you have in mind?"

"Well, do you know anywhere we can get a decent bowl of chilli?"

"In DC?" he replied incredulously.

"Well, there's always Toni's over on M Street – they do a pretty good Texas Pizza?" Meg suggested hopefully.

"If a Texas pizza is what you want… uh… Meg, there's a place on ninth and G that I'm told does a pretty good one, and it's only a couple of blocks…"

"Sounds good to me!" Meg enthused, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation. Give me five minutes to change into something civilised and I'll be right with you!"

"Uh… nothing too fancy ma'… uh… Meg," Victor cautioned her as she disappeared into the bathroom.

Meg stuck her head back around the doorjamb, "Jeans and a sweater?" she queried.

"Perfect!" Victor agreed.

Meg was as good as her word, reappearing within the promised five minutes in a pair of faded blue jeans and cream, turtle neck, cable-knit sweater.

"Ready Victor?" she challenged him, "or now that we're a couple, is it Vic?"

Victor gave her a level look, to his mind, she was suddenly enjoying this way too much. "Victor is just fine, thank you!" he told her in minatory accents.

"Why Victor," Meg batted her eyelashes outrageously at him, and adopted an overly exaggerated Southern Belle delivery, "I do declare, that I believe, I really believe we are having our first fight!"

Despite his best efforts at keeping a poker face, Victor was unable to keep an impassive front, and Meg had the satisfaction of seeing the usually stone faced Gunnery Sergeant smile against his will.

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1428hrs EST, Mifflin County Airport, Reedsville, PA(111928zMar01)**

The rental car had been returned and Loren and Harm had loaded their baggage into the Stearman's stowage compartment and had conducted a joint pre-flight walk round. Now with Loren in the front cockpit and Harm in the rear, they were running through the final instrument check.

At length, satisfied that all was in order, Harm gave the go ahead, "OK Loren, call it in!"

Thumbing the pressel switch, Loren called "Hello Mifflin Tower this Stearman November six advising ready for departure southbound to Charlottesville, and requesting clearance to taxi to Runway one-niner."

"Go ahead, November six, you are clear for taxi!"

Loren nudged the throttle open and as the yellow bi-plane rolled forward she alternately tapped the rudder pedals opening up her field of vision ahead as the nose of the airplane swung from side to side. For Loren, this was always the trickiest part of the flight, the taxiing to and from the runway, it seemed so slow and awkward but she knew that even just a fraction too much power could see the aircraft veering out of control, so it was with a distinct feeling of relief that she finally lined the Stearman up with the centre of runway one niner and applying the brakes, held the aircraft at the runway threshold

"Mifflin Tower, this is Stearman November Six, holding at runway one niner and requesting clearance for take-off."

"November Six, you are cleared for take-off southbound to Charlottesville. You have a clear sky!"

"Roger, Mifflin Tower, thank you!" Loren replied and then pushing the throttle right forward against the stops she felt the Stearman vibrate as the engine note deepened and became louder as the little yellow trainer rolled with ever increasing speed down the runway. Loren kept her eye on the ASI and as the tail came up and the needle indicated just under eighty knots, she pulled back gently on the stick and the rumble of the wheels on the asphalt suddenly ceased as the plane almost leapt into the air.

"Take us up to Angels six and vector one niner five," Harm's voice came through her headphones.

"Angels six and vector one niner five, aye," Loren replied cheerfully and settled back to enjoy the unparalleled sensations of freedom and controlled to which she was becoming, if not addicted, at least habituated.

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1500EST, Zia Angelina's Trattoria Tradizionale, Ninth and G Street SE, Washington DC, (112000zMar01)**

Victor's eyes widened as he chewed his first bite of Zia Angelina's Texas Style Pizza, "Holy mother of God!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, it's pretty good," Meg said as her eyes half closed, she relished the bite of the hot chili peppers buried in the three cheese and spicy sausage pizza topping. "You have no idea just how difficult it is to find a good Texas pizza in DC, and I'm so glad you brought me here, 'cos this is one of the best!"

Victor looked across the table at her in disbelief. The first bite of his pizza felt like it had stripped all the flesh from the inside of his mouth; it had made his eyes water and his nose run, yet his so-called girlfriend had not only finished her first slice of pizza, but was already attacking her second slice with undiminished enjoyment!

He reached for his bottle of beer, only to be stopped as her hand laid itself across his wrist, "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she advised him, laughter dancing in her eyes.

"Why not?" Victor croaked.

"Well, you'll cool your mouth down alright," she said quite seriously, "but that will only make the next bite seem even hotter. "The best thing to do is to chew on a bread roll between bites, that soaks up the spices in your saliva. A bit like a tortilla with a chili con carne."

Victor shook her hand off his wrist as at the same time he shook his head, "Meg, there ain't gonna be a second bite!" he replied grabbing his bottle of beer and taking a long swallow, he sighed with relief.

Meg grinned, "So does that mean you're not going to eat your half?"

"Damn straight, it means that!" Victor retorted with a wry grin, "but I will have another beer, or maybe even two! Seeing as how it's your treat!" he grinned unrepentantly, and then a thought struck him, "Uh… this wouldn't be payback for the last couple of days would it?"

"Why, Victor! Would I do that to you?"

Victor eyed her grimly, "I dunno," he said slowly, "I had you figured for a squared away, buttoned down lady squid, but this is a new side to you, and I haven't made up my mind about it yet."

"I am still the same woman, Victor." She said quietly.

Victor Galindez paused in the act of taking another mouthful of beer and stared across the table at Meg, this time, in some confusion. Just exactly what had the blonde naval _officer_ meant by that? Unable to fathom her meaning, let alone come up with a coherent response, Victor fell back into his comfort zone, tipping his bottle towards her in an informal salute, he grinned and said, "Yeah, Semper Fi!"

Meg's smile was as open as it had ever been and her eyes were unclouded as she too saluted her companion, "Oo-rah, Victor!"

**Sunday 11 March 2001, 1654hrs EST, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (112154zMar01)**

Loren was taken off-guard by the sudden gust of wind that pushed the Stearman to starboard when the airplane was no more than twenty feet off the asphalt, but before Harm could do, or even say, anything, she had instinctively applied the necessary rudder correction and a second later the main under carriage kissed the runway and as the speed decreased the tail dropped until the tail-wheel added its own contribution to the vibration as Loren blipped the engine and turned onto the taxi-way, her alternating taps on the rudder pedals making the bi-plane weave from side to side in its characteristic manner, as she steered it towards Pop's hangar.

The Stearman rolled to a gentle halt and Loren shut down the engine and for a minute or so she just relaxed, lying as far back as the seat would allow, and listening to the 'ping' as the hot metal of the engine cooled down.

Harm had clambered out of the rear cockpit and had waited for Loren to join him on the ground, but when she failed to make a move, he stepped back up on to the lower plane and holding on to the rim, of the cockpit and with a touch of anxiety in his voice said, "Loren? Loren, are you OK?"

Loren's eyes opened and she stared up and across at Harm, seeing the slight frown and for a few seconds felt absurdly guilty. "I'm fine, Harm. In fact," she smiled, "I am so much more than fine. I just wanted a few seconds to enjoy just how much more than fine I was feeling!"

"Come on then, let's you get you out of there," he suggested with a grin as he moved back towards the trailing edge of the wing and dropped to the asphalt.

Loren sighed deeply, for some reason she felt reluctant to climb out of the 'plane, but knowing that she couldn't stay put indefinitely, she unclipped her harness and climbed out on to the wing and in her turn dropped to the ground, where, as it had become their ritual, Harm was waiting to steady her, catching her with his hands on her hips, and leaning in for a quick, tender kiss.

The kiss broken, Loren didn't immediately move out of his grasp, but instead snuggled in closer to him, her head buried in the crook of his shoulder as she sighed again.

"Hey, hey, what's with all the sighing?" Harm asked.

Loren gave a little shrug, "I don't know," she confessed, "It was fine while we were in the air, but now I feel kind of… melancholy… Maybe it's just a bit of backlash from the whole weekend."

Harm smoothed her hair, "Well, it's been a strange one, hasn't it?"

Loren leaned back against the support of his arms, "Oh, Harm," she smiled, "You have no idea! You knocked me sideways with the flowers in the room on Friday, and then Saturday – well, if that's your idea of going slow, I don't want to be around if you get to be in a hurry! And then this morning: shotguns, angry Mom's, pickled cherries! That's a helluva lot to happen in one weekend!"

Harm gathered her in once more, "Look at this way, sweetheart, I've done my worst, and we've survived. Now we can just get on and enjoy the rest of our lives!"

Once again Loren leaned back and looked up at him, her face wearing a fondly exasperated expression, "You really think that's the worst life's going to throw at us?"

"Well… probably not," he conceded, "but look at this way, whatever comes down the pike, now we're a couple, we'll face it together, and then it won't feel so bad!"

"I wish…" Loren began, but then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, "No. You're right. We can do this!"

"Damn straight we can!" He paused for a few seconds, "OK, then, let's get this show on the road!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

It was the work of only a few minutes for Harm and Loren to transfer their sea-bags and Grams offering from the stowage compartment of the Stearman into the trunk of the Lexus, and after Harm had exchanged a few words with Pop's senior mechanic and seeing Sarah safely bestowed in the hangar, it wasn't many more minutes before the Lexus was purring North on the US-29 heading for Culpepper and Washington DC.

Most of the drive was completed in companionable silence, broken only by an occasional observation until they reached Centreville, when Harm asked "Do you want to stop for dinner?"

"H'mm? Oh… oh, no… let's just order in when we get home… where are we going, anyway, your place or mine?"

"You seem more comfortable at your place, so if we just swing by mine, I'll pick up a uniform for tomorrow and then we'll head on to yours. What do you fancy for dinner, anyway?"

"Something light… Chinese?"

"Ho's organic noodles?"

"Sure, why not?"

They fell silent again for another half an hour or so until Loren stirred uneasily. "Harm, tomorrow… your mention of uniforms… How are we going to play this?"

"Play?"

"Yeah, the Admiral, our jobs, all of it…"

"We don't hide it sweetheart, that would be fatal!"

"Oh, I don't want to hide it!" Loren protested vehemently, "I want the whole world to know that I love you!"

"Well, that's settled then," Harm smiled, and reached across to take Loren's hand. "We drive in together tomorrow, and we go straight to the Admiral and tell him we're engaged and he's got three months to find one – or both of us – a billet where we can invoke spousal co-location."

Loren nodded, "Sounds good… but those billets could be in Anchorage!"

"True, but someone's got to fill 'em" Harm grinned, "Don't worry, with Brumby gone, Mac slated for a TAD, A J isn't going to want to lose another two attorneys, that would only leave him with Bud, Alan Mattoni and Caroline Imes as senior attorneys. No, he'll move one of us, but he'll fight tooth and nail to keep the other one at JAG."

"You mean he'll fight tooth and nail to keep you at JAG."

"Not necessarily so, Loren, he might figure I've rocked the boat a few too many times. Half the time, considering the number of times he's harped on about it, I don't think he's ever forgiven me for that HK incident – and Judge Morris sure as hell hasn't!"

"Well… maybe," Loren reluctantly agreed, "But on the other hand, I'm not exactly seen as Miss Congeniality, am I?"

"That was true enough, Loren. But I don't think you see how people are looking at you these days. Without the constant barrage of sniping from Brumby and Mac, you're much less defensive than you used to be, and you've done some damn fine work recently – the Coulter case is ninety per dent your work, and I know Caroline has been singing your praises to the heavens. Not just because of the technical and legal aspects of the case, but for the way you've looked at the human angle too!"

Loren stared at Harm in shock. "You have got to be kidding me!" she protested, feeling a rush of blood to her face as her cheeks flushed hot.

"Not a bit!" he denied. "Look, even the admiral said that you'd done well on the case review, right?"

"Yes…"

"And then you picked up on the Staff Sergeant Hart case, and we dealt with that without it going to trial."

"But that was mostly you…"

Harm shrugged, "OK I hammered out the deal with Alan Mattoni, but it was you that picked up on the brutality issue and the discriminatory EMD, and now Meg has got a full blown undercover case to work on, and it's thanks to you! Don't sell yourself short, Loren, and don't go thinking that you'll automatically be the admiral's choice for re-assignment!"

Loren still felt dubious but Harm's words were passionate and convincing and she hugged them to her, relishing the feeling of warmth and comfort they had created.

And so letting the conversation lapse, Loren sank back against the squabs and closing her eyes – just for a minute or two – while she considered Harm's words.

Harm eased the Lexus to a stop in the ally outside his apartment, and although reluctant to wake her, he couldn't leave Loren asleep and vulnerable in this neighbourhood, not even for the few minutes it would take him to run up to his apartment and collect a fresh uniform for the morning. He reached out to gently shake her awake, and as he did, he received a flash of déjà vu, "Loren, c'mon, wake up sweetheart, we're here."

Loren started, "Oh… I'm sorry; I didn't mean to fall asleep…"

"It's OK, sweetheart, I just didn't want to leave you asleep here. I'll go up and get a uniform. Keep the doors locked, OK?"

Loren who now understood only too well Harm's concerns for her safety in this part of town nodded and the second he was out of the car, she activated the central locking, and wrapping her arms around herself, she waited for his return.

She wasn't kept waiting many minutes until his return, and waiting until he was almost at the car door, she disengaged the central locking, allowing Harm to drape his uniform along the back seat before he once more climbed behind the wheel and headed for Georgetown.

**Sunday, 11 March 2001, 2214hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (110314zMar01)**

Harm finished the last item, Loren's blouse for the morning, and carefully hung the crisply ironed item on a coat hanger, at just about the same time that Loren put away the last of the plates from their dinner, and turned to the kettle which was just starting to sing.

"Any preference?" she asked.

"Whatever's available is good for me," Harm replied as he unplugged the iron from the wall outlet and put it to one side to cool down.

"Jasmine?"

"Sounds good to me, he replied as he walked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. Loren leaned back and squinted up at him as he placed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head.

"You, know," she said ruminatively, "I enjoyed meeting your folks…" and seeing his quirked eyebrow, she turned to face him, leaning back against the counter, "I did, honestly... although the circumstances were a tad stressful… but it's good to be home and to be able to relax…"

"H'mm..." he agreed, "So... shall we take our tea to the couch and relax?"

"Yeah, but not for long… now we're all squared away for tomorrow, I am really looking forward to getting to bed – to sleep," she cautioned him, as she saw the beginnings of a grin on his face.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea, at all," he agreed.

**Monday 12 March 2001, 0740hrs EST, JAG HQ Building CP, Falls Church, VA, (121240zMar01)**

Pfc Julia Sommers, whose duty it was this morning to man the CP Desk, turned to Sergeant Hernandez, "did you see that, Sergeant?" she asked smugly, as Harm and Loren stepped into the elevator.

"Did I see what, Private?"

"Lieutenant Singer!" Julia answered triumphantly, "She was wearing a ring!"

"They all do!" he grunted, only paying half attention to his junior.

"No, not a class ring, an engagement ring!" she said, exasperated with his obtuseness.

"And this affects our duties how, exactly?"

"Sergeant, for the past few weeks, Lieutenant Singer has been different… she's been happier, more friendly, nicer to be around… and the ring on her finger has got to be the explanation why, that's all!"

Sergeant Hernandez closed the logbook he was checking through, "Pfc Sommers, I seem to recall that not so long ago I cautioned you about speculation and scuttlebutt concerning superior officers!" he said severely.

"Yes, Sergeant, you did! But this isn't scuttlebutt, or speculation, it's fact. And if the Lieutenant didn't want people to know about a change in status, then she would have taken the ring off before she reported in for duty!"

"Or she could have left in on her hand by mistake."

"No, Sergeant, she couldn't!"

"What makes you so certain, Pfc?"

Julia Somers gave him a pitying look, "It's a girl thing, Sergeant, I'm not even going to try and explain it to you!"

Hernandez gave her a malevolent look, "Good!" he grunted, and he returned his attention to the logbook he had been scouring for evidence of any wrong doing.

**Monday 12 March 2001, 0743hrs EST, JAG Ops Bull Pen, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (121243zMar01)**

Harm gave Loren's uniform a quick once over and nodded his appreciation, she looked good – no – she looked damned good this morning.

"You're staring, Commander," she reproved him, colouring slightly under his scrutiny.

"That's because you're worth staring at!" he shot back at her, enjoying the look of confusion that flooded her face and the deepening blush that accompanied it.

"Not now, Harm!" she hissed, "That's not playing fair!"

"I don't play fair," he told her and took a step toward her, "I play to win!"

Whatever game plan he had in mind however, was forcibly shelved as the elevator car ground to a halt and the doors slid open. Loren made a quick escape into the hallway and then stopped, looking back over her shoulder with a triumphant smirk on her face.

Harm grinned helplessly and shrugged as he followed her into the bullpen. "Drop your brief case and cover off at your office," he told her, "and then we'll go and visit the ogre in his cave!"

Five minutes later Harm and Loren stood in front of Tine's desk, "What sort of mood is he Admiral in, Tiner?" Harm asked.

"Uh… Monday morning mood, sir."

Harm winced inwardly, "Is he free? If so, we'd like to speak with him."

The yeoman replied, "One moment, sir, I'll see if he's free." He reached out to the intercom unit on his desk and thumbed the 'Speak' button, "Admiral, sir, Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer would like a moment or two of your time, sir."

There was a few seconds' worth of silence and then what seemed to be a sigh as the Admiral replied, "Send 'em in, Tiner!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Tiner released the button and looked up at the two officers, "Sir, ma'am, the Admiral said…"

"We heard, thank you Tiner!" Harm said and then turning to Loren, he asked, "Shall we?"

Loren took a deep breath, and visibly bracing her shoulders, she nodded, "Let's"

Aware of a surprised Tiner's eyes burning a hole smack between his shoulder blades, Harm raised his fist and rapped smartly on the doorjamb, waiting for the gruff "Enter!" before opening the door and standing to one side to allow Loren to enter first into the Admiral's office.

Chegwidden looked up as the two officers halted at attention in front of his desk, "Yes?" he barked.

It was Harm's turn to take a deep breath, and he licked his suddenly dry lips. For some reason or other the old man was not in his sunniest mood today, "Sir, if you'll recall, Loren – that is Lieutenant Singer - and I came to you some time ago, and informed you that we were friends who might possibly be on the verge of deepening our friendship, sir."

Chegwidden looked at pair of them, his expression totally unreadable, "Go on," he said flatly.

"Sir, our friendship deepened and ripened very quickly, until we came to the conclusion that there was only one more place it could take us. On Saturday just gone, I asked the Lieutenant to marry me, and she said yes, sir!"

Chegwidden grunted, "She said 'yes', or she said, 'yes, sir', which was it?"

"Actually sir," Loren spoken up, "it was more of a 'yes, please'."

Chegwidden leaned back in his chair, and twirled a pencil between his finger-tips, "I won't insult your intelligence by asking if you are in earnest, or whether you have thought this through. It is obvious that you're in earnest or you wouldn't have spoken to me, and I must therefore assume that you have spent some time considering the implications of your actions."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Have you given any thought to a time frame?"

"Yes, sir. We've settled on June Thirtieth, assuming that everything else is equal."

"I see," the older man ran his hand over his scalp, "I don't need to remind you to keep it out of the office? No? Good. Alright, you know that one of you will have to be re-assigned? OK, well, I'll start making some inquiries to that end. You also realise that you can neither co-chair nor act as opposing counsel from here on in?"

"Yes, sir!" Harm and Loren said in chorus.

"Well, I can't say that your timing is the most convenient," Chegwidden grunted, and then to both Harm and Loren's surprise, he continued, "but, if you'll allow me, I'd like to be the first to offer my congratulations!"

Harm and Loren exchanged looks, "Thank you, sir!" Loren finally managed to squeak.

Thus prompted, Harm added his thanks to his fiancée's

"Are you going to make a general announcement?" Chegwidden asked, his eyes creasing in amusement at the stunned silence to be swiftly followed by the uproar in which such an announcement would almost inevitably result.

"Uh… no, sir," Harm dismissed that option, "I just thought we'd tell Lieutenant Simms, sir."

"H'mm…" the Admiral's face broke into one of his rare grins, "Probably just as efficient and speedy! Alright you two, carry on!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" they chorused, pausing for a regulation two seconds before pivoting through an about face.

The admiral shook his head as he watched Rabb open the door for Singer, recalling the last time that little scene had played out, except this time around, she smiled at him rather than fixing him with an icy glare. He shook his head in resignation. Unless he could pull a minor miracle out of his hat, he was about to lose an attorney, either one of his few senior attorneys, or a junior attorney who was beginning to flourish, and moreover who was at last showing signs of becoming a human being.

Harm closed the door behind him and turned to Loren, "That went well, I thought…" but his voice trailed off as he saw that she wasn't paying attention to him and was staring at something over his left shoulder.

Turning he saw in front of him a Lieutenant Colonel of Marines, in Service Dress, but with her mouth glistening with surgical wires and her left arm supported by a sling. Behind her stood a frazzled looking Lieutenant Harriett Simms.

"Mac!" he exclaimed in surprise, "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on hospital leave!"

"Com' to see A'miral" she gritted out between her teeth.

"OK, good luck!"

Her raised eyebrows stopped him in his tracks, "I really mean that, Mac. Good luck!" This time he accompanied his words with an encouraging smile, and side stepped out of her way. Mac gave him an appraising look before she raised her hand to knock on the admiral's office door.

He and Loren left Tiner's ante-chamber and headed across the bull-pen towards their respective offices, only to be intercepted by Caroline Imes, "Loren, can you let me have a couple of minutes before staff call, there's a couple of points I want to go through with you before I mention them to the Admiral." She held out a file folder, "I've marked them up here and I'd like…" Caroline broke off her sentence in mid-stream as Loren reflexively held out her hand for the file.

"Loren! Is that what I think it is? Oh, my God! Congratulations, you two!"

Seeing that Loren was going to be too busy fending off Caroline's curiosity, Harm gracefully excused himself from their company as, even though unwillingly for the most part, a good number of the bull-pen's female inhabitants gravitated towards the excited Commander Imes, and the softly blushing Lieutenant Singer.

Harm grinned and turned towards his office and as he approached the door, he was intercepted by a Lieutenant Commander wearing JAG insignia, and whom he had the vague feeling he should know.

"Commander Rabb?" the stranger spoke.

"Yes, that's me," Harm admitted ungrammatically. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

The other officer drew himself up, "Sir, I'm Lieutenant Commander Williams, and if you'll forgive me sir, I need to ask you a question."

"Well, you'd better step into my office," Harm invited him.


	25. Chapter 25

**25**

**Monday 12 March 2001, 0758hrs EST, Sergeant Major's Office, MCCDC, Marine Corps Base Quantico, VA, (121258zMar01)**

Sergeant Major Michael Conlan kept his face impassive as he stared across the desk at the Sergeant who had just reported in, but as he looked at her he could feel his guts writhing in disgust. Another Goddam Squatter! What the hell were those political weenies on Capitol Hill doing to his Corps? There was no place for women in the USMC as far as Michael Conlan was concerned. It might work out OK for squids, grunts and zoomies, but in the Corps, every Marine was a rifleman, and sometimes that meant looking the enemy in the eye and fixing a bayonet to a rifle and using the goddam thing! How the hell was a Barbie doll like the one facing him now, ever going to have the balls to use her bayonet on an enemy? She wouldn't; and that would most likely mean she'd get some real marine killed trying to save her worthless ass.

For chrissakes, the mission here at MCCDC was to prepare units for combat in Iraqistan this week, but who knew where next week? His cadre had their hands full dealing with the units rotating through, they didn't have time to spare for making sure that the MCCDC support staff were fit for role as Marines. That was why he'd had to take matters into his own hands in the first place

He scanned Sergeant Pierce's orders and SRB a second time. A goddam computer geek on top of everything else. In other words a goddam waste of rations.

"Corporal Sinclair!"

"Sergeant Major!" The Corporal shot through the door like a jack-rabbit.

"Corporal, point the Sergeant in the direction of H&S Company."

"Yes, Sergeant Major!"

"Dismissed, Sergeant!"

"Aye, aye, Sergeant Major!" Meg replied smartly, carrying out a text book about face and marching out of the office.

Corporal Sinclair was waiting for her at the main door to the building, "H&S Company is on Barrow and Wilson, Sergeant," he told her, pointing to the right. Wilson is maybe half a mile down here on the left."

"Thank you Corporal," Meg said as she placed her cover on her head and stepped down onto the sidewalk, and along to her car. Slipping behind the steering wheel, she released her breath in a long, slow sigh. Although the Sergeant Major had been formally correct, he hadn't seemed particularly welcoming, and Meg had felt waves of hostility rolling off him, much like the winter breakers she had seen crashing onto the beach at Hookipa. While Meg didn't know what exactly lay ahead of her, she had the feeling that this investigation was going to be tough as well as interesting.

Sergeant Major Conlan watched the latest addition to his unit's roster leave; despite the near perfect drill movement, he had decided to find fault with it. Not only was she a goddamm woman, she wasn't properly squared away, but then again, none of them were. With an expression that seemed to mingle disgust and despair, he picked up his phone.

He waited for only three rings on the other end of the line before it was picked up, "H&S Company, First Sergeant Santiago, sir!"

"First Sergeant, this is Sergeant Major Conlan. Your new E-5, Pierce, is on her way to you now. I've checked her SRB and her PFT is in date… but… I'm not totally happy that she is up to MCCDC standards. She's a shiny-ass Data Network Tech, headed for the HQ Records centre. Have one of the cadre put her through her paces this afternoon… say at seventeen hundred hours."

First Sergeant Rodrigo Santiago, allowed himself the indulgence of a tight-lipped grin, "Yes, Sergeant Major!"

"Thank you, First Sergeant, you know what's expected, and I know you won't let me down!"

"No, Sergeant Major!"

Following the Corporal's directions Meg had no difficulty in finding the H&S Company Headquarters building, and with purse hanging in regulation manner from her left shoulder, she walked briskly up the steps to the main door, just as it opened to let two 1st Lieutenants exit the building, Meg's hurried step back as the three avoided a collision gave her the chance to avoid falling foul of protocol, as she belatedly remembered that in her current role it was she who must salute all officers, even junior officers, rather than the other way around.

Stepping through the door into the general office, Meg removed her cover and looked around. It was, as she'd expected spotlessly clean and the linoleum floor covering was polished to a high gloss. There were two work stations in the room, one manned by a PFC, the other by a Corporal, who on seeing her, stood to attention and asked, "How may I help you, Sergeant?"

"Sergeant Pierce, reporting on transferring in," Meg replied easily.

"Do you have your orders, Sergeant?"

Meg produced her orders and the certified copy of her SRB, and handed them to the Corporal, who name tag on his BDUs identified him as Corporal Le Blanc, and whose accent identified him as coming from the Deep South. With name and accent as evidence, Meg was almost willing to wager that he was from Louisiana. Wherever he was from, Corporal Le Blanc, disappeared through a door in the far wall but returned in under a minute, holding the door open, "First Sergeant Santiago will see you now, Sergeant!"

Meg marched into the Company First Sergeant's domain, again a spotlessly clean but austerely functional room. The only items to be seen other than a desk were a facsimile of a Marine Corps Standard on one wall, and a year-planner covering most of the other wall and which appeared to have the name of every member of H&S Company listed down one side of the chart.

Santiago, as his name suggested was of obvious Hispanic descent, in his mid to late thirties, and looking every inch the United States Marine, from his buzz-cut hair to his spit-shone boots, his chest strained against the material of his uniform – like every other Marine Meg had seen this morning, he was dressed in BDUs - and in defiance of regulations his uniform appeared to be starched.

Santiago remained seated as Meg halted in from of his desk, refusing to acknowledge her presence until he'd read her orders and glanced through the copy of her SRB. Once he'd finished with her documentation he looked up, "You're out of uniform, Sergeant!"

Meg blinked in surprise. She and the Gunny had carefully gone through the joining process for MCCDU which showed quite clearly that personnel transferred in were to report in the Bravo uniforms, but realising that protest would be at best useless, and at worst counter-productive, Meg contented herself with a "Yes, First Sergeant. Sorry First Sergeant!"

Santiago emitted a non-committal grunt. "Will you be living in BEH or have you made other arrangements?"

"BEH, initially, First Sergeant – just until I have time to find an apartment within commuting distance and within financial range.

"You have personal transportation?"

"Yes, First Sergeant!"

He eyed her disfavourably, "Right. Make sure that the vehicle," – he pronounced it vee-hickle, complies with all base requirements. You'll be in Twelve Platoon. Get Corporal Le Blanc to show you where their barrack is. Your Gunnery Sergeant is Gunny Foster, and your Platoon Leader is 1st Lieutenant Mitchell, the Company Commander is Captain Young."

"Report to Gunnery Sergeant Foster now and then get your ass back here at eleven hundred hours – in the uniform of the day! Understood?"

"Yes, First Sergeant!"

Meg about faced and re-entered the main office, where she was met by a sympathetic grin from Corporal Le Blanc. Whew, she whistled silently to herself, they sure know how to make a gal feel welcome around here!

**Monday 12 March 2001, 0753hrs EST, JAG Ops Bull Pen, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (121253zMar01)**

Harm raised an interrogative eyebrow as he seated himself behind his desk, and indicated with a wave of his hand that his visitor should be seated.

"Uh… thank you, sir, but I'd rather stand…"

Harm had been about to offer his visitor a coffee, but Williams' reply and a certain nervousness emanating from the younger officer gave him pause. "You said you had a question for me," he said slowly, "I'm not going to like it, am I?"

Williams shifted nervously from foot to foot. "No, sir. And please believe me when I say I don't like asking it!"

Harm nodded resignedly, "Go ahead, Commander, shilly-shallying isn't going to make it any easier."

"Sir, My wife and I took leave this weekend in Charlottesville, and we stayed at the Boar's Head, Inn. While we were dining on Friday night, I saw you in company with a lady, whom I thought I recognised as being a member of the Navy. Sir, bearing in mind the provisions of US Navy Regulations paragraph, 1137, concerning the Obligation to Report Offenses; I have to ask you, sir, whether I witnessed an offence that evening under the provisions of paragraph 1165 of those same regulations, sir."

Harm gave the younger officer a look of cold dislike. "In short, Commander, you are asking me whether or not my and my companion's presence at the Boar's Head that evening constituted an act of fraternisation?"

"Yes, sir." Williams licked his lips nervously and wished that he had taken his wife's advice and let drop the whole matter.

Harm stood, and crossing his office opened the door, "Come here, Commander," he said very quietly, indicating the now dispersing knot of female personnel, "Do you recognise anyone in that gathering?"

Williams looked, but a woman's appearance could change drastically with her clothing and her hairstyle, and he had, after all, only a few moments' sight of the Commander's companion. He was about to say that he didn't recognise anyone, when Loren looked across the bull-pen, saw Harm and smiled.

"Yes sir, I do. I recognise the Lieutenant as the lady who was with you on Friday…"

"Good!" Harm said still civilly although his anger was coming to a roiling boil, "Lieutenant Singer!" he called out, "Could you spare us a moment, please?"

Loren quirked an eyebrow and excused herself to Carolyn Imes before crossing the bull-pen, "Sir?" she inquired.

"Lieutenant, would you mind explaining to Lieutenant Commander Williams here, what it was we did this morning when we reported for duty?"

Loren look from one officer to the other, her brows creased in puzzled confusion, and the colour rising to her cheeks, "We… we went to see the Admiral, sir," she said.

"To what end?"

"To… to inform him that we… of our engagement, sir," Loren replied, now seriously concerned.

"And what did the Admiral have to say to our announcement?"

"He congratulated us… told us to keep it out of the office… and that he would have to start the ball rolling and look for a reassignment for one of us, sir!"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Harm said, "I'll explain it all to you at lunch, OK?"

"Yes, OK, Ha…sir." A now very worried Loren answered, her eyes clouding over as Harm turned to the other officer, and hissed, "Inside!"

The two of them stepped back into the officer and Harm closed the door and pausing only to close the blinds, he turned to Williams and in a low, menacing voice, said "Lock it up, Mister!"

Williams snapped to a braced position of attention, as Harm stood at his side at an angle of ninety degrees, his mouth no more than six inches from Williams ear. "Never, in my years as a naval officer, as an aviator nor as a JAG has anyone had the brass-necked nerve to impugn my integrity the way you have just done. And not only my integrity, but the integrity of the woman who has done me the honour of consenting to be my wife. The former slur, I might be inclined to forgive at some stage in the future, but the slur on Lieutenant Singer's reputation is not one that I am likely to forgive or forget so easily!"

"Sir, I…"

"Lock it up Mister! You are at attention!" Harm turned away from the junior officer, his hands shaking from the anger induced adrenalin that was coursing through his blood. "I suppose I ought to give you credit for coming to see me and asking me face to face, rather than submitting a report, or God help us all using that damned hot line. But to tell you the truth Lieutenant Commander Williams, I am not feeling in the slightest bit charitable at the moment. Now, I suggest you get the hell out of here, and crawl back under the rock from which you emerged. And thank God every day you breathe, Williams, that you are not in my direct chain of command. Do I make myself clear!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Go on… get out," Harm said as he sank back in his chair. He waited for Williams to depart, before he slumped forward, his elbows on his desk, and his face buried in his hands. He hadn't been sat like that for many minutes, when a knock on his doorjamb and a tentative, "Sir?" made him drop his hands and look up.

Harriet Sims stood in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face and a mug of coffee in her hands, "Sir, I thought a coffee might help?"

"Do you really think so, Lieutenant?"

Harriet smiled gamely, "No, not really sir. But… it couldn't hurt…"

Harm managed a grim smile, "True, just leave it on the desk, please…" Harriet, still with a troubled look in her eyes did so and turned to leave the office, only to be halted by Harm's "And Harriet… thanks."

Harriet managed a half-smile of encouragement, and scurried back to her desk.

Harm, although in little need of the caffeine kick took a couple of sips from his mug before Carolyn Imes rapped on his doorjamb. "Coming to staff call?" she asked with her lazy smile.

Harm pushed himself to his feet, and picked up his brief case, "I suppose I better had," he said as he turned to accompany the other officer along the hall to the conference room.

"You'd better prepare yourself," Carolyn said after they had taken a few steps, "I'm pretty sure that the Admiral; is going to want some pointers."

"How do you mean?" Harm asked in quick concern.

"Well, I don't know what that Lieutenant Commander said to set you going, but although we couldn't hear exactly what you said to him, the volume was certainly impressive. That 'Do I make myself clear' may not actually have been the clearest I've ever heard it said, but it was probably the loudest!"

Harm winced, "Was it really that loud?"

"Well, they might not have heard you in Richmond, but I'd bet good money that folk on the Hill were asking when the storm was going to break."

Harm grinned and then chuckled, the patent nonsense that Carolyn had come out with had the effect of lifting his spirits, so it was still with a smile on his lips that he took his seat at the conference table, noting in surprise that Mac had taken her normal seat to the right of the Admiral's chair.

Seeing him sit opposite her, she scribbled briefly on a sheet of her legal pad and tearing the sheet off, pushed it across the table to him. Picking the sheet up, he saw the one word '_Congratulations_,' in Mac's flowing script, and unable to prevent himself he looked up at her, an expression of questioning surprise on his face.

He thought she grinned, but with her jaw still wired it was difficult to tell, but her dark eyes seemed warm as they looked at him, and then using her right index finger she tapped her left ring finger and nodded down and across the table in Loren's direction.

Understanding dawned on Harm, and with a smile, he mouthed, "Thank you" at the Marine.

**Monday 12 March 2001, 0900hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (121400zMar01)**

Tiner's call of "Admiral on deck!" brought the assembled officers to their feet as A J Chegwidden entered the room saying as he did so, "As you were!" and then taking his seat. He glanced around the table, and it seemed to Harm that the Admiral's gaze rested a little longer and a little more piercingly on him than it did on anyone else, and he shifted somewhat uneasily on his chair.

"First things first," Chegwidden growled. "You all owe a debt to of gratitude to Colonel MacKenzie, who although on hospital leave has requested permission to return to work on light duties. She will be concerning herself with our usual overflow from LSO downstairs, thereby relieving the rest of you of a somewhat tedious but necessary chore."

He waited for the murmur of appreciation to die down, "Moving on… Commander Austin is now undercover at MCCDC Quantico in the persona of Sergeant Pierce. Commander Rabb, you will be running the parallel investigation at that place, starting tomorrow. Try not to piss off the entire Marine Corps…" he paused for the somewhat obligatory chuckle from his assembled officers, "And try not to blow her cover. Gunner Sergeant Galindez is also in the vicinity of Quantico, posing I believe, as Sergeant Pierce's boyfriend. So between the two of you I expect you to bring Commander Austin home in one piece!"

"Commander Imes: The Coulter case?"

Progressing well, sir. We're just waiting for a maintenance report from base housing at Norfolk to corroborate our theory. All witnesses – well three out of four are ready to testify."

"And the fourth?"

"He was the heating technician involved in the base housing maintenance; he's since retired from the navy and according to our latest information is living somewhere near Juneau… although 'near' is a relative term considering the population density of that state!"

Chegwidden nodded, "So, when do you expect to go to trial?"

Carolyn exchanged a glance with Loren, "A week from today?" Loren nodded her agreement.

Chegwidden made a note on his file, and grunted, "Very well, make it so! I'll speak to Admiral Morris. Now… Commander Mattoni: Have you anything to occupy yourself this week?"

"Two DDOs and a UA, sir, all three still in the initial stages of investigation, pre Article 32."

"H'mm… pass them off to Lieutenants Barlow and Roberts." He fixed the two junior officers with a steely stare. "Gentlemen, let's plead these out, we don't really need to be taking up the court's time with minor offences."

"With respect, sir. One of the DDOs isn't really minor…" Alan Mattoni interrupted.

"Oh? Tell me more," Chegwidden demanded as his face registered surprise.

"It's the Maxwell case, sir," Mattoni explained.

"Maxwell? I thought that charge was insubordination to a superior officer?"

"It was sir, but the convening authority has amended the schedule of charges, sir," Mattoni continued, sliding a sheet of paper up the table to be passed to the Admiral.

Chegwidden perched his glasses on the bridge of his nose and scanned the document, his colour rising as he did so, "Wrongful Co-habitation, Insubordination, Disobeying a Direct Order, Fraternisation?" his voice also rose in pitch as he read the charges. "What the hell?"

"Captain Maxwell is a Company Commander at 8th and I Street, sir. He has been sharing an apartment with a Lieutenant Maxwell USN, and because they have the same name, people have assumed that they are husband and wife, sir. Apparently at some stage the Maxwells became aware of this misunderstanding and did nothing to disabuse anyone of the mistake. That's the basis of the Wrongful Cohabiting charge.

"Are they living together as man and wife?" Chegwidden demanded, "Have either of them applied for BHA as a married officer?"

"No, sir, to both questions. Captain Maxwell and Lieutenant Maxwell are siblings; they have been quite open about that and maintain that they have separate sleeping quarters within their apartment and deny that there is any degree of improper conduct."

"So… why this preposterous charge sheet?"

"Captain Maxwell was ordered to find alternative accommodation by his CO. He declined to do so, on the grounds that his CO had no lawful grounds for issuing such an order, and that therefore it was not a lawful command."

Chegwidden shook his head in disbelief, "And the insubordination charge?"

"Apparently the discussion between Captain Maxwell and Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, his CO, became heated, and Maxwell at one point demanded to know whether his CO was terminally stupid, and also called him a dumb-ass eunuch who got his kicks from interfering in other people's private lives."

A barely suppressed snigger was heard around the table, only to be quelled by Chegwidden's glare.

"In Colonel Dawson's defence, he was quite happy to stick to the original DDO charge, but as the news of the instance passed up the chain of command, General Lucas stepped in as the convening authority and had the additional charges framed."

"Good God man. Has the General said just why he has taken this action?"

"I've spoken briefly to him, sir, and he's being extremely… intransigent. His position is that it is not up to Captain Maxwell to decide what is and what isn't a lawful order. In his view an order is an order is an order, and is to be obeyed."

"Good grief, man! Is he some kind of dino… Forget I said that!" He glared around the table, fixing each officer in turn with his stare. He shook his head, "If the soft-shell liberadical press get hold of this… Have you spoken to both parties about a plea of some sort?"

"I have sir. At first Captain Maxwell was willing consent to non-judicial punishment on the insubordination charge, but refuses to acknowledge there is any merit in any of the other charges. General Lucas says he wants Maxwell in Leavenworth and out of the Corps, and refuses to contemplate any sort of plea."

"Maxwell was willing? Do you mean he is not willing now?"

"Exactly, sir. He now wants his day in court, his exact words were, I believe, 'let the old bastard bring it on!'"

Chegwidden grinned mirthlessly, "Not exactly conciliatory, is he?"

"Captain Maxwell is labouring under a strong sense of grievance sir; he feels that the intrusion into his living arrangements is tantamount to an accusation of an improper relationship between him and his sister. He believes that the only way he can refute that accusation is for the whole sorry story to be brought into the open in court. He has also been talking about a redress of grievance against malicious and selective prosecution."

Chegwidden pulled a face of dismay, but before he could answer, Harm interrupted, "Sir, I'd like the defence on this one, please?"

"You Commander? Haven't you got enough on your plate?"

"With respect sir, both Commander Austin and I know what's going on a Quantico, and all we're doing down there is gathering evidence. It shouldn't take more than a couple of days!"

"H'mm… that's all to the good. It might just keep you out of trouble. And we need Commander Austin back for the Krennick court-martial, she's the main witness for the conduct unbecoming charge…" Chegwidden paused as a thought occurred to him, "Commander Rabb, this eagerness to jump into a very messy case… it wouldn't have anything to do with your unwelcome visitor this morning would it?"

Harm looked blank for a moment, then he said slowly, "Actually, sir… it might just have something to do with that. He glanced around the table, "For the benefit of those of you who might have missed the early morning celebrations today, over the weekend, I asked Lieutenant Singer to marry me, and she said yes." He stopped and looked around the table somewhat surprised to see that there were no open displays of hostility and more than a few congratulatory smiles. Harm felt flushed with relief, and continued, "Unfortunately on Friday night, Lieutenant Singer and I were seen in a social setting by another officer who recognised me, and half-recognised the Lieutenant. This morning, he accosted me in my office and virtually accused me of fraternisation with the Lieutenant, so I can in some ways see why Captain Maxwell is taking a stand against intrusion into his personal life!"

Chegwidden started thoughtfully at his subordinate for a few moments before he nodded. "You're flying on a full tank of emotion, Mr Rabb. Don't make me regret this!"

"No, sir!"

Chegwidden continued to regard Harm thoughtfully for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into uncomfortably long minutes before he spoke again, "I take it your reaction to the …ah… virtual accusation was what occasioned the elephant like trumpeting emanating from your office just prior to this staff call?"

"Yes, sir!"

**Monday 12 March 2001, 1100hrs EST, H&S Company Office, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, VA, (121600zMar01)**

Meg, now addressed in BDUs, entered the Company office and in response to Corporal Le Blanc's cheerful "Good morning, again, Sergeant," she replied with a smile, "'Morning, Corporal, the First Sergeant told me to report here at eleven hundred…."

"Yes, Sergeant. It's just routine paperwork to bring your records up to date… Take the weight off," he offered, indicating a chair to the side of his desk. "You know how the Corps, is – it runs on paper!"

"It surely does, Corporal!" Meg agreed. At least one person in H&S Company seemed prepared to be human, and Le Blanc was only a kid, with an open face and engaging smile. Meg would have been surprised if he'd been any more than twenty one years old.

It took very few minutes to update Meg's SRB entries, but it took a bit longer for her to familiarise herself with Company standing regulations, so that it was just short of midday that Le Blanc put down his pen and said, "I'll just let the First Sergeant know that we're done, Sergeant, and if you're ready to chow down, then I'll walk you across to the mess hall."

Meg nodded her acknowledgement as Le Blanc stood, crossed to the First Sergeant's door and knocked, waiting for an invitation before he entered, and gave her wrist a surreptitious shake, she couldn't remember off-hand when she'd had to sign so many different pieces of paper in such quick succession

Le Blanc re-entered the main office together with First Sergeant Santiago, and obeying some inner voice, Meg stood as the pair approached. Santiago looked her up and down, and Meg got the impression that he was not viewing her in a favourable light. It wasn't many minutes before her suspicions were justified. "My office – move!" he rapped.

Meg darted into Santiago's office and stood waiting at attention. "You are a sorry excuse for a Marine, Sergeant," he said in an icy voice, "I don't what the hell they're doing at Camp Lejeune these days, but I can assure you that your standard of presentation is way below the standard I am prepared to tolerate in my Company. We'll just have to see if you have any other redeeming features. You will report back here to Gunnery Sergeant Van Horst at seventeen hundred hours this afternoon. Do you understand?"

"Yes, First Sergeant!"

"Good – now get out of my sight!"

Meg about-faced and made a thankful escape to the outer office, where Corporal Le Blanc, true to his word was waiting for her. As he walked Meg across to the mess hall, she ventured a question, "The First Sergeant, is he always such a hard-ass?"

Le Blanc looked troubled, "He tough alright, Sergeant, but he's pretty fair, on the whole, but I gotta admit, he seems to have taken a dislike to you."

Meg nodded, "Yeah, that seems pretty obvious… Is there anyone else he seems to have taken an instant dislike to…"

Le Blanc's face creased in a frown… "Uh… the last person who got up his butt thataways was Corporal Henderson .. and that was a few weeks ago…"

"What did he do?"

"The First Sergeant?"

"No, what did Corporal Henderson do that ticked the First Sergeant off?"

"I don't rightly know, Sergeant. Corporal Henderson seemed like a nice kid, she just sort of got off on the wrong foot with him…"

Interesting, Meg thought to herself, and obviously Le Blanc hasn't cottoned on that soldiers who 'get off on the wrong foot' are female. But two is a very small sample. "Corporal, who is Gunnery Sergeant Van Horst?"

"Van Horst? Uh… he's one of the cadre, responsible for overseeing PFT training , Sergeant."

Meg nodded thoughtfully, "Oh, I have to report to him at seventeen hundred at the company office."

Le Blanc looked at her, and as Meg met his eyes, she thought she saw a shadow of concern, but that was soon banished as he flashed a boyish smile at her, "Well, in that case, Sergeant, I recommend a light lunch!"

Meg nodded thoughtfully, as she removed her cover on entering the mess hall.

**Monday 12 March 2001, 1210hrs EST, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121710zMar01)**

Harriett Sims coughed politely from the doorway and Mac looked up to see her friend and nursemaid standing in the doorway holding two steaming mugs. "I figured it might be easier for you to have lunch in your office, ma'am?" and seeing Mac's mutinous expression, she smiled encouragingly, "Please ma'am, it's home-made tomato soup. I figured it would make a nice change from all those horrible protein drinks?"

Mac sighed wearily, but then seeing the hurt expression gathering on the blonde's face, she relented and fumbled in her purse for her drinking tube. Harriet saw the tube, and smiling in relief she placed the two mugs on Mac's desk, and closing the door, sat in one of the visitor's chairs.

Mac grimaced, she had a pretty shrewd idea of what the blonde's topic of conversation was going to be, and she wasn't sure whether she was ready to discuss or even listen to her friend. It had taken Mac all her Corps-bred discipline to congratulate Harm this morning, and so far she had managed to avoid encountering Loren Singer.

Harriet at least had the grace to drink some of her soup before she put her mug back on Mac's desk, "That was a bit of a surprise this morning, ma'am. I mean, the Commander announcing his engagement to Loren Singer."

Mac's eyebrows rose in a silent question.

"Well, I mean, I know he'd been spending some time with her ma'am, but to ask Singer to marry him." She shook her head, "It's just not right ma'am. What are we going to do about it?"

Mac scribbled on her notepad, _"Nothing!"_

Harriet's jaw dropped open, "But, ma'am… The Commander and you, you're supposed to be together… I know you've had your ups and downs, but you've always managed to get over your rough patches before…"

"_Not this time!"_

"But why not ma'am? What's so special about this time?"

Mac looked Harriet straight in the eye, and then turned her attention to her note pad, _"When we were in Australia, I asked the CDR to move our… whatever up to the next level. He couldn't. So I went to Mic. Harm took it as read that I was making a commitment and cut his ties. Then when I was in hospital they came to see me. They didn't know I was awake. He told her that he loved her. He never said that to me. If I'd waited in Aus, it might have been different. I screwed up. And like Harm wouldn't chase an engaged woman, I am not going to chase an engaged man. I'll try and be happy for my friend."_

Harriet read the note, and her blue eyes flooded with tears, "Oh, Mac, how could you let this happen…"

Mac's own eyes were prickling, but she fought the tears back and gritted out through her teeth, "Jus' dum' I reck'n".

**Monday 12 March 2001, 1210hrs EST, Cafeteria, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121710zMar01)**

Loren moodily pushed the remains of her chicken salad around her plate and glared mutinously across the table at Harm. "If I'd known it was going to be like this, I'd never have let you put this damn' ring on my finger," she snarled.

"Like what?" Harm asked, puzzled at Loren's seemingly swift change of mood.

"All this damn' fuss!" she retorted, "I haven't been able to move this morning without falling over people who I don't like and who don't like me, gushing insincere congratulations and oohing and aahing over this damn ring!"

"It's a five minute wonder, Loren, just let 'em find something else to think about and all the fuss will die down."

"Gee, ya think?" she asked sarcastically.

"I'm sure of it, sweetheart," he told her softly.

"Yeah, well you didn't help blabbing off about us at Staff Call. I thought we weren't going to make an announcement!" Loren viciously stabbed a helpless fragment of chicken breast in an attempt to express her frustration, "A heads-up of some kind would've helped!"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but Chegwidden caught me flat-footed with that crack about flying on a tankful of emotions and then questioning my reasons for volunteering for the Maxwell case. But you're right; I should have tried to give you some warning."

"Yeah, you blew that alright," Loren confirmed, "No wonder you're still single!"

Harm looked up in alarm at Loren's words, but then saw the hidden laughter in her eyes. He smiled and leaned back against his chair, "But you're still aiming to fix that bit, aren't you?"

"Damn straight I am!" Loren answered emphatically, "there's no way I'm a-fixin' to let you wriggle out of this one, sailor!"

"Oh…" Harm's voice was replete with disappointment, and his face wore a hang-dog expression.

Loren glared at him suspiciously, "What?" she demanded.

"Oh… nothing," Harm said, heaving a theatrical sigh, "it's just…"

"Just what?"

"Oh, it's just that I thought you liked it when I wriggled!" Harm shot across at her, his face breaking into a full blown grin that showed the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

"Oh!" Loren gasped in shock and went crimson as she realised just how beautifully he had set her up, and just exactly what he was insinuating, "Red light Commander!"

"H'mm, I wonder," he continued, his eyes dancing with mischief, "Can you actually give your official fiancé a red light?"

"Of course I can!" Loren spluttered furiously, "I just did!"

**Monday 12 March 2001, 1318hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121818zMar01)**

Carolyn has seen Terri Coulter crossing the bull-pen towards her office, and stood to welcome her visitor, "Terri, good to see you." But then noticing the signs strain showing on the other officer's face, she quickly ushered her into the office, "Take a seat, Terri. Can I get you anything, a coffee, a cold drink?"

Terri managed a half-smile, "No, no thank you Carolyn, I'm good. I just stopped by to deliver my report, and to talk you through anything you're not clear on."

She opened her briefcase and extracted a file, which although slim, was still substantially thicker than the original autopsy report.

Carolyn nodded, "I'll just call Loren, I need her here for this." She reached for her telephone and . "Loren, can you come through, please, Commander Coulter is here."

She looked at Terri, "You look like you've been through the wringer. A tough one?" she asked sympathetically.

"What do you think?" Terri asked, her voice holding more than just a touch of aggression. Then she seemed to deflate slightly, "God, I'll be glad when this is all over…" the aggression gone as quickly as it had appeared, this remark was voiced in little more than a sigh.

Carolyn tried to project as much empathy as she could, "I can't imagine how you're feeling Terri, and I really am sorry that I have to put you through this…"

"You're not responsible for any of this, Carolyn. If the original ME's report had been full and accurate, then we wouldn't have had to perform this autopsy. But then, if the original report had been accurate, then maybe my father wouldn't have spent the last ten years in prison."

What more, if anything, Terri might have said was interrupted as Loren tapped on the doorjamb; Carolyn stood and opened the door for her, "Come on in Loren, Terri's just about to talk us through the autopsy report."

Loren took her seat and the two attorneys bent their heads over the report as Terri started talking.

"This is the report of an autopsy carried out jointly by myself and Doctor Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute. Doctor Brennan is the foremost forensic anthropologist in the USA and Canada. The autopsy was carried out at the Jeffersonian; Doctor Brennan concentrated her efforts on the skeletal remains, while I examined the remaining soft tissue. Alright, as you can see, Doctor Brennan had an MRI and extra X-Rays taken of the deceased's skull…"

Loren's head rose at Terri's impersonal tones, but before she could say anything, she realised that keeping it impersonal was the only way Terri could handle the emotional stress of what she had been compelled to do.

"They plainly show the formation of callus at the fracture site, indicating that the fracture was inflicted some time before death. Additionally, there was very little staining on the interior face of the occipital bone, indicating that any sub-dural haemorrhage was limited in volume and duration, virtually ruling out the head injury as the cause of death."

"That would be blood stain?" Carolyn asked meditatively.

"Yes, that's exactly right. Now, having seen that the head trauma was most unlikely to have been the cause of death I turned my attention to the soft tissue. The embalming process of course drains the blood from the cadaver, but bearing in mind the note in the original ME's report concerning high levels of carbon monoxide, I performed as biopsy of the lung tissue and of the brain tissue. Both organs showed an abnormally high level of CO saturation, easily sufficient to have caused death.

"Doctor Brennan, given the reports of physical violence, then further examined the skeleton of the deceased in an effort to find any evidence of physical abuse." Terri paused.

"The only evidence of any other bone injury was a long-healed fracture of the left radius and ulna. I was able to tell Doctor Brennan that my mother had told me of slipping on some ice and breaking her wrist while she was a student, before she had even met my father."

"So…" Loren exchanged a look with Carolyn, "You discovered that there was enough CO in your mother's system to cause death, and that the only injury suffered by your mother during her marriage was a fracture to the occipital bone, that had already started to heal?"

Terri didn't bat an eyelid, "Yes."

"Terri, if you had been presented with…if you had heard this evidence at your father's original trial, would you have believed in his innocence?" Carolyn asked gently.

Terri's eyes glistened with unshed tears, "Yes. I would have believed he was innocent of killing her, but still he was guilty of sustained verbal abuse and at least one instance of physical abuse – the day he pushed her so that she fell and struck her head."

Carolyn smiled sympathetically again and nodded her head in acknowledgement of Terri's words, as she opened her desk drawer and retrieved a box of Kleenex, which she slid across the desk towards Terri.

Terri mopped her eyes, and fighting back a sniffle, said, "I'm sorry… I don't know what got into to me… I don't normally…"

"We'll need to get this Doctor Brennan on the stand," Loren commented, hoping to divert the topic of conversation away from Terri's distress.

"Umm… that could be a problem," Terri stated.

"Why?" Two pairs of eyebrows rose.

"Temperance Brennan is outstanding in her field, she's often called as a consultant by various government agencies, and what she doesn't know about the human skeleton you could write on the back of a postage stamp… but… she's… not very good with people, and she's not a good a witness."

**Monday 12 March 2001, 1422hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121922zMar01)**

"Hi, Buddy, howya doin?"

"Sturgis, my man. Only been here a week and I hear you're already playing hooky; running off to Norfolk to play with your tin cans!"

"Yeah," the tall African American grinned, and with a raised eyebrow indicated the visitors' chairs. Harm nodded, and waited until his long-time friend had made himself comfortable. Sturgis leaned back and looking at Harm from under half-closed lids said dreamily, "You know, I figured JAG HQ, Falls Church… nice area… near Dad, steady job, nine to five office hours, with maybe a little day trip thrown in just to alleviate the boredom. I shoulda known any organisation that includes you was going to be anything but peaceful. So… there I was Friday evening, contemplating the staggering array of ready-meals-for-one in my freezer, when all of a sudden I'm relieved of the pressure of having to decide what to eat, when the 'phone rings and our fearless leader tells me to get my butt down to Norfolk to carry out a JAGMan investigation."

Harm grinned, enjoying Sturgis' laid back style of telling a story, "Must have been fairly urgent to drag you out on a Friday…?" he suggested.

"No… not really," Sturgis answered dismissively, "only a broken arrow."

Harm bolted upright, "A…? Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not…" Sturgis leaned forward supporting his elbows on his knees, his manner no longer casual or relaxed, but grim and saddened "I've got to write up my report, and it means it's the end of the skipper's career." He paused, "He's a good man, Harm, I know him, and I've got to be the one the pulls the rug out from under him."

Harm nodded wearily, he knew only too well what Sturgis was experiencing. He sighed, "Sturgis, it happens from time to time, and all we can do is suck it up. People are fond of saying that ranks has its privileges – well, sure it does, but those who have the rank have worked to earn those privileges, but along with the privileges comes the duty and the responsibility. When things go wrong, the privileged have the duty and the responsibility to step up and take the hit. This time it's your friend, so it seems doubly hard that you're the one writing him up. I've had to do it – more than once – and I wish I could say it gets easier. It doesn't."

Sturgis nodded grimly, "And putting it off doesn't make it any easier, either, I suppose?"

Harm nodded in rueful agreement, and then in an attempt to give his old friend's mind a happier turn, he asked, "So how come they lost a… whatever it was?"

"SLCM, with a Two Hundred KT tip," Sturgis said, "And that is all I can tell you, other than it was an error of drill, and they accidentally jettisoned it while they were alongside. Unfortunately, the discrepancy wasn't noticed until they'd been at sea for nearly thirty hours."

Harm shook his head, "Yeah, that's a definite career killer. Are you recommending charges?"

Sturgis shook his head, "Not against the skipper. He's got more than his twenty, so I recommend that he just quietly walks away. That way he keeps his benefits and pension. I am recommending DOD charges against the weapons officer – he did miss one tally, and there might be charges against a couple of the torpedomen."

"So… what happens now…?"

Sturgis gave a bitter laugh, "Well the patrol schedule is now FUBAR, the boat is headed back into port, the next up is frantically replenning while her Alpha Crew are recalled from leave. In the meantime, the boat out there on station will be running short of supplies. What a screw-up!" He shook his head in despair again, and then bracing his hands on his knees he stood, stretching his back, and with another wry grin he said, "Thanks for letting me vent, buddy,"

"Anytime," Harm assured him, gazing with sympathy at his departing friend.

**Monday 12 March 2001, 1700hrs EST, H&S Company Office, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, VA, (122200zMar01)**

Meg had spent the afternoon orienting herself into her new position at MCCDC HQ Records, where she was under the command of a Lieutenant Harrison, an ROTC graduate who had greeted her with calm indifference before explaining her duties to her. She and a Corporal – Billy Walker – were responsible for ensuring that the computer network stayed on line, with the secondary duties of data input when their networking skills were not required. It was a mundane soul killing duty in Meg's opinion, but she recognised that it was a necessary one, and she comforted herself with the knowledge that it was to be of only limited duration, but now with the hands of the clock rapidly approaching seventeen hundred hours, she turned to her Corporal and said, "I have to be at Company Office at seventeen hundred. If the Lieutenant asks where I am, let him now, please?"

"Yes, Sergeant!" Walker watched her go with a smirk on his face, and once he was certain she was out of earshot began whistling the 'Dead March' from Chopin.

Corporal Tim McGarry, looked across, an expression of irritation on his face, "Why don't you give it a rest, Walker?"

"Aw, c 'mon McGarry, she's screwed, and we all know it. Santiago's going to ride her ass so hard 'til she won't know the difference between reveille and taps! Depending on how long she's got left, she'll stick it out until her contract's up, or she'll put in for transfer. Best thing for her too. This is the Corps; there ain't no room for women in the Corps!"

"Jesus, Walker, what fucking century are you living in? You're sounding like some thirty year leatherneck, and let's face it, how is what we're doing any different from what the women are doing? Hell, the women in the motor transport platoon are nearer to 'real' marines than we are!"

"McGarry," Walker sneered, "If you're too dumb to figure that by yourself, than I sure as hell ain't about to enlighten you!"

Meg made it to the Company Office with a minute to spare and slammed to attention in front of a leather skinned Gunnery Sergeant, hastily checking his name tape to make sure she hadn't mistaken his identity. "Sergeant Pierce, reporting as ordered, Gunnery Sergeant!"

Gunnery Sergeant Van Horst looked Meg up and down, an expression of disdain writ openly on his face, "First Sergeant Santiago said you were a sorry excuse for a Marine, and I thought that perhaps he was exaggerating!" He screamed into her face, so close that she could feel his spittle landing on her skin, "But I was wrong! He wasn't exaggerating, he was fucking understating! You are an embarrassment to the United States Marine Corps! I can only hope Sergeant that appearances are deceptive, and that you perform better than you look! Now, follow me!"

With that he turned on his heel and started off at a fast jog. Meg nodded and said silently, if this is what you've got Gunny, bring it on! Her early morning runs with Victor Galindez had been at least one and a half times this pace, and Meg was confident that she could keep this pace up for just as long as the Gunnery Sergeant.

She began to feel misgivings, however as he led her on past the confidence course to the rifle range, where three Corporals – one male and two female were waiting. An M16 lay on the firing point together with a stack of five magazines

"Halt!" Van Horst yelled, and Meg did so, her hands automatically going to her hips as she started deep breathing exercise. However, she wasn't allowed that luxury, "You are at attention, Sergeant!" Van Horst bellowed, again from close quarters. Then turning, he glared at the two female Corporals and jerking his thumb down-range, he snarled, "Get going!"

The two women, pausing only to pick up a paste pot and a bundle of target papers headed down range to the covered butts at a fast lick.

"Now, we'll see if those pretty blue eyes are any good other than for decoration," Van Horst sneered. "

Meg felt a surge of rage, that type of comment was way out of line, even for a DI at Parris Island, and for a second she nearly screamed a traffic signal at him, but recalled just in time that she was here to investigate alleged mistreatment of female personnel at MCCDC, and that the best way to do that was to give these Neanderthals enough rope to hang themselves. Forcing her anger down, she concentrated on the instruction she was being given, or rather were being screamed at her,

"You will pick up that rifle and four of those magazines. You will walk down range, depositing one magazine at each of the four hundred, three hundred and two hundred yards firing points, which will leave you with one magazine for the one hundred yard firing point. Each magazine holds ten rounds of live ammunition. At each firing point, the target will appear for ten seconds. You will commence firing as soon as the target appears. You will fire only single, aimed, shots. At the one hundred yard mark you will fire from the standing position. From the two hundred from the kneeling position, from the three hundred from the sitting position and from the four and five hundred yard firing points you adopt the prone position. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!"

"Good, get going!"

Meg doubled forward to the firing point, and picking up the weapon made sure that it was unloaded, stuffing the magazines into her shirt pockets she started down range only to hear a yell from behind her "Double time, Sergeant!"

Dropping off a magazine at each firing point on her way, Meg reached the one hundred yard point and stood waiting for orders, "Lock and load!"

Meg fitted the loaded magazine to the weapon and drew back the cocking handle, let it go, and then firmly struck the bolt assist with the heel of her right hand. Van Horst blew a blast on his whistle, and the square target rose from behind the butts.

From then on Meg's world shrank to her sight picture, the sound and feel of the riddle in her hands, and the blast of Van Horst's whistle.

Eventually she lay prone at the five hundred yard firing point; the last of her fifty rounds sped downrange. Already she felt drained from the reaction to the adrenalin rush, but her evening's activities were not yet over.

Following another burst of abuse and instructions from Van Horst she handed her weapon over to the Corporal at the firing point and followed Van as double timed back to the confidence course area, where he pointed her at the overhead bar, "Jump, chin and hold!" he ordered her.

Meg raised herself on the bar so that her chin was just above it, and arm muscles burning, she held until she was forced to let herself drop, to the now anticipated outburst of scornful abuse from the Gunnery Sergeant.

Again she was allowed no respite and went immediately into the press-up position with instructions to "Crank 'em out, Sergeant!", her already abused arm muscles were unable to give of their best and although her torment seemed to last an age, it wasn't too long before they gave out and she was left face down in the dirt, incapable for the moment of any further push-ups.

The next exercise, abdominal crunches were easier, it was one of Meg's customary exercises that she relied upon to help her keep her figure, and she was able to strike and keep a rhythm until she was given the order to cease the exercise.

In response to a curt order to get on her feet, Meg rose and took the position of attention, while Van Horst pointed out various landmarks which were to act as course markers.

"How old are you, Sergeant?" he demanded

"Thirty-two, Gunnery Sergeant," Meg screamed back, well aware that her age had a direct bearing on the time she was allowed to complete the three mile run.

Van Horst nodded and made a further entry in the note book in which he jotted down Meg's scores. "Strip your blouse" he told her, and then taking his stop watch from his pocket, he blew a blast on his whistle, and Meg took off.

Out of his sight Meg could no longer hold back the tears of frustration and rage, she had very little doubt that the figures that Van Horst had jotted down in his notebook would be found to be unsatisfactory, and that the whole point of this evening's exercise had been her humiliation and an excuse for placing on her EMD until she had reached a satisfactory standard. A standard, which she suspected would never be reached by any female soldier in H&S Company. But by God, once she had gathered evidence, and she'd blown the lid off the victimisation there were going to be some very sad Marines facing a long time behind bars!

Comforted by those thoughts she concentrated on achieving her best possible time for the run, and returned to the starting point, where Van Horst delayed halting his stop watch until the last possible second.

Meg halted hands on knees while she regained her breath, and after only a couple of minutes, she straightened up to the attention position and waited further instructions.

Van Horst looked her p and down. Her face was red, streaming with sweat and her hair clung damply to her scalp her BDUs were filthy and her boots badly scuffed. He allowed himself a tight little grin. This one was good, better than he'd given her credit for, but she had to be brought to realise, just like all the rest of them that the Corps was a man's Corps, no matter what those liberal SOBs on Capitol Hill might think!

"Alright Sergeant, put your blouse back on, and dismiss!" Van Horst said curtly, and turned away, heading for his own quarters and then a meeting with First Sergeant Santiago in the Staff NCOs' Club, where he would turn-in the results of Meg's impromptu PFT.

Meg watched Van Horst go, with a feeling of deep loathing, and then glancing at her watch, reluctantly started to jog back to twelve Platoon's barrack. Her cell phone was in her foot locker, and she needed to check in with Victor Galindez, and she needed a shower – God she really needed a shower - and something to eat. She'd already guessed that the timing of her PFT was no accident, and that the mess hall would be long closed.

Meg turned the key in the lock to the room she shared with a yet unknown room-mate, and not much to her surprise, found the door was unlocked and the strains of country music barely audible drifting out of the doorway.

Standing in from of the other bed was a short, rounded-figured blonde, her hair a shade or two darker than Meg's, gazing into a mirror propped on her bed as she drew a brush through her hair.

Hearing the door open the other woman turned and smiled, "Hi, you must be Meg Pierce, they told me you were a-coming today. I'm Sally Kirkland, Omaha, Nebraska!"

Meg forced a smile onto her tired face, "Hi, yeah, I'm Meg Pierce, San Antone, Texas,"

Sally eyed her up and down, "You look a mess, girl. I'm guessing they had you on PFT, straight off the bus?"

"Yeah, something like that." Meg admitted, although she hadn't spent more than a couple of minutes in the other woman's company, she already felt the beginnings of liking. Careful, Meg, she cautioned herself, this could be just because she's the first friendly face you've seen all day!

"Well, we're pretty lucky here, there aren't many of us in Twelve Platoon. There are four Corporals sharing the bunks at the far end of the squad bay, and only two girls in the squad bay itself. The showers are just opposite."

Meg made a point of raising he arm and sniffing loudly, "Yeah, I guess I am kind of ripe," she acknowledged with a grin, "I can take a hint! See you in a few…"

"Uh-uh! I'm on my way out… I got a hot date with one of the guys from the Provost marshal's Office!"

Meg grinned, "OK, see you when you get back, I'm going to try and find something to eat, and then I'm hitting the rack!"

"Oh… I'll probably be late… very late," Sally grinned knowingly, "Don't wait up!"

True to her word by the time Meg had finished her shower, Sally was gone. Meg took the chance to retrieve her cell phone, and hit the third number on Speed Dial.

"Victor, hi, it's Meg. There's a bar cum diner just outside the main gate on Russell road. Can you meet me there? I'm starving!"

**Monday 121 March 2001, 1930hrs Local, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (120030zFeb01)**

Harm cleared the table and rinsed the dished under the faucet while Loren, who had been slightly abstracted throughout dinner – in fact since they had gotten in from work, plugged her lap top in to a wall outlet and booted it.

"SO… I'm still in the doghouse, am I?" Harm asked from the kitchenette.

"H'mm? Oh, no – why? Should you be?"

"Well…" Harm drawled, "There's the little matter of you getting snitty with me over the conference room announcement, and then the lunchtime red light… I just wondered when you thought I might be rehabilitated."

Loren sighed, "I give up!" She closed down her laptop and twisting around on the couch she held up one hand in invitation, "You are not in the doghouse! I was a little put out by the announcement, and as for your outrageous comment at lunchtime…" she blushed at the memory, "actually, once I thought about it, it wasn't just pretty damn' clever, it was also quite a turn on!"

Harm carefully carried two mugs of fresh-brewed coffee over to the couch, and setting them down on the coffee table, eased his way sideways onto the couch, gently pulling Loren back into his arms until they were wrapped around her, his chin resting on the top of her head and her back resting against his chest. "So… what's the pre-occupied air for?"

"It's this scientist woman from the Jeffersonian", Loren started to explain, "Apparently she's a brilliant pathologist, but a lousy witness, according to Terri Coulter. She doesn't interact well with people, and seems incapable of talking in plain language without it seeming that she's patronising her listeners. She's got crucial evidence, but if she alienates the panel that could outweigh any benefits her testimony might have."

Harm dropped a soft kiss on the crown of her head, "Loren, you're still second chair, right?"

"Yeah,"

"So Carolyn's still first chair, right?"

"Yeah, right."

"So… Carolyn's the one who gets paid the big bucks to make the decisions about who to put on the stand, the strategy for defend the case, and all the rest of it, right?"

"Yeah, I s'pose." Loren admitted grudgingly.

"So leave those worries to Carolyn, OK?"

Loren twisted so that she could look up into his eyes, "It's just… Harm, I've put a lot into this, from the initial review of the case, to writing the report – and have I ever said thank you for your support during that time?"

"I think you may have shown your appreciation, yes," he replied with a smirk.

Loren fixed him with what he was coming to call her angry kitten glare, "Watch it buster, or you will be in the doghouse! It's just; I've invested so much in this, that I don't want a minor screw-up to tilt the scales in the wrong direction!"

"You want the win, huh?" he asked sympathetically,

"No! Uh.. yes, of course I want the win! But if Terri's father has spent the last ten years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, then I want to see him walk out of court a free man with all his pay, service, benefits, rank, time in grade. All restored to him. Although," she finished on a quieter note, "I don't know if he and Terri can ever put right whatever went wrong between them."

Harm felt his heart swell with pride, but he contented himself with, "Sometimes, Loren we can't fix everything. Yeah, the law is about getting justice for people, but people are people, and sometimes people are unjust because they've been hurt so bad in the past… aren't they?" he added, desperately hoping that he wasn't probing too near old wounds.

Loren was silent for a few moments, and then sighed again, "I guess."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each, while enjoying and taking comfort from the other's nearness trying not to slide into a sombre mood. Finally Loren roused herself, "Anyway enough about work, we've got a marriage to plan!"

"Oh, I was going to leave that to you and your maid of honour," Harm objected.

"Not the wedding, the marriage," she corrected him.

"Oh… I suppose I ought to be involved in that," Harm acknowledged.

"You'd better be!" Loren warned him, snuggling back down into his embrace.

"So… what do we tackle first?" Harm asked.

"Well, where are we going to live?" Loren nudged him.

Harm thought for a moment, "It had better be here… at least at first, until we find something we like and can afford."

Loren was honestly surprised, "Here? I didn't think you'd want to give up the loft, not after you did so much work on it,"

"Yeah I did do a lot of work on it, but there are a couple of reasons for not wanting us to live there. Firstly, it is not a safe neighbourhood, and every time I was out of town on an investigation, at least half my mind would be occupied worrying about you!"

Loren having familiarised herself with the reputation of the area just to the north of Union Station could only nod her head in agreement as Harm continued.

"And then there's that." He nodded at her floor to ceiling bookshelf that occupied the whole of the end wall of the living room. "It would be a hell of a job, as well as a crying shame, to rip that out, and besides, I'm not sure whether the floor in the loft would take the weight of all those books. You do realise, that you've got a pretty formidable criminal law library there?"

Loren nodded again, "OK that makes sense."

"But there is one caveat, Harm told her.

"And that would be?

"We'd have to bring my bed here, yours is just too short to be really comfortable."

"Harm it's a standard bed!"

"I know, but I'm not standard size, and I had that bed made to special order."

"Oh, OK then… on one condition."

"What's that?"

"We make good use of my bed until we get yours here!"

"I think we can manage that!"

"Oh, good," Loren smirked as she wriggled free of his arms and stood; extending a hand to him, "But if we've only got a limited time, let's not waste any of it!"

Harm grinned, "Aye, aye, ma'am!"


	26. Chapter 26

**26**

**Monday 12 March 2001, 1930hrs Local, 'The Old Dominion' Cocktail Bar and Lounge,' Russell Road and Jefferson Highway, Triangle, VA, (120030zFeb01)**

Meg's hair was still slightly damp from her shower when she pushed open the barroom door, and pausing for a few seconds looked for Victor, who was waiting for her and seen her enter, and standing waved his hand to attract her attention.

For the first time since she had reported to the Sergeant Major that morning, Meg felt the tension ooze out of her, and crossing the floor to the corner booth, she managed a sunny smile for Victor, and a sigh of relief as she slid onto the bench seat.

Victor sat opposite her, his face creased with concern, "Are you alright, ma'a… uh… Meg?" he hastily corrected himself as het met the force of Meg's glare.

"I'll be fine, Victor, just as soon as I get something to eat!" Meg cast her eyes about looking for someone who might actually be employed by the bar, eventually catching the eye of a frazzled-looking forty-something redhead, who with every sign of being the owner of a pair of aching feet dragged herself across the floor to the booth.

"'Evening y'all, welcome to th' Old Dominion, what kin I git you folks?"

Meg looked at Victor, "You eaten?" and in response to his shake of the head said with satisfaction, "I'll take a cheeseburger fully loaded with fries, and a draft beer."

"Uh-huh," the waitress scribbled the order on her pad, and turned to Victor, "What about you, honey?"

"Uh… I'll just have a straight burger, but I do believe I'll take a draft as well."

"OK… I'll be back with your drinks, instanter, the food'll be about ten minutes…" with a vague smile the waitress wandered off in the direction of the bar, and as soon as she'd gone, Victor placed his elbows on the table and leaning forward asked in an intense whisper, "Are you sure you're OK, Meg?"

"Yeah, just a bit tired and sore. There's something definitely going on there, Victor, and they're not taking a lot of trouble to hide it. I reported to the Sergeant Major this morning, and I could feel the hostility rolling off him. But he's not alone, he's got a couple of cronies at least, the First Shirt of H&S Company and at least one of the Cadre, a Gunnery Sergeant Van Horst."

Victor raised an interrogatory eyebrow, "I was in it the moment I stepped into the Sergeant Major's Office, Victor. As soon as he saw me he gave me a look that you'd normally reserve for the kind of bugs that live under a stone. He assigned me to a company and by the time I'd got there, the First Sergeant was ready for me… before I could open my mouth he was giving me hell for being out of uniform…"

Victor did look surprised at that. He had gone through Sergeant Pierce's SRB with a fine-tooth comb making certain that her Service A uniform was fitted with all the correct medal ribbons and badges, and he had pressed and ironed skirt, jacket and blouse for her to the highest standard of which he was capable, and which he was confident would have passed inspection by the most particular of USMC Sergeant Majors. "How were you out of uniform, Meg?" he asked her, his face darkening with anger.

"Apparently, the uniform of the day is BDU and my appearance in Service A was… inappropriate…"

At that point the waitress returned carrying a tray on which were the two draft beers they'd ordered. Meg fell silent while the beers were place on the table and the waitress shuffled away out of earshot, "But reporting instructions specify Service A uniform," Victor objected.

"Yeah, well, there didn't seem to be much mileage in using that defence," Meg replied cynically.

So…?" Victor prompted her.

Meg took a swallow of her beer, "So… I was ordered to report to the Company Office at seventeen hundred hours – chow time – to do my PFT under the supervision of Van Horst. That's why I'm so damn' hungry. By the time I'd finished and showered the mess hall was shut…"

Victor grimaced in sympathy. "If it's any consolation, the reputation of the MCCDC mess halls isn't anything to write home about!"

"Maybe not, but the Company Clerk, a nice kid, must have had an inkling of what I was headed for, because he advised me to eat a light lunch!"

"So… knowledge of what's going on is pretty widespread?"

Meg considered, "No… I don't think so. First Sergeant Santiago didn't exactly bother to whisper when he was gigging me, so Corporal Le Blanc would easily have heard him through the office door – oh by the way, I'm an embarrassment to the Corps!" Meg grinned as she took a second mouthful of beer.

"So… you escaped EMI for one day?" Victor made an effort and sat back against the wall of the booth.

"H'mm… Although I do want to speak to a Corporal Henderson… apparently she rotated in a few weeks ago and 'got off on the wrong foot' with the First Sergeant, so it looks like I'm going to have to screw up and land myself in hot water…"

Victor leaned forward, and took hold of Meg's wrist, "You be careful, Meg… It seems to me that these guys have gotten away with what they've been doing for so long that they've become convinced that they're doing the right thing, and that they can't be pulled up for doing it!"

"Relax a little Victor. I'll watch my step. Anyway Commander Rabb will be on base tomorrow, and you're here as well. I've got you both on speed dial. I reckon I'll be safe enough during office hours, I just need to be extra careful before oh eight hundred and after seventeen hundred hours. And anyway," Meg's eyes crinkled in amusement as she repeated a mantra that Harm had repeatedly complained about, "I'm a Marine, now. I can look after myself!"

Victor shook his head as he took a pull of his beer, "Meg… I know what Colonel Mac means when she says that. But don't go taking it literally. We work in teams, remember? All the way up from four-man fire-teams to regimental combat teams, so if the dill starts to pickle, then get on your 'phone and call for help! I'd hate like hell to have to try and explain to the Admiral how I managed to let you get hurt!"

"Aw… Victor… and here I was thinking that all that concern was for me, and all the time you're just covering your ass with the Admiral!" Meg complained in a teasing voice.

"Just take care, Meg!" Victor insisted.

Meg was about to come back at him with another quip when she looked across the table at him and saw a burning intensity in his eyes, "I…I will, Victor, I promise…"

For a second it seemed that Victor was about to reach out and touch her, but the moment shattered and was gone as the waitress returned to the booth, "One Cheeseburger, all-in with fries, one burger, with fries," she announced cheerfully, placing their plates and their paper napkin-wrapped cutlery on the table in front of them, "Enjoy!"

Not quite knowing whether to resent or be grateful for the interruption, Meg grabbed for her burger, and took a healthy bite out of it, "M'mm… 'sgood," she managed around the mouthful of food, and her eyes closed briefly in contentment.

Victor shook his head in wonder. He had observed over the past weekend that Meg Austin had a healthy appetite, but taking in her slim figure, he wondered where she put it all!

Meg wiped the last of the sauce drops off her plate with a remnant of the burger bun and looking around caught the waitresses eye again, and pointing to her nearly empty glass, she held up two fingers.

The waitress smiled and nodded, turning back towards the bar-tender. Victor with a look of concern again on his face said, "Hey, take it easy with those beers, Meg!"

"Oh this is the last one, Victor. Just to wash down my dinner… there's no way I'm going to appear at formation either stale drunk or with a hangover. Even with my limited knowledge of Santiago, I'm pretty sure he'd have me running on the instant until I either puked up or fell over!"

"Well… OK if you're sure…" Victor conceded defeat, but then continued, "You bring today's BDUs with you?"

"Yeah, in a grocery sack in the trunk of my car."

"Good… I've a fresh set for you in mine… so…" Victor looked at his watch, "once we're done here…"

As their beers arrived, Victor asked for the check and the two of them sat back to drink in peace. Meg was too tired to think too deeply on any subject, although she did wonder about what she thought was the real concern she had seen in Victor's eyes a couple of times. Victor merely contemplated the woman sitting opposite him, and marvelled at her strength, her courage and her beauty, before giving himself a savage mental kick. Snap out of Marine – she's an _officer_!

Sally Fitzgerald watched them leave. His arm around her waist and her head leaning against his shoulder, and smiled. She couldn't recall seeing them here before, and they were such a good looking couple she was sure she'd remember if they had. They looked good together too. And they had left her a decent tip!

**Monday, 12 Mar 2001, 2017 EST, Williams House, Base Housing, Norfolk Naval Station, Norfolk VA, (130117ZMar01)**

"You're late," Angela Williams remarked as her husband let himself into the house, and hooked his cover on the coat rack just inside the door., then turned towards her as she laced her hands at the back of his neck and reached up to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. His hands went almost automatically to her hips as he drew her into him, and returned the kiss with interest.

"Yeah… sorry about that… Angie, but I had to work back to make up for lost time this morning…"

"Lost time?" Angela queried as she turned the oven on and set the timer. "How did that happen?"

"I… uh… went up to Falls Church this morning," Bobbie confessed as he pulled two beers out of the fridge. Twisting the caps off, he passed one to his wife, and took a swallow from the second bottle before continuing, "Oh… that's better! Yeah, I went to see Rabb," he suddenly had difficulty in meeting his wife's gaze, "About having seen him in Charlottesville… with that blonde…"

Angela sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, a worried expression on her face, "Oh… Bobby… no. What… what did he say…"

"M'mm.. he… uh… tore me a new one… Well… I was sort of, half-right, kinda… she's a Lieutenant at JAG, another attorney…He'd taken her there to propose to her… and when I arrived at JAG, she was surrounded by a gaggle of women all admiring her ring… they had just come from the Admiral's office, after telling him of their change in status. It seems that he knew about their relationship from way-back…"

"Oh… what… what happened?"

Bobbie shrugged, "Well, he gave me credit for coming to see him face to face – well sort of credit. But he was pretty mad, and then like I said, he chewed me out, told me to crawl back under my stone, and that I should thank God on a daily basis that I wasn't in his chain of command and then to get out of his sight."

Angela chewed her bottom lip, "Do you think there'll be any career repercussions coming from this?"

Bobbie contemplated the half full beer bottle in his hand and then shrugged, "Honestly? I don't know… but I've got a feeling that there won't be…"

"How so?"

"I dunno… he was pretty mad, like I said, but he said something about at least I hadn't used the tip-line, so I think if he was considering action against me, he would have said something…"

"Oh, Bobbie… I do hope you're right." Angela stood and came to him, wrapping her arms around him, "And I know you were only doing what you thought you had to, and I love you because that belief in duty and right and wrong is so strong in you, but I hope you've learned a bit of a lesson too?"

"Oh, I hope so too, my darling," he murmured as he laid his cheek on the top of her head and drew strength and comfort from her presence.

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 0545hrs EST, 12 Platoon Barrack, Support Battalion, MCCDC Quantico, Quantico VA, 131045ZMar01)**

Together with the other forty-two members of 12 Platoon – male and female -Meg shivered as she stood in utilities pants, boots and T-shirt while Gunnery Sergeant Foster called the platoon roll. And finally as Private Young answered his name, the Gunny called them all to attention.

"Twelve Platoon, left face – hunh! By the right, double-time – harch!" As the platoon broke into double time Foster started the age-old cadence counts, the platoon joining en-masse on alternative lines. Gradually as she warmed up up, Meg found the jogging becoming easier, and settled down to enjoy the comparatively mild – for the USMC – exercise.

Fifty minutes later as the platoon halted outside the barrack, Gunnery Sergeant Foster reminded them of second formation at "oh-seven-forty-five hours – and you will be there on time people!"

Meg. With the other female members of the platoon – including six who lived off-base crowded into the Barrack, making a beeline for the showers, before dressing in BDUs and heading for the mess hall for breakfast. Meg took advantage of the time spent dressing to quietly probe her room-mate, "So… what's the story with the Gunny?" she asked casually.

"Gunny Foster? He's a good guy, single – married to the Corps, ya know?" Sally Kirkland said, as she threaded her belt through the loops on her BDU pants. "He's hard-core infantry, done a tour in the war on drugs somewhere down in South America, - Columbia I guess, but he don't talk about it much. He's hard, but pretty fair – he doesn't seem to have a down on us just because we're women. If he's down on a girl, it's because she deserves it, and he can be just as down on any of the guys if they screw up!"

Meg nodded an acknowledgement, as she buttoned her BDU blouse and picked up her barracks cover, "Well, how do I look? I don't really want Santiago chewing me a new one 'cos I'm an embarrassment to the Corps!"

Sally gave her as critical look over. "You look fine to me, girl. But if Santiago's got your number marked down, you could come off a 8th and I honour-guard and he'd still chew you out for not meeting his standards!" Sally paused, "Be careful of him Meg. He is not one of the good guys!"

"Well lucky for me, I'm over in HQ Records, so with any luck the times he sees me will be few and far between!"

"Yeah… well… the trouble with HQ is the Sergeant Major!"

Meg grimaced, "Yeah, that's true!"

The two women walked over to the mess hall together, and Meg grimaced at the sight of the grease soaked bacon and sausage patties, and instead made a bee-line for the cereal bar, pouring a bowl of muesli and milk for herself and snagging an apple and banana on her way to a table.

The sight of a petite dark-haired girl wearing a harried expression and frantically shovelling food into her mouth caught her attention and she nudged Sally Kirkland to gain her attention before indicating the other woman. "Who she?"

However, before Kirkland could answer, a burly E-5 approached the brunette's table and in a gloating voice said, "Best get moving, Henderson or you're going to be adrift!"

Henderson went even paler, and her face twitched as she fought to overcome her emotions, "Yes Sergeant!" she gasped, and grabbing the tray with her half-eaten breakfast she carried it over to the food–waste bins and scraping the contents into the bins, she almost fled the mess hall.

The Sergeant who had choused her out of the mess hall, his face now creased in a grin, moved to a table already occupied by three other NCOs, where a few seconds after sitting and saying something, all four men burst into laughter.

"What the hell was all that about?" Meg demanded, feeling her temper rise.

Sally shrugged, carefully avoiding looking across at the rowdy table. "That was Henderson, she's in Ten Platoon – motor transport. She's been in trouble ever since she got here. I think she's supposed to be on area policing for half an hour between breakfast and second formation."

Meg fought down her anger, "That doesn't give her a lot of time to eat!"

Sally agreed, "The way they keep at her, she doesn't get a lot of time to do anything much. It's a vicious circle, they don't give her enough time to eat, sleep, maintain her rack or her area of the squad bay, so she gets another round of EMI, which gives her less time… and so on…"

"Why the hell doesn't she do something about it?" Meg demanded.

Sally gave her a pitying look. "Meg, all this EMI is dished out by the Sergeant Major and his buddies. But do you really think it could go on with the knowledge and approval of the officers and the General?"

"But…"

"Meg it's a lousy detail, but sometimes as a Marine you just have to suck it up. It stinks I know, but…"

Meg just shook her head in frustration, and taking a last mouthful of coffee, loaded her tray with her used crockery and cutlery and said, "Yeah, whatever. Look, I'm headed back to the Barrack. See you there!"

"OK, Meg," Sally replied, and then as the tall blonde wound her way between the crowded tables, she shook her head and muttered a quiet "Damn!"

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 0800hrs EST, HQ Support Battalion, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, Quantico, VA**

Harm eased the dark blue navy issue sedan into a vacant parking slot in front of the Support Battalion Headquarters building and climbing out from behind the wheel, rolled his shoulders and stretched his back before he strode up the pathway towards the main entrance, returning salutes from officers and enlisted men and women alike. He allowed himself the luxury of a quick grin. In visiting a Battalion he would at least be of the same grade as the Battalion Commander, and so could avoid many of the irksome restrictions that so many senior officers – probably through an ill-defined feeling of guilt, he ruminated – felt necessary to load on to visiting JAG officers.

Following the information signs posted on the interior walls of the building, Harm made his way to two decks above the first floor to the Battalion Office, where his unceremonious entrance attracted first the attention of a Corporal, who called out, "Officer on deck!"

The Corporal's stentorian announcement was sufficient to pull the Master Sergeant Chief Clerk from his office, just as Harm issued an "As you were," to the office population at large.

In reply to the Master Sergeant's courteous, but curious, "Good morning, sir, how may I help you?"

"Master Sergeant, good morning, yes.I'm Commander Rabb, from JAG HQ, I'd like to speak with the Battalion Commander, if he's at his desk. If not, then the S1, please."

"May I ask what it's about, sir?"

"Oh, this is just a courtesy visit, to let the CO know I'll be around the battalion area for a day or so," Harm said non-committally.

The Chief Clerk eyed him suspiciously for a moment and then said, "Step through into my office, if you will sir, I'll let the S1 know you're here."

Once again Harm was left kicking his heels, but once again it was only for a very few minutes before the door opened to admit a captain in Marine Corps BDUs, "Commander Rabb?" he inquired.

"Yes,"

"Sir, I'm Captain Philips, the S1, Colonel Walters is happy to see you now, sir."

Harm was ushered into the CO's Office where Lieutenant Colonel Walters stood to greet him.. He was some few years older than Harm, and if Harm was a betting man, he'd have wagered that Walters had been in grade a few years longer than he had.

Harm heard the door close behind him, but had the sense that Captain Philips, as the S1, had stayed in the room. His suspicion was almost immediately confirmed, when Walters spoke, "Good Morning Commander, Captain Philips," he nodded past Harm, 'tells me that you'll be in the battalion area for a few days…"

"Well, no offence, Colonel, but I hope not more than two days total." Harm had not failed to notice the flicker in the Colonel's eyes as he had taken in the JAG insignia on his jacket sleeves

"Oh…" Walters' expression was a clear invitation for Harm to explain his presence. Harm nodded, "Yeah, I'm investigating some irregularities that occurred over at the Security Battalion, but as some of the irregularities concern the brig, it may be that my investigations will bring me back to your battalion. So, this is really just a courtesy call to let you know that I'm around." Harm assumed an attitude of careless indifference but his eyes under half opened lids were watching keenly, and at his words he swore that he could see the tension flow out of the other officer.

"Well, that's considerate of you Commander. It's a mite early in the morning still, so you must have made a real early start from DC, can we offer you a coffee, or breakfast perhaps?"

"Thank you Colonel but no. I stopped for a coffee a couple of miles up the road… there's n old 1940s style diner just off the I-95 at Triangle, perhaps you know of it?"

Walters pursed his lips and shook his head, "Nope, can't say that I do, Commander. But… can I ask that if your inquiries lead to any of this battalion's involvement with irregular activities and the Security Battalion is concerned, you'll let my S1 or XO know?"

Recognising a tactful dismissal, Harm nodded, "If there is any involvement , Colonel, then we'll get back to you, now if you'll excuse me… I have some MPs to interview," he said with a knowing grin, hoping to dispel any suspicions his visit may have raised.

The two officers permitted themselves a brief chuckle, recognising Rabb's use of irony, as Philips opened the door for him. "Allow me to walk you out, Commander," the S1 proposed.

"No need, thank you, Captain, I can find my own way!" Harm assured with a cheerful grin, "Good day, Colonel, Captain."

Philips closed the door and turned a worried countenance towards his CO, "Sir…" he began.

"Never mind that now, Philips, find out what that SOB is really up to!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 0815hrs EST, HQ Support Battalion, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, Quantico, VA, (131315ZMar01)**

Meg hurried up the pathway towards the HQ building. She was still fuming over the treatment – and the public humiliation - handed out to the unfortunate Corporal Henderson, and as a result she was not quite as alert as she should have been and very nearly failed to notice the two female Marine officers exiting the building and heading towards her, consequently she only just managed to snap off a salute in time to prevent a well-merited reprimand.

However she hadn't taken more than about three steps past the two when she was spoken to, "Sergeant… McIntyre…?" there was a note of hesitation in the voice that for a second led her to believe that she hadn't been the subject of the address. A faint hope that flickered and died as the same voice snapped out with more authority, "Stand fast, Sergeant!"!

Meg had no alternative but to halt, and turning to face the two officers, she found a First Lieutenant looking at her with frank curiosity while a shorter, Hispanic Captain was studying her intently. Quickly eying the Captain's name tag, Meg made out the name "Klein", which meant nothing to her, but rapidly firing memory cells put a name she did recognise to the face, Gonzalez. Sergeant Gonzalez, who had been the junior DI from Parris Island when Meg had been assigned an undercover role there as a recruit.

A flash from an old film ran through Meg's mind as she stood to hear what the Captain had to say… of all the bars in all the cities in all the world. Of course, there had always been a slight risk that she might run into someone who knew her, but to run into someone who knew her from an undercover assignment was doubly galling.

Captain Klein approached and looked up into Meg's blue eyes and then said quietly, "But I see your name isn't McIntyre now, Sergeant, it's Pierce – according to your name-tag. But then again McIntyre wasn't your name back at Parris Island either, was it?"

"Ma'am, I don't know what you mean, ma'am!" Meg stated as forcefully as she could.

Captain Klein nodded, genially enough, and said, "OK. Sergeant. We'll leave it at that for the moment, but…" she pulled a field notebook from her BDU blouse pocket and scribbled a cell 'phone number on it, "You will call me on this number before secure today, or I will make it my business to find out why you are parading around MCB Quantico under a false identity!"

Knowing she had no option at the moment other than to take the sheet of paper torn out from the notebook, Meg tucked it into her pocket, "Yes, ma'am! Ma'am, I shall be late, so by your leave?" and stiffened into a brace and saluted.

Captain Klein eyed her doubtfully for a moment before drawing herself up and returning the salute. "Remember, Sergeant, before secure!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!"

Meg watched in dismay as Captain Klein and the strange Lieutenant left her on the pathway. She could see that the Lieutenant was speaking but Klein seemed to be shaking her head. Meg could only hope that Klein's recognition of her led her to recall that Med worked undercover, and that she was probably on assignment right now.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Meg headed on into the building, hurrying straight to her work station, and nodding a morning greeting to Corporal Walker, who returned her overture with a look of cool indifference. For a moment Meg bridled, if there was one thing she detested it was bad manners, but a moment's thought told her that this was not the place for taking a stand against the Corporal's near insubordination, and that it was probably too soon anyway – well, that is if she wanted to get to the root of the problem. But she had a sinking feeling as she realised that Sally Kirkland was probably right; the rot went a lot further up the chain of command than the Sergeant Major. It was going to be difficult enough, without Klein interfering, but at least she outranked the Marine Captain and could order her silence – but that wouldn't make her any friends, and friends might just be what she needed. No, what she needed was somehow to persuade Klein to stay silent, and also to let her back-up, Harm and Victor, know that her cover was potentially blown. If things started to go badly wrong, she might just need to get out of Dodge in a hurry.

Claiming a need to visit the head, she walked out of the office and down the hallway to the enlisted female restroom, where after making sure that all the stalls were unoccupied, she took her cell 'phone out of her pocket and pressed Speed Dial #1.

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 0815hrs EST, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (131315ZMar01)**

Harm turned off the ignition and pulled on the parking brake on the dark blue Navy sedan, wishing for only the four hundredth and forty fourth time this morning that he'd driven the 'vette or even the Lexus from Falls Church, but it was easier to use a government owned vehicle filled with government owned gas than to use his own gas and then claim the cost back from the government.

Walking into the brig reception area he saw three MP NCOs behind the desk, all of whom jumped to their feet and braced themselves as he entered. Harm acknowledged their effort with a wave-off "As you were, please. I'm Commander Rabb from JAG Corps HQ. I'm looking for Staff Sergeant Del Rio?"

"Staff Sergeant Del Rio is off shift until sixteen hundred, sir," A Gunnery Sergeant, the senior of three informed him.

Harm studied the three NCOs, and gave a cursory nod, "OK, maybe you can help me out Gunny. I need to see the confinement records for the past year – to begin with."

Gunnery Sergeant Andrews raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a soundless whistle, "That's a whole heap of records, sir."

"Do you have a problem with the way I spend my time Gunnery Sergeant?" Harm asked, his voice turning cold.

"No, sir! It's just… well… maybe if you could give us an idea of what you were lookin' for, sir?"

Harm considered carefully. The Gunnery Sergeant and his men could probably point him in the right direction very quickly, the problem as he saw it however, was that he wasn't certain that he could trust them. He thought for a moment or two and then made a decision.

"OK, Gunnery Sergeant, I'm looking for the arrest, confinement and release records for an E-5. An habitual, repeat offender; normally arrested for fighting. He was in here last week and was then admitted to the medical facility after a fight with a Staff Sergeant Hart."

The Gunny nodded, "Yes, sir, that would be Sergeant Booker from the LAV School."

Harm grinned, "Alright, Gunny, let's dig his records out. I need to find out just how many times he's been locked up, the length of time of each stay, whether charges were raised against him, and probably most important, on whose authority he was released."

The Gunny nodded, "Just for this year, sir?"

"No…" Harm replied thoughtfully, "make it for the last twelve months… let's see where that leads us…"

Whatever else he was about to say was interrupted by the imperative tone of his cell 'phone, with an annoyed grunt, he pulled it from his pocket, his frown of annoyance morphing into one of concern as he saw the caller ID, "Rabb!"

"_Harm, it's Meg. Can you talk?"_

Harm frowned, Meg wasn't supposed to make contact with him unless it was an emergency. "Go on," he said tersely, with an apologetic nod to the three MP NCOs, as he stepped away from the desk.

"_Umm… my cover's been compromised, Harm…"_

"How the hell did that happen?"

"_Sheer bad luck. Do you remember a Sergeant Gonzalez from Parris Island, she was one of the DIs, along with Staff Sergeant Carrington.?"_

"No… I don't think so… Oh, wait, yeah… I do remember her, she was one of the first suspects we had in that case… Private Schuyler, why?"

"_She's here now, under the name of Captain Klein, and we almost literally bumped onto each other just outside the HQ building. She recognised me and wants to know what I'm doing here. And she wants to know by secure today_."

Harm swore silently but viciously. It was an acknowledged risk that someone might recognise Meg, but for it to happen in less than thirty-six hours was a piece of rank bad luck!

"OK, how are you supposed to get hold of her?"

Meg pulled the scrap of paper out of her pocket and read the cell 'phone number off to Harm. Repeating it back to her for confirmation, he added "OK, Meg. Best get back to whatever it is you're supposed to be doing, I'll speak to this Captain Klein, and I'll be in touch with you later, OK?"

"_Yeah… and… thanks Harm."_

"De nada!" he grinned and closed the 'phone.

Turning back to the desk, he grinned in further apology, "Sorry about that Gunny, but it was kinda important. Now what do we got?"

"Sir, Sergeant Booker – arrested nine times in the last twelve months. Normally just an overnight stay until his release the following morning, but twice he was in for two to three days…"

"Excuse me, Gunnery Sergeant?"

The Gunny turned to his subordinate, "You have something to share Sergeant Detweiler?"

"Yes, Gunny – those two longer stays were from a Friday evening until a Monday morning…" and in response to a raised eyebrow, the younger NCO, muttered defensively, "I just checked the calendar, Gunnery Sergeant."

Andrews looked appraisingly at his subordinate, his face expressionless, before he allowed himself the smallest crack of a grin and a nod of his head, accompanied by a terse "Bravo-Zulu!" before he returned his attention to Harm, "Looking through, sir, there are no signs that he was ever charged with an offence linked to his arrests, and all his releases from confinement were authorised by the Sergeant Major Support Battalion, sir!"

Harm nodded appreciatively, "Thanks, Gunny. Tell me, am I the only one seeing a pattern emerge here?"

"Hardly, sir. Booker had been a pain the ass… uh… the butt, beg pardon sir, for every MP in Security Battalion, and most of us reckon he ought to do some real brig-time. But the funny thing is, sir, he's a big guy, a strong guy, and iffen he was of a mind to, he could cause no end of problems for any MP trying to arrest him, but he never does. All it takes is the magic words, 'You are under arrest' and he folds and comes as peaceful as a lamb."

"Just as if he knew he wouldn't get into trouble for fighting, but was under orders not to give the MPs any problems, right Gunny?"

"With respect, sir, you said that, I didn't."

"OK, Gunny. Now, these arrest reports… if Booker was arrested for fighting, then the other party must have also been arrested?"

"In most cases, yes, sir."

"OK, can you let me have a list of their names, please?"

"Sure, sir. Sergeant Barr!"

"On it, Gunny!"

Harm was kept waiting for only a few moments while the MP Sergeant scribbled down a list of seven names apologising that on the other two occasions no other arrests had been made.

Harm carefully folded the collated sheets of paper and tucked them into an inside pocket. "Thank you, Gunny, and your men. You have been most helpful, and it could be that you have just considerably shortened what might have been a lengthy investigation."

Harm left the brig building and strolled across the navy sedan, fishing his cell 'phone and a scrap of paper out of his pocket as he did so. He unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel and carefully dialled in the number Meg had given to him. The 'phone at the other end rang three times before it was picked up, "Captain Klein." The voice was undeniably female and even just the two words betrayed an Hispanic inflection.

"Good morning, Captain. Would that be Captain Klein as in the former Sergeant Gonzalez?"

"_Who is this?"_

"This is Commander Harman Rabb, from the Navy JAG Corps. Am I speaking to the former Sergeant Gonzalez?"

"_Good morning, Commander, yes, I used to be Sergeant Gonzalez."_

Harm smiled in satisfaction, Captain Klein owed him a favour, and it should be quite easy to get her to back off.

"Captain, I'm visiting MCB Quantico for the day, and I was wondering if you were free for lunch. There are a couple of things about which I need to speak with you…"

"_How did you know I was here?"_ Klein demanded.

"Ah… a mutual friend told me. That is also where I got your cell 'phone number."

"_I see…"_Klein replied, "_Where and when should we discuss these… things?"_

"If you're free, we could discuss them over lunch at the O club?" Harm suggested.

Julia Klein thought rapidly, the presence of a top flight investigating team from JAG at Quantico might portend interference in her own schemes. Better to make an ally of JAGs than to antagonise them unnecessarily On the other hand to be seen openly consorting with a JAG officer might jeopardise her own position… but… "_Alright Commander …"_ she checked her day planner, "_Make it twelve forty-five and I'll meet you at the O club dining room_!"

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 0829hrs EST, HQ MCCDC, MCB Quantico, Quantico, VA, (131329ZMar01)**

Meg emerged from the women's rest room and strode along the hallway back towards her work area only to be intercepted by the heavyset figure of Sergeant Major Conlan.

"Going somewhere, Pierce?"

"Just back to my desk, Sergeant Major.

"From where you've been absent for nearly twenty minutes?"

Meg was taken aback, but made a swift recovery, "Uh… not that long Sergeant Major, maybe ten minutes, at the most."

"Are you calling me a liar, Sergeant?"

"No, Sergeant Major, just mistaken or… maybe… misinformed?" Meg suggested, suddenly suspecting that this encounter in the hallway two decks below the Sergeant Major's office wasn't entirely accidental, and deciding to go on the offence. Meg, watching closely for any give-away signs, had the satisfaction of seeing the Sergeant Major's eyes widen slightly, before his face returned to its customary scowl.

"Believe me, Sergeant, I am rarely wrong" he hissed aggressively, "And I am certainly not wrong about you! Now, get back to your duty!"

"Aye, aye, Sergeant Major!" Meg responded crisply and with an inner silent sigh of relief headed on back towards her office, leaving the furiously angry Staff NCO glaring at her retreating figure.

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 0911hrs EST, Conference Room , JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (131411ZMar01)**

A J Chegwidden looked down the conference table at the daily staff call. A very thinly populated table today. Rabb and Austin were down at Quantico, Barlow was still on the Patrick Henry, and it looked like he was going to have to send either Turner or Mattoni to bail the younger officer out on what had turned out to be a far from simple flight-deck mishap. On reflection, it had better be Turner, Mattoni was going to be tied up for the foreseeable future with the Coulter case, as were Imes and Singer. He let his eye roam further down the table until it came to rest on Bud Roberts, who was sitting behind a file of impressive thickness. Chegwidden searched his memory for any clue why Roberts should have such a burden, and was unable to come up with an answer. With the Coulter, Blair and Krennick cases demanding so much time and attention from his more senior attorneys, Chegwidden had passed much of the routine case-load on to Roberts, and to the younger officer's credit he had kept things moving, without having to go to a court martial once in fourteen cases – all pled out between their Article 32 hearings and the court date. H'mm… he'd have to check on that and make sure that Roberts wasn't – ridiculous as it might seem – intimidating the newly arrived junior attorneys, Lieutenant Fairchild and Lieutenant Warren, with whom he was working.

"So… Mister Roberts, what's that impressive rampart you have there?" Chegwidden asked, "Don't tell me that one of your DDOs had generated that much paperwork?"

"Oh… no, sir. These are newspaper cuttings and LEO reports faxed in from Bosnia."

"Go on," the Admiral invited him.

"They're all to do with the Blair case, sir. I've been helping Commander Rabb with research…"

"Of course you have," Chegwidden said resignedly.

Bud continued, "We're hoping that they'll turn out to be corroboratory evidence in Blair's defence, so that we can get the charge of desertion thrown out at his Article 32 hearing, sir," Bud's face wore it's somewhat anxious trying to please smile, but then took on a more crestfallen aspect as his voice lost enthusiasm, "But the thing is they're all in Bosnian, and I was hoping the Colonel might…" Bud let his voice trail away as Mac shook her head, and scribbled on her legal pad before passing it to Chegwidden, who replaced his reading glasses and scanned the note, "H'mm, '_My Bosnian not good enough for legal argument. Try ONI or USMC 8__th__ and I or Arlington for Bosnian interpreter_.'"

Chegwidden nodded as finished reading out loud, "That's good advice Mister Roberts."

"Yessir, Thank you, sir… and you ma'am!"

"Now… Commander Turner, I realise you're just back from an investigation at Norfolk. But I need your report and recommendations on my desk by secure today. Lieutenant Barlow has hit a series of snags during his investigation on the Patrick Henry. I need you to be ready to fly out to join him tomorrow. See Tiner for orders and itinerary."

Turner returned his CO's penetrating gaze with an impassive look of his own. "My report on the Norfolk investigation is already with Tiner, sir.!"

Chegwidden blinked, that was fast work indeed. "Thank you Commander! In that case I suggest you pick up your orders from Tiner and then go home and get packed! If you need transport to Andrews or Norfolk, or wherever it is you're flying from, then let Tiner know so that he can arrange it for tomorrow!"

"Yes, sir!"

Chegwidden nodded again and once more cast a brief glance around the table, "Alright, unless anyone has anything else? No…? Good. Just a reminder then, people that with Gunny away, watching Commander Austin's back, let's all help Lieutenant Sims keep on top of the office admin and keep requests for her assistance down to a minimum, clear? Good! Dismissed!"

The room was filled with the clatter of chairs being moved back from the table as the assembled officer came to their feet as their CO terminated the meeting.

Loren found herself trailing Carolyn, Imes and Mac as they headed back to the bull-pen and their respective offices, as Carolyn gently teased Bud, "I hear you're turning into quite a shark, Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am?"

"Fourteen – or is it fifteen – Article 32's without going to trial on any of them?"

Bud grinned in embarrassment, "All minor cases ma'am, that could have been – and should have been – dealt with by an Article fifteen. Only one of 'em has resulted in any brig time, and all the sailors and marines have been retained in the service!"

Mac turned her head and pulled a face that might have been meant as a smile, "Goo' 'urk, Bud! Don't min' Car'lyn, jus' jeluss!"

"Yeah, right, Mac," Carolyn replied laughingly, and then turning her head over her shoulder, "Oh, Loren… I need a few minutes of your time if you can spare them, before you get into too much else today?"

"Now, ma'am?"

"Yeah, fine. Let me just grab a coffee, and we'll meet in my office in five, OK?"

"Yes, ma'am! I'm with you on that!"

As Carolyn and Loren peeled off towards the break room, Mac turned to Bud, a frown on her face, "Since when they go' so frien'ly, Bu'?"

"Uh… since they've been working on the Coulter case, ma'am… or maybe just before that when Lieutenant Singer started becoming human, I guess…" Bud said off-handedly

Mac just stared at him while an oblivious Bud buried his nose in his file folder and said somewhat distractedly, "Ma'am, do you really think that there might be someone at 8th and I who can interpret these documents?"

Mac sighed, "Yeah, Bu, Bo'nian interpre'er is Mari'e MOS!"

"Really ma'am? That's great, thank you ma'am!" Bud said as he wandered away towards his own office, leaving Mac to stare after him in stupefaction, before turning with a sigh towards her own office where her desk was no doubt groaning under a stack of FOI requests that had filtered up overnight from Legal Services on the first floor. Still, even FOI requests were better than being stuck alone at the Roberts' house!

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 0940hrs EST, HQ MCCDC, MCB Quantico, Quantico, VA, (131440ZMar01)**

Harm pushed open the door to the Records Office and stepped inside, giving the room a quick visual once-over. As he'd hoped, Meg was sat at a work station, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she concentrated on data entry. He was about to make his way across to her, when he was accosted by a Staff Sergeant who emerged from a side office, "How may I help you, sir?"

"I'm Commander Rabb from JAG, I need to look at some page eleven entries."

The Staff Sergeant blinked, "Uh… I'll just get Lieutenant Harrison for you sir!" and turning, almost dived through the door leading into the side office. Harm waited no more than a few seconds when a young Lieutenant opened the side office door, "Sir, I understand you want to look at some SRB Page Elevens?"

"That's right, Lieutenant," Harm agreed,

"Sir… they're in confidence documents, privileged information. I can't let you see then without the CO's approval…sir," he finished unhappily.

"Would a Military Judge's Order, satisfy you, Lieutenant? It has the same force as a court order."

"Uh… yes, sir… but I'd still like to submit your request through my CO."

"That's not going to happen, Lieutenant." Harm took a deep breath, "Why don't we go into your office, while I make a 'phone call, and we have the necessary paperwork faxed in from Falls Church."

"Sir… I'm not sure…"

"Lieutenant, that was not a suggestion!"

"No sir! Uh… yes, sir! This way, sir, please!"

Harm followed the Lieutenant into his office and with a raised eyebrow indicated a chair, "Oh… yes, sir. Of course, please…"

Harm sat, pulled out his cell 'phone and made his call, "Tiner, this is Commander Rabb, make a note of the names I'm going to read out to you, and then take them to one of the Judges upstairs, try Colonel Blakely first, if not him, then Commander Helfman or Captain Sebring. Once the Order has been signed, then fax it to me at…"

Harrison reluctantly provided the number, and Harm repeated it to the Admiral's Yeoman, ending with a "Got all that, Tiner?"

"_Yes, sir"_

"And Tiner… make sure the judge – whoever it is - understands that the order is needed ASAP!"

"_Aye, aye, sir!"_

Harm looked across at his unwilling host, "Now, we wait, Lieutenant!"

Harrison looked at his visitor and replied unhappily, "Yes, sir!"

The minuters ticked past slowly, Harm was content to sit and think his way forward through what was beginning to look like a highly convoluted maze, while Lieutenant Harrisomn, held a virtual prisoner in his own office by the restrictions of military protocol could only hope that his unwelcome visitor would find – maybe fail to find would be better – whatever he was looking for, so that he, Harrison, could escape above decks to the Battalion S1 and advise him of the JAG visit. If the S1 or the XO had been aware of the visit, then Harrison was certain Commander Rabb would have been escorted for the duration.

Fortunately they hadn't to wait very long. Tiner must have been unusually efficient and persuasive, Harm thought, to get the paperwork completed, signed off by a judge and then faxed down to Quantico in under half an hour, as there came a sharp knock on the doorjamb, and the Staff Sergeant, in answer to Harrison's "Enter", opened the door, a document grasped in his hand.

"Lieutenant Sir, this here's just come over the fax, it's addressed to the Commander, sir."

Harrison stood and held out his hand for the document, but the sheet of paper was intercepted by Harm, "Addressed to me I think you said, Staff Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir." The NCO replied, obviously unhappy that his chain of command was being circumvented.

Harm scanned the document quickly, all the names he'd detailed to Tiner were listed, including Sergeant Booker's name, and his eyes widened and his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline as he deciphered the signature scrawled across the bottom of the Order, 'Styles Morris, RDML, JAG Corps, USN' Well, perhaps the old… Admiral is finally getting over me shooting up his courtroom after all.

Having read through the order, Harm passed it across to Harrison, "Well, there's your judicial order, Lieutenant. Any other qualms?" he added with heavy irony.

"No… none, sir. But perhaps, if I could make a copy of that order?"

"No need Lieutenant, you can keep this copy…" and then as Harrison stretched out his hand, Harm finished, "once I've done with it!"

Harrison and his Staff Sergeant accompanied Harm out into the main office, while Harm made a pretence of choosing an operator, his eye roaming the room until it fell on Meg, "Sergeant!" he called out. The three Sergeants in the room all stood, their eyes turning to the group in the doorway, "Yes, you, Sergeant," Harm added his gaze fixed firmly on Meg, "Front and centre!"

Meg made her way across the office halting directly in front of Harm, "Sir, Sergeant Pierce reporting as ordered, sir!"

"At ease, Sergeant," Harm ordered and Meg adopted the more relaxed position, "I want you to print out full copies of these Marines' Page Elevens from their SRBs. How long is that likely to take?"

Meg let her eyes flit from Harm to Lieutenant Harrison, "It's alright Sergeant, the Commander has the authority!" Harrison said bleakly.

"Aye, aye, sir!" Meg replied, and then turning back to Harm said, "About fifteen minutes, sir?"

"Thank you, Sergeant, I'll come and wait with you!" Harm said. "Lieutenant, your co-operation is much appreciated!"

Recognising, with relief, his dismissal, Harrison almost bolted from the room as he headed for the upper decks and the S1's office, while Meg re-took her seat and clearing her screen, she let her fingers fly across the keyboard and in a very few minutes the first of the requested documents was being fed out of the printer alongside her desk, but before the last page was printed, Lieutenant Harrison, accompanied by the S1 and the XO entered the office. The XO, wearing the silver oak-leaf insignia of a Major made his way across to Harm, "Commander," he greeted him neutrally.

"Major," Harm nodded in acknowledgement and replied in just as neutral a tone.

"Might we have a few words in private?" The Major, whose name-tape identified him as 'Hatfield' requested.

"In a few minutes, Major' Harm told him coolly.

"This really ought not to wait," Hatfield insisted.

"I'm afraid it will have to, Major." Harm replied, with just the slightest emphasis on the other man's rank.

Hatfield stiffened at the implied rebuke, but could do nothing until Meg turned to Harm and said, "That's the last of them coming through now, sir!"

Harm took the proffered sheaf of printouts from Meg and carefully slid them into his briefcase, "Thank you, Sergeant! And, now, Major Hatfield, you wanted a word in private?"

"Yessir!" The stiff-faced Major responded.

"Alright, I can spare you a few minutes now, Major. Lieutenant, may we use your office?"

Although phrased as a request, Harrison could do nothing other than to mutter, "Of course, sir!"

Meg and the other enlisted watched them go, Meg had a frown on her face while Corporal Walker looked puzzled. Corporal McGarry leaned over towards Meg and said, "Wow! You could cut the tension there with a knife! What do you suppose that's all about?"

Meg shrugged pretending indifference, "I have no idea! But what I do know," and she looked around at the lack of activity around her, "Is that we're not being paid to goof off! Let's get back to it, people!"

Walker cast her a darkling glance, before returning his attention to his work station and said loud enough to be heard by those near him, "I dunno, but that squid was wearing JAG Corps insignia. Damn lawyers, I'll bet this means trouble for someone," and he shot a glance at Meg, leaving her in no doubt that the person he hoped was in trouble was her.

Harm halted in Lieutenant Harrison's office doorway, and held out the faxed copy of Judge Morris' Order, "Thank you Lieutenant," in a clear dismissal, and then looking at the S1 added, "Don't let me keep you, Captain Philips!"

The S1, also recognising a dismissal could only reply "No, sir!" before casting an apologetic look at Major Hatfield.

The Lieutenant looked to his XO for guidance, "It's OK, Captain, Lieutenant, go grab a coffee for five minutes, while the Commander and I discuss what's happening."

Harrison stepped back and closed the door, and no sooner had he done so then Harm turned on the XO, "What the hell, was all that out there, Major?"

"You were in contravention of MCOs, Commander!" the XO accused Harm.

"In what way, Major?"

"Only authorised personnel are allowed sight of a Marine's SRB!"

Harm had had enough, just the events of this morning, culminating in the sight of Sergeant Booker's spotless Page Eleven had convinced him that the command of this battalion was rotten through and through.

"Lock it up, Major!" he snapped.

"What?" the now offended Major gasped.

"Lock it up! And in case you've forgotten what that means, Major, I'll remind you! When you are told to lock it up, you assume the position of attention and you shut up! This time you will not only shut up, you will listen very carefully. Firstly, you ignored proper military etiquette in your mode of addressing me. I may not be your senior by much, but I am your senior and you should have and you will in future address me as 'sir', or at the very least you will be facing charges of showing disrespect to a senior officer! Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir!" Hatfield gritted out unwillingly.

"Secondly, by virtue of a Judicial Order authorising me to examine those records, I was not in contravention of any Marine Corps Order, so don't you dare to insinuate otherwise, or you will find yourself being charged with preferring false charges. Thirdly, you are in very close danger of being written up for obstructing a JAG Investigation. So if you really want to push your luck, Major, you just foul my hawse one more time! Do you understand that?"

"Yessir!" the now blazingly angry Major replied.

"Good! Dismissed!"

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 1240hrs EST, Officers' Club Dining Room, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, Quantico, VA (131740ZMar01)**

Harm had spent the latter part of the morning comparing the dates of entries on the page elevens with the dates of Sergeant Booker's spells of confinement in the brig, and it hadn't been long before a pattern emerged. Each of the Marines had had a spotty record up until the time that Booker had been arrested for fighting with them. But not only had Booker not been charged with assault, neither had any of the Marines with whom he'd fought, and furthermore they all had appeared to clean up their act, as none of them had any subsequent record of disciplinary proceedings taken against them. It all looked innocent enough until the verbal testimony of Staff Sergeant Del Rio was taken into account, and then the waters got murky pretty damn' quick. The problem was, Harm knew, proving any of it!

But now as he walked into the dining room, he pushed his dark thoughts behind him and halted scanning the room until he saw a vaguely familiar female face turned expectantly towards him. Making his way across the room, he waved off Julia Klein's motion to stand, and seated himself. Looking closely at her across the width of the table he saw that the tightly wound and tense woman he remembered from Parris Island had matured and had become less… of a DI he assumed. He took in the wedding band on her finger and the nameplate on her Service A tunic, and smiled, "I see that double congratulations are in order, Captain Klein!"

"Good afternoon, Commander!" she smiled, "Double congratulations?"

"Yes, firstly on passing the ECP programme, and secondly on going public on the marriage," Harm said easily.

"Yes, thank you." Julia Klein lowered her eyes, "But we owe it all to you, Commander. You could have quite easily, and you should have reported us both for fraternisation, And both Bill and I are eternally grateful that you gave us our chance – and trusted us enough to take the appropriate action if I had been an unsuccessful candidate."

"Well," Harm coughed, a little embarrassed, "We need sometimes to remember that under these uniforms are people, and sometimes people need to be cut a little slack, we can't choose with whom we fall in love!"

Julia Klein looked at him closely, a grin hovering on the edge of her lips, "No, we can't… and regulations are not always sympathetic… but you speak with a great deal of understanding, Commander…?" she finished archly.

"No... I'm still not married," Harm grinned, "but soon…"

"Good, I'm glad for you… I've never been happier, and I like to think that Bill is too…"

She broke off as a waiter approached and took their lunch order, allowing Harm to pick up the thread of the conversation as the waiter headed kitchenwards, "How is Major Klein?" he asked.

"It's Lieutenant Colonel Klein, now" she told him with a flush of justifiable pride, "He's assigned to HQ USMC at Arlington, and I'm USMC CID Liaison with NCIS at the DC Navy Yard" She shrugged deprecatingly, "There wasn't much scope for a commissioned DI, so once I completed TBS, I went TAD to Fort Leonard Wood and qualified as a CID Investigating Officer." She cocked her head and said musingly, "You know, I don't know if the way you and your partner worked to solve Private Schuyler's murder wasn't an influence…However, after I got my assignment, Bill and I got a place handy for both of us, that splits the commute more or less evenly. So coming down to Quantico isn't high on my list of favourite things to do." Her voice and face both became serious, Which leads me into my questions for you. We're both investigators. I'm here investigating specific allegations, and when I saw your partner – and I am sorry, I've forgotten her real name, I only remember her as McIntyre…"

"Austin," Harm supplied, "Commander Meg Austin"

"Yes, of course…" Julia let her voice fade away as the waiter returned with their soup, resuming once they had been left alone again, "Well, seeing her here, back in Marine uniform, I can only assume that she and you are working the same sort of plan that you did at Parris Island. What I need to know, and so do you, is that we're not going to be working at cross-purposes."

"O…K…, I'm going to pull rank," Harm said, "You tell me what you're doing here, and then we'll both know what's going on…"

Julia put down her soup spoon, "The IG's Office has received complaints from female marines that they are being… selected… for excessive and informal punishment for little or no reason. The IG passed onto the office of the Commandant, and so on until it landed on my desk.

"Informal punishment?" Harm queried.

"Yeah, Incentive PT, it's called. It's used under strict conditions at Boot Camp,. But it's supposed to stop once a recruit has made the transition to marine. Here it seems that it's being called EMI – which again is supposed to operate under strict rules. It appears that this is not the case, and it is so wide-spread in one particular unit – Support Battalion, that Command must not only be tolerating it, but actively involved in it."

Harm nodded. "Yeah, that's exactly what Meg is investigating. However, it also applies to male Marines, in the same battalion, who are being informally punished for minor infractions by an enforcer. I've just been through his MP arrest records, which should have given him at least three page elevens full of entries, but his is as pure as the driven snow…"

Whatever he was about to say next was interrupted by the ring of his cell 'phone. Ignoring the irritated glare of other diners, he delved into his pocket and retrieved the instrument, seeing Meg's number come up on Caller ID, he flipped the 'phone open, "Yes, Meg?"

"_Harm, you need to get over to H&S Company Barracks, ASAP!"_

"Why, what's wrong?"

"_One of the female Marines from the EMI squad…" _Meg gulped audibly,_ "A Corporal Henderson from Ten Platoon... she… she's just been found in her Platoon Barrack shower room… Harm, it looks like she hanged herself…"_

Harm took a deep breath, "Alright Meg, try and hold it together, I'll be right there! Has anyone called for the MPs and EMTs - if not, get on it now." He looked at Julia Klein, "This is really bad. Your private Schuyler was found hanging, wasn't she?"

Julia went pale, "Oh, no… not another…"

Harm nodded, "Yeah, a Corporal Henderson?" The rising inflection made the statement into a question that Julia recognised as meaning did she know the name.

"She was one of the complainants," Julia confirmed and as Harm got to his feet, she added, "Are you going to the scene?"

"Yeah," he summoned the waiter and handed him a twenty dollar bill, "Cancel the rest of the lunch, please!" and turning back to Julia Klein, he asked, "Are you coming?"

"Damn straight I am," she affirmed, fishing in her purse and then pinning her MP Shield to her jacket.


	27. Chapter 27

**27**

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 1250hrs EST, Cafeteria, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA, (131750ZMar01)**

"Ma'am, are you sure this is a good idea?" Harriet Sims whispered as Mac almost dragged the tray-laden Lieutenant across the crowded room, aiming for the table where Carolyn Imes, Theresa Coulter and Loren Singer appeared to be finishing their lunch.

"Sgorra be done, 'Arrieh!" Mac gritted determinedly. She might have 'lost' Harmon Rabb in the romantic sense, but as she'd said to Harriet yesterday, she was determined to be happy for her friend, and to keep his friendship. And a sure way to lose that friendship would be to remain hostile to the woman to whom he had just become engaged. And if she carried, deep in her heart, the faintest germ of hope that Harm and Loren's relationship would crash and burn, then she'd keep that hope to herself.

Mac walked casually up to the table and stopped a couple of feet away, "Mor'I'g la'ies. Case or cajaul?"

Carolyn shot a startled glance at Loren before turning back to answer Mac, who had a strange expression on her face, if it had been anyone other than the normally feisty Marine, then Carolyn would have said that her face wore a pleading expression. The same could not be said for Harriet Sims, who although trying to maintain an impassive expression gave away her feelings by the stress lines at the corners of her tight lipped mouth.

Terri Coulter shifted uneasily in her seat. She didn't what had happened between Mac and Harm during the intervening years, but while working with them both on the Blackhorse case, and while never seeing anything that might indicate impropriety between them, she had definitely picked up the feeling that they had more than just a professional relationship. Now Loren was wearing Harm's ring, and although it looked as if Mac might be prepared to bury the hatchet, the other blonde officer, the one wearing the line star did not look at all happy, and she could almost feel the tension radiating off Loren!

Carolyn too sat back and examined the faces of the women sitting at and standing by the table. One part of her wanted to damn Sarah MacKenzie for putting her and Loren in such an awkward position. To refuse the other two officers permission to join them would make Carolyn and Loren appear both childish and churlish, but the other part of her, the mischief loving part, felt a thrill of anticipation as to the outcome, so with a final interrogatory glance at Loren, she smiled and said, "Morning, Colonel, Lieutenant, just taking a lunch break, no privileged conversations at all; why don't you join us?"

With a nod of acknowledgement Mac slid as gracefully as her still sore ribs would allow into one chair, while Harriet snagged a spare chair from a nearby table, and sat primly, disapproval of the situation plainly discernible in every line of her body. She placed the tray in front of her, passing one the large cardboard containers to Mac, who fumbled in her purse for a moment before coming up with her glass drinking tube. She popped the top of her container. Took a sniff of the vapour rising from it and cocked an inquiring eye at Harriet.

"Leek and potato, ma'am," and then in response to a glare from the marine, and with a twitch of the lips that might charitably be described as a grin she muttered, "Sorry… Mac."

Mac took a cautious sup through her drinking tube, testing both for temperature and taste, and raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise then gave Harriet an approving nod, "M'mm 'sgood!"

Seeing that Loren had withdrawn somewhat into herself, Terri Coulter turned to Mac, "So how much longer are you going to be wired up?

Mac took a further slurp of her soup and swallowed before she answered, "Three wee's."

"And four days!" Harriet interrupted, ignoring Mac's darkling glance.

"Counting down, Harriet?" Carolyn asked, a teasing note in her voice and mischief sparkling in her eye.

"Oh… I…ah…umm… no not really…"a furiously blushing Harriet tried to deny, "It's… just… just forward planning, and thinking ahead…"

"Lea' her 'lone' Car'lyn," Mac defended her friend, "Couldna manage wi'out 'Arrieh! Sto' teasi' her! Fac' is couldna manage' wi'out any o' you"" She fixed Carolyn and then Loren with a steady gaze. "You all ca'e to sit wi' me, you rea' boo's to me, you play' cards wi' me, lissene' when I complain'. You were all my frien's even when I didn' li'e you!"

Mac kept her eyes firmly fixed on Loren as she said her last two sentences, and then having completed what she'd come to say, she returned her attention to her container of soup, where after a few seconds a loud slurping noise informed the whole table that, "'S'all gone!" she exclaimed with an attempt at a triumphant grin and a knowing look towards Harriet.

Pushing the empty container to one side, she looked again at Loren, "Didn' say 'grat'lations yest'day, sorry. So can I say 'grat'lations now? Can I see, pl's?"

Loren, thoroughly mystified by Mac's actions and words slowly held out her hand to show the older woman her ring.

"H'mm, s'beau'ful ring Lor'n, looks antique.."

"Yes, ma'am, it is, passed down from mother to son to go to his fiancée," Loren knew that little jab was unworthy, especially when MacKenzie seemed to be trying to play nice, but damn, it felt good.

Mac felt the blade slide between her ribs, but decided on this occasion to let it pass, and for once blessing the wires that kept her face more or less expressionless, she contented herself with asking, "Are you hav'n' 'gagemen' party?"

"Uh… we… we hadn't really talked about it…"

"'Kay… well if you do… le' is all know, ri' la'ies?" Mac canvassed opinion by sweeping her eyes around the table, and was rewarded by a chorus of assent accompanied by nods of agreement, and if Harriet Sims' response was less than enthusiastic, her lack of fervour went unnoticed in mix.

Scooping up their tray, Mac stood, "Gorra ge' back to it. Damn FOI requests bree 'li'e rabbi's, la'er la'ies!"

"Ma'am, let me take that!" Harriet protested as she scurried after Mac, "you've still only got the one useful arm…"

Loren stared after the two departing officers, "Now… what the hell was all that in aid of?" she wondered aloud.

Carolyn Imes too had a puzzled expression on her face, "I don't know, Loren. Maybe she was just trying to build bridges?"

Loren looked at Carolyn and Terri in turn, "I've been here over a year, I've had no TADs longer than twenty four hours, so I've been here pretty constantly, but this is the first time Colonel MacKenzie has sought my company for anything other than professional reasons!"

Terri felt a change of subject, or at least nudging it onto a slightly different course, was a safer option, and giving the appearance of just indulging in her curiosity asked, "I understand that they know who did that to the Colonel."

"Yes," Carolyn answered, her voice laden with contempt, "Her ex-fiancé. She told him the engagement was off, and he assaulted her, beat her pretty badly."

"What happened to him?" Terry asked, angrily.

"He's being held by Metro PD until a court date is set," Carolyn offered, "but that won't be until after Mac's had here jaw unwired and she can give evidence."

"So, he wasn't navy?" Terry asked in surprise, "Only I thought he had a rank…"

"He's Australian Navy," Loren interrupted, "Well, he is for the time being, anyway."

"What do you mean by that?" Carolyn asked.

"Well… from the time he was arrested by Metro PD, he's considered to AWOL– UA –by the RAN, and if he is convicted and handed a sentence of confinement by a civil court, that also counts as UA." Loren answered, her forehead wrinkled in thought as she tried to remember details she had heard only the once, " And even if he doesn't get confinement, he'll have contravened the Australian Defence Force Discipline Act, by committing a civil offence, and could face that charge as well as a charge of conduct unbecoming and be dismissed the service with disgrace."

"Whoa! Where did you get all that?" Carolyn asked, impressed with Loren's apparent knowledge of a foreign military discipline system.

"Oh, I handled his arraignment, working with the Federal Prosecutor, and the RAN Officer who represented him listed the penalties he could face of he spent any time in confinement or if he was convicted. I may not have all the details down pat, but that was the gist of his argument."

"But the judge wasn't swayed? Good!" Terri said fiercely.

"No… the Federal Prosecutor pointed out that he was a member of a foreign military force, was of a violent nature and could be considered both a flight risk, and a threat to witnesses, and that this was the second assault he had made on members of the US Forces in less than twenty four hours."

"Who…" Carolyn started and then , "Of course – Harm! He attacked Harm right in the middle of the bull-pen in front of about two dozen witnesses!" she explained to an open-mouthed Terri.

Terri shook her head in wonder, "Don't they have psychological profiling in the Australian Navy? It sounds as if this guy lost it completely!"

"Terri, you have no idea," Carolyn told her.

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 1305hrs EST, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah 'Mac' MacKenzie's Office, JAG Building, Falls Church, VA, (131805ZMar01)**

"Well, that was waste of time effort and energy ma'am!" Harriet exploded as she sat in one the visitors' chairs in from of Mac's desk.

"You thin'?"

"Yes, ma'am! She didn't show any signs of meeting you half-way, she was surly, rude and suspicious the whole time we were there!" Harriet complained.

"Arrieh, af'er what happen' before all this," Mac indicated her wired jaw and plastered forearm. "Ca' you really bla'e her?"

"But she could have shown some recognition…"

"Well, mebbe, but…" Mac sighed apologetically, "Now, I really do have a lorra wor', 'Arrieh, so…?"

"Yes, of course, ma'am!" Harriett responded jumping to her feet.

"Arrieh, c'n you shu door pl'se, an' close the blin's, than' you."

Mac waited until Harriet had done her bidding and she was left in as much privacy as she could reasonably expect at work before she silently, but bitterly berated herself, "Sarah MacKenzie, what a fool you've been!" Before Loren Singer had sported that ring there had always been a chance, even if only an infinitely slim chance, that Harmon Rabb could be won back, but he would never break an engagement, and she doubted very much whether Loren Singer would. Besides, he had told Loren, in Mac's hearing that he loved her, and that was more of an admission than she'd ever been able to get him, to make. "Face it MacKenzie, you screwed the pooch, and you've lost the man you really loved."

And Sarah MacKenzie bowed her head and silently, tearlessly but bitterly mourned had all that she lost.

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 1307hrs EST, 10 Platoon Barrack, H&S Company, Support Battalion, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, Quantico, VA (131807ZMar01)**

Harm ignored the speed limit and practically every rule of the road and made it to H&S Company Barracks in a shorter time than he had thought possible for a clapped out navy motor pool vehicle. There was no mistaking the locus of interest, a crowd of rubber-necking Marines almost surrounded one end of a barrack and it seemed that only the presence of an NCO at the door was preventing them from indulging in their curiosity at even closer range. Shaking his head in disgust he quickly scanned the crowd, spotting a couple of E-5s on the edge.

"Sergeants!" The two spun on their heels, their faces assuming guilty expressions as they took in first the rank and then the look of displeasure on the face of the approaching navy officer.

"Sir!" the shorter of the two sergeants responded.

"Get these people away from here, take 'em down the street a ways and get them into formation, and hold 'em there until I say otherwise. Got it?

"Yessir!"

Marine discipline held true and within a very few minutes the area around the building was cleared and Harm was able to take stock. Julia Klein had been hot on his heels all the way from the O Club and as now talking to the NCO at the Barrack Door. Harm climbed the half-dozen steps to the building door, and greeted the Marine, "Gunny, good to see you. Where's the Commander?"

"She's two buildings down, getting changed into her Service Dress Blues, sir," Victor Galindez told him. "Each Platoon has two barracks, one for male personnel and one for female. They face each other across the street, where there ain't no windows, sir, so here we got nine platoon, he indicated to his right, then ten, then eleven then twelve."

Harm nodded his understanding and turned to Julia Klein, "Captain Klein, this is Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, he's our admin NCO cum investigator at JAG. Gunny, I'd like you to meet Captain Klein. She's here working the same case for CMC. I… uh… met Captain Klein a few years ago when she was a DI at the Island."

What if anything more Harm had intended to say was interrupted by the appearance on the scene of Meg Austin, now back in her rightful uniform, an ambulance with a crew of Corpsmen and three Humvee loads of MPs from the Security Battalion. The MP NCO in charge, a grizzled Master Sergeant approached Harm, arriving just as Meg did. Quickly summing up the seniority of the three officers confronting him, the Master Sergeant halted and saluted Harm, introducing himself as Master Sergeant Matthews, of the MP Company, Security Battalion.

Harm made the introductions on behalf of himself, Meg and Julia Klein. Leaving it to Meg to briefly outline the situation, while Julia was on her cell 'phone. Finished with her initial briefing, Meg glanced at Harm, and receiving his nod, she turned to Matthews and said, "Master Sergeant, proceed to H&S Company Office, there you will find, read him his Article thirty-one rights, and place under arrest First Sergeant Santiago for disobedience to regulations, in that he wilfully contravened, on numerous occasions, the provisions of MCO 1700.28 and MCO 5800.8. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Once the First Sergeant is under arrest you will post his office until such time as a properly authorised search may be carried out."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Thank you Master Sergeant."

Matthews saluted and turned away, bellowing instructions to one of his sergeants and then with two other MPs climbed back into a Humvee and head in the direction of the Company Office.

In the meantime, Julia Klein had allowed the Corpsmen access to Corporal Henderson's body and Harm and Meg's attention was distracted by the approach of a sombre-faced Petty Officer Hospitalman First Class.

"Report, Corpsman," Harm and Julia Klein chorused.

"Yes, sir, ma'am." The Corpsman hesitated a second or two to get his thoughts in order. "I'm no doctor, but… I've had some experience, and I have no doubt that the Corporal is dead. I understand that she was found hanging from the overhead, but the body had been moved, she was lying on the floor of the showers. Death appears to have been caused by the hanging." Once again he hesitated, "Will you want me to make arrangements to have the body removed, or…"

"No, no thank, Corpsman," Julia Klein interrupted him. "We'll need to wait for an ME to certify time and cause of death. Dismissed."

The Petty Officer drew himself up into a brace and saluted, "Aye, aye, sir, ma'ams."

Harm, as the senior officer present, returned his salute and the younger man about faced, calling for his crewman as he climbed into the front seat of the ambulance.

"Well, where do we go from here?" Harm asked looking Julia Klein in the eye. "We seem to have a cross-jurisdictional situation ?"

"Yes, we do, sir. But I've already called this in to NCIS and a MCRT complete with an ME is its way here."

"MCRT?" Harm raised his eyebrows.

"Major Case Response Team, sir."

"Umm… you don't think perhaps that our ideas on how to handle this might differ somewhat? I have had… experience with NCIS on two previous occasions, and have very little faith in their ability to find their butts with both hands."

"Your lack of faith in NCIS may be a problem for you, sir. But may I suggest respectfully, of course, that my instructions from the IG outweigh your instructions from the JAG?"

Harm looked at Meg, "What do you think, Commander?"

"I think, sir, that we've got trouble coming up fast on your six!"

Harm spun around just in time to see Lieutenant Colonel Walters accompanied by his S1, Captain Philips and a further Captain whom Harm did not recognise, leap out of a Humvee and stride angrily along the footpath towards the three waiting officers. "Just what in hell is going here?" Walters practically screamed as he approached them.

"Well Colonel, it looks like you've got an unexplained death on your hands," Harm replied, making a behind his back hand signal that the two junior officers should leave him to handle this. At least being the same rank he could say more than either Meg or Julia.

"What in hell do you mean by that?"

"I mean there's a body of a female Corporal, Corporal Henderson, lying on the shower room floor of that barrack!" Harm replied.

"What, where? Let me see!" demanded Walters moving to walk past Harm who retaliated by side-stepping, forcing the shorter man to stop.

"I don't think so, Colonel."

"The hell you say!" Colonel Walters spluttered, sounding like a bad imitation of John Wayne. "This my Battalion, and I will see with my own eyes, exactly what the hell is going on!"

"No Colonel, you won't!" Harm snapped out, "I can't let you contaminate the crime scene any more than it has already been contaminated. This enquiry is being handled by me and Commander Austin on behalf of the Navy JAG, and by Captain Klein on behalf of the IG and the CMC. One arrest has already been made…" he cocked an eye at Meg, who nodded in confirmation, "and others are sure to follow. Now Colonel, unless you want to face charges of obstructing a JAGMan investigation or an IG investigation, I recommend you stand down, and let our investigators do their work!"

Walters gobbled like a turkey-cock for a few moments as he tried to articulate a sentence, before he finally got his vocal cords under control, "By God Commander, you haven't heard the last of this! This is not over!" and pale with anger he spun on his heel and snapping out a curt "with me!" to his two officers strode back to his Humvee and barely waiting until the other were seated he issued a curt command to his driver, who engaged gears and amid a squeal of tyres and the smell of burning rubber, the vehicle headed off at speed back in the direction of Battalion HQ.

"Whew!" Harm grinned weakly at the two female officers, "That was… interesting. Do you think we've stopped him?"

Julia Klein shook her head while Meg said, "I doubt it Harm, all this has done is to tip our hand and give him a warning. My bet is he'll be headed back to his office to destroy any evidence that might possibly link him to what's been happening in 'his' battalion."

Harm shrugged, "It doesn't matter, Meg. I'll bet there's not a single a word on paper that can link him to any wrong doing, He'll just sit there with a smug grin on his face and deny everything or having any knowledge of any wrongdoing…"

"It doesn't matter," Klein said, "His ass is mine either way. He either condoned or knew what was happening in his command, in which case he is charged with contravening MCOs. Or he really didn't know what was happening, in which case he'll be charged with DOD, because he should have known what was happening." She cast her eyes about, scanning the dozen or so MPs who had by now relieved Gunny Galindez at the head of the steps and were busy cordoning off the area for some fifty feet away from the door with yellow crime scene tape.

Harm followed her gaze until his eye lit upon Gunnery Sergeant Andrews, "Gunny Andrews!"

The Gunnery Sergeant stopped and turned to face Harm, "Sir?"

"Take a couple of men, and get over to the LAV School. When you get there, find Sergeant Booker and arrest him for multiple offences against Article 92, Failure to Obey an Order or Regulation. That is, MCO 1700.28!"

"On it sir!" Andrews made a quick note of the specifications of the charge and then called his men, "Barr, Deitz, with me!" The three MP NCOs leaped into one of the MP sedans as Harm watched them disappear into the depths of the base.

Julia Klein turned to Meg, "So ma'am…" she said slowly, "who actually found the body?"

"That was a Pfc Latimer," Meg replied, "she's in my cabin down there." She indicated Twelve Platoon Barrack, "a Sergeant Kirkland is sitting with her."

"OK…" Julia sighed, "If you've no objection to me taking the lead on this, sir, I suggest we get the initial statements completed before the NCIS boys and girls get here."

Harm nodded, "Good idea, Captain, at least we'll know the initial statements are accurate!" An afterthought struck him, "You mentioned a team, as in meaning there are more than one?"

"Yeah, DC has three MCRTs," Julia agreed.

"Any chance we can pick and choose which one?" Harm asked wryly.

"You have a problem with NCIS, sir?"

"Well…" Harm squirmed uncomfortably even as they walked along the footpath to the next but one Barrack, a sight that made Meg give a little giggle, earning her a scowl from Harm. Harm took a breath and with a final minatory glare at Meg, he turned back to Julia, "They arrested me for murder once – not long after our case at the Island, and then a few weeks ago they wanted to arrest me for assault consummated by battery. Both times in spite of the fact that I had an alibi! So… you see, I don't rate their investigative skills very highly."

Julia Klein kept her face forward, the one glance she'd had of Meg had shown that the blonde naval officer was struggling not to burst out laughing at Harm's injured tone, and Julia was having a hard enough time trying not to laugh as it was. The approach to Twelve Platoon Barrack brought all three back to sober, grim reality and doffing their covers they climbed the steps and entered the barrack, Meg remembering just in time to give the warning "Man on deck!"

Harm froze on the threshold, the red mounting to his cheeks as Meg's voice warned him of the breach of protocol he'd been about to commit. Completing a mental count of thirty, he stepped into the barrack and looked around. It was practically identical to any of the hundreds of other barracks he'd visited, except that this one smelled nicer, and over half the double tier of racks that lined the squad bay were clear of mattresses and bedding.

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 1342hrs EST, Admiral's Office, JAG Headquarters Building Falls Church, VA (131842ZMar01)**

A J Chegwidden groaned silently, but bit his lip before replying, "Yes, sir. I'll bring them back, immediately.

"_Dammit, A J, this was a tricky enough situation before your people got involved, but we were handling it quietly and discreetly! Now it's beginning to look like as big a clusterfuck as…. As Pickett's charge!"_

Sir, we had no idea that the IG's office was running an independent investigation. I hadn't gotten any sort of heads up either from your people or the SecNav, and my officers were following up a lead they stumbled across on an unrelated case."

"_Well, whatever. I've got the Marine Corps IG screaming about navy intrusion into Corps matters – and he can take a running dive at a rolling doughnut, the situation down there is getting dirtier by the second, but I've also got the USMC one-star commanding MCCDC screaming that your Commander – whatshisname?"_

"Rabb, sir."

There was a heavy silence on the phone for a slow count of five before the IG spoke again. _"Rabb, of course, who else would it be? No, don't answer that. Anyway I've got the BG Commanding MCCDC and the two-star Quantico Base Commander howling for his blood for threatening to arrest the Support Battalion CO!"_

"Sir, if Rabb threatened to arrest a Lieutenant Colonel, then he must have had cause."

"_What?"_

"Sir Rabb has pulled some crazy stunts in the past, but he's never shown any sign of wanting to commit career suicide, so if he threatened to arrest the CO of a Battalion he must have had cause."

"_If he had cause to threaten the man with arrest, then why didn't he arrest him?"_

"I don't know, sir, but I intend to find out."

"_You do that AJ_!" Admiral Holson's voice was beginning to descend to a more normal level of volume, but still retained the snap of an angry superior,_ "You do that, and when you find out, then you damn' well had better tell me, and it better be a damn good reason or I'll have his oak leaves!"_

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden waited for the dialling tone that told him that Admiral Holson had hung up, and with a sigh replaced the receiver on the cradle. He braced his elbows on his desk and buried his face on his hands for a few seconds, and then drawing another deep breath he reached for the drawer and the little brown bottle containing his new supply of aspirin. Shaking two of the tablets into his hand he carried them up to his mouth and throwing his head back swallowed them dry.

He was about to reach for the intercom to call Tiner and tell him to get hold of Commander Rabb, when the machine squawked at him, "Admiral, sir, I have Commander Rabb on line three."

"Well done, Tiner, put him through!"

Although confused by the seemingly unmerited compliment, Tiner connected the call and sat back shaking his head in winder. Miracles it seemed would never cease.

"Chegwidden!" The admiral growled into the mouthpiece.

"_Rabb, sir, I'm just calling in to bring you up to speed…"_

"I'm waiting…"

"_Well, sir, there's something distinctly fishy going on here. I checked the Brig register and identified our main suspect for the enforcer, and then I got Commander Austin to pull the SRB Page Elevens…_"

"Never mind that Rabb, what's this I hear about you threatening to arrest the Battalion CO?"

"_Umm… that's not strictly accurate, sir…"_

"Why not?"

"_I… uh… didn't threaten to arrest him, sir, I…"_

"Good God, man! You didn't actually arrest him, did you?" Chegwidden sounded appalled at the prospect.

"_No, sir. He's as guilty as hell, but as yet I've got no proof, but I threatened to charge him with obstructing a JAGMan and an IG investigation. He wanted to look at the body, but I wanted to wait until…"_

Chegwidden had tried and failed to speak, so tried again "Body? What body? You're not making much sense Rabb!"

"_Sir…"_ Now Chegwidden could the regret in Harm's voice, "_the body of one of the female marines on the EMI detail was found at lunch time, hanging from the overhead beams in her barrack shower room_."

Chegwidden's voice lost the edge of hot temper it had retained throughout the conversation and became ice-cold, "Rabb, find out how that young woman died. If it was murder, find the sonofabitch that did it. If it was suicide, then find out why, and if anyone is responsible for driving her to suicide then find them too!"

"_Yessir! Sir, this morning I discovered that the IG's office had received complaints about the situation down here, and they handed the investigation off to NCIS. I've been co-operating with a Captain Klein, Marine Corps, who is the CMC's liaison with NCIS. The NCIS team hasn't arrived yet… and you know how I feel about them… so…_"

"Alright Rabb, I'll speak to Director Morrow, and confirm that we're running a joint investigation. Can you work with this Captain…?"

"_Klein, sir. Yessir, I know her from the murder investigation that Commander Austin and I carried out at Parris Island, back in the day… Uh… I think that was just before you came on board sir._"

"Alright Rabb, stay on it, keep me informed, and play nice!"

"_Aye, aye, sir!"_

"Oh… Rabb?"

"Sir?"

"Do you still need the Gunny and Commander Austin?"

"_I'd like Commander Austin to stay, sir."_

"Very well, tell Gunny he is to report back here tomorrow morning. In the meantime, remember what I said, try not too piss off too many Marines, I understand there are two of their Generals already screaming for your blood!" Chegwidden couldn't help betraying himself with a grim chuckle.

Harm took the only refuge he could, "_Aye, aye, Sir_!"

Chegwidden broke the connection and then dialled the zero that alerted Tiner, "Tiner, get me a line to Director Morrow at NCIS Washington!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 1411hrs EST, 10 Platoon Barrack, H&S Company, Support Battalion, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, Quantico, VA (131911ZMar01)**

Pfc Latimer sat on one of the two hard, wooden chairs on the room that Meg Austin shared with Sally Kirkland, who sat on her own rack unsure as to whether her role was to provide moral support for the Pfc or to prevent her from absconding, and stared bemusedly at Meg Pierce's BDUs thrown carelessly across her rack. Latimer was barely nineteen years old, but in the aftermath of her gruesome find, she seemed to have shrunk in on herself and now, pale, tearful and frightened she looked more like sixteen than her true age. Wisps of her mousy brown hair had escaped from the braid she wore it in for duty and she wound one of those wisps endlessly around her finger.

As Meg's cry of 'Man on deck' penetrated the brooding silence surrounding the two women, Sally Kirkland sprang to her feet, her staccato "Ten-hut!" jerking Pfc Latimer to her feet in an automatic response.

"At ease, Sergeant, Pfc," Julia Klein said as the three officers crowded into the room. Looking around almost helplessly, for somewhere to sit, Meg eventually bundled up her sergeant's uniform and perched on the edge of her rack, and with a look invited Harm to join her, while Julia Klein dragged the other wooden chair to the table and sat down with Latimer at a ninety degree angle to her, removing the barrier to communication formed by the table.

Julia smiled reassuringly at the young woman and said, "Relax, Pfc. You're not in trouble. I'm Captain Klein, Marine Corps Military Police and these two Officers are Commanders Rabb and Austin from the Navy's JAG Corps. We just want you to tell us what happened today when you found Corporal; Henderson. And to help us all with that, I am going to write down what you say, and at the end of your statement, you can sign it for us. OK?"

"Ye… yes… ma'am."

Julia delved into her briefcase, which she had brought in from her car, and laid out the necessary blank forms in preparation for taking a witness statement, unscrewed the cap of her pen and turned to Sally Kirkland, "OK Sergeant, you can stand-down. Go get some air, and we'll call you when we need you!"

"Ma'am, can't the Sergeant stay, please?" Latimer begged.

Klein shared a look with Harm and Megan both of whom shook their heads, and then turned back to Latimer, "I'm sorry Pfc, but the Sergeant has to make a statement too, and we can't allow any possibility that someone somewhere down the line tries to say that the whole thing is a story cooked up between you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

As Sally stood to leave, Meg stood too. I'll keep you keep company, Sergeant."

Sally cast a resentful and mistrustful look at Megan, but contented herself with a surly "Aye, aye, ma'am!" and stalked out of the room. Meg shrugged, gave an ironic grin and followed the NCO.

Left alone with Harm and Julia, Latimer seemed to shrink even further into herself, rousing Harm's protective instincts. "It's OK, Pfc. It really is OK. Like the Captain said, you're not in trouble, and nobody is going to make trouble for you for talking to us. Just tell us on your own words, what you did leading up to when you saw Corporal Henderson's body, what you did then, and what you did afterwards. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl, Harm said encouragingly and smiled at the young woman, who seemed to take strength from the smile. She gulped and physically straightened in her chair, and Julia Klein gave Harm a puzzled look. He shrugged, knowing that if Mac or Meg had been in the room they would have rolled their eyes at him – and given him hell afterwards.

"Right, Pfc, first, what is your full name?" Julia asked.

"Latimer, Amanda Susan, Private First Class, United States Marine Corps, SSN 724 13 0941, Date of Birth, March fourth, nineteen eighty-two," Latimer repeated parrot fashion, but seemingly gaining confidence from the routine question and answer.

"And what is your current assignment?"

"Motor vehicle operator with Ten Platoon H&S Company, Support Battalion, MCCDC Quantico, ma'am."

Klein nodded, "Fine, now tell us please, what happened at approximately thirteen hundred hours today?"

"Ma'am, I'd finished my chow, and headed back to my Barrack. I'd hand washed a BDU blouse this morning and hung it in one of the shower stalls to dry. I wanted to check on it to see if it had dried, or if I needed to leave it longer."

"Go on."

"I went into the shower room and… and … and I… saw… I saw Corporal Henderson…" Latimer's eyes flooded with tears and her voice broke. Rabb and Julia left her for a few seconds while the girl fought for control of her feelings."

"What did you do next, Pfc?"

"I screamed, and then I… I hurled… or maybe it was the other way round… I can't say for sure ma'am, and then I just turned around and ran, out of the barrack into the street, and I ran into the two Sergeants. I told them what I'd seen. They told me stay where I was, and they took off running into the Barrack. After a while, Sergeant Kirkland brought me here, and we just sat and waited, and then the new Sergeant turned up and changed in to a Navy officer. Ma'am. I don't understand…"

"That's OK Pfc, don't worry about that. Now, how long did the sergeants leave you waiting in the street?"

"I don't know, ma'am. Not long, maybe five minutes…"

"Now is there anything else you can think of that you might need to tell us?"

"No, ma'am. I went into the shower, I saw the… Corporal Henderson, and I ran away. Pretty wimpish, I guess."

"No, Pfc, just human. We're trained to expect death on operations, and even in training, but nobody expects to find death in their shower room in the middle of the day. You have nothing to blame yourself for."

"But if I'd tried to… I might have been able to save her."

Julia exchanged a look with Harm, and then said, "No Pfc, you can't think that, Corporal Henderson was dead before you got back from the mess hall". Julia Klein made another couple of notes, and then passed the sheet of paper to Pfc Latimer.

"Now, I need you to sign… here and here, and add today's date."

Julia took the paper back and examined the signatures and then nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you Pfc, you can return to duty now, and if your Gunny or anyone else gives you grief for being adrift, you just refer 'em to me, OK?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you ma'am." Latimer stood assumed a brace and left faced leaving the room.

Harm stood and stretched his back, "Who do you want next? The sergeant or Meg?"

"We can get your partner's statement anytime. Let's have the sergeant in!" Julia suggested.

Duly called in, Sally Kirkland supplied her personal details and stated that her present billet was as a Defence Message System operator with Twelve Platoon, Support Battalion.

"Thank you Sergeant," Julia said, "Now please tell us what happened at about thirteen hundred hours today?"

"Well, ma'am I' left the mess hall together with… I don't know ma'am! I thought she was Sergeant Pierce, but she's an officer in the navy?" Sally's voice echoed with confusion and what seemed to the keenly listening Harm a sense of betrayal.

He glanced at Julia Klein and suggested, "How about, 'a person whom I believed at the time to be Sergeant Pierce, USMC, but whom I now know to be Commander Austin USN'?"

Julia nodded, "That works for me, how about you, Sergeant?"

"Yes, ma'am, if you so say," Sally replied stiffly.

"OK… so continue please, Sergeant…"

"We were walking back towards our Barrack when we heard a scream from Ten Platoon Barrack, and then the door opened and a Marine I know as Pfc Latimer came running from the building and almost ran in to us. She was in a distressed state, and when I asked her what was wrong, she claimed that there was a body in the showers of Ten Platoon Barrack. I called her to attention while Commander…" she floundered.

"Austin" Harm interjected quietly.

Sally flashed him a look of gratitude, "Commander Austin and I went to investigate. On entering the shower I saw a body hanging from the overhead beams. And I recognised the body as belonging to Corporal Henderson of Ten Platoon."

Sally Kirkland swallowed hard, and the blood seemed to drain from her face, but she bit her lip and after a moment's hesitation continued. "Commander Austin told me to stand by, while she climbed to the overhead, and then she told me to support the body while she cut it down. Once the body was down, I checked for a pulse and found none. I started CPR while Commander Austin called for help. The MPs turned up and then the Corpsmen. The Corpsman Petty Officer told me to stop CPR, the Corporal was dead. Commander Austin had me take Pfc Latimer away from the scene and bring her to our accommodation where we waited for you."

"Thank you, Sergeant. You said that Corporal Henderson's body was hanging, so her feet were clear of the floor?"

Sally Kirkland thought for a moment, trying to recall exactly what she had seen, "Yes, ma'am, her feet were swinging clear," she said slowly.

"Can you recall how high her feet were off the ground?"

Sally shrugged, "I couldn't say for sure, maybe eight inches, maybe a foot?"

"Right…" Julia made a couple of notes, "OK, thank you Sergeant, now just sign and date, here and here…" Julia waited until Sally Kirkland had signed and dated her statement and then spoke again.

"Thank you for your help, Sergeant, you can return to duty now. And if anyone gives you a hard time for being adrift, tell 'em to complain to me, at the Provost Marshall's office."

"Aye, aye, ma'am. Thank you ma'am!"

Harm and Julia watched her depart and then carefully closing the door behind them they walked outside to join Meg. "You alright, Austin?"

"I'm fine, Harm, thanks," Meg replied, "but this is one time when I wish you hadn't given up cigars!"

Harm raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

"Well… 'cos then I could have mooched on off you!"

"Nope, no can do, you're SOL on that one!"

"Figures…" Meg grinned, "Do you remember those hand-rolled jobs when we went to stay with your old pal from flight school - Jack?"

He thought back trying to figure out what she meant by her cryptic reference, "Oh yeah, Keeter!" then he grinned in turn, "You know, given Keeter's rep, I never could figure out why he didn't try to hit on you!"

"Well… there were two reasons for that."

"Go on."

"Well firstly I threatened to tell Maria Elena Carmelita Moreno Gutierrez if he did, and secondly he was too busy dodging the Dragon Lady!"

"She didn't!" Harm protested, fighting back a chuckle.

"I figure she'd given up on you for a while and was looking for an easier challenge," Meg grinned in return.

Julia Klein looked at the two of them suspiciously, "You have got to be making that up!"

"No, I swear it, the Dragon Lady was one very determined woman!" Meg replied.

"No, the name… I'm Mexican, and you've just got to be making that name up!" she accused Meg.

"No… I swear that was her name, she was a flight attendant for Iberia, and my old flight school and academy buddy got very friendly with her… for quite some time."

"Do you still keep in touch with her, Harm?"

"Yeah… I see her every now and then; she popped around a couple of years ago when she was on a layover." He grinned, "Seems she really likes my shower!"

The joking was stopped by Julia as she muttered, "Heads up!" and indicated a white van and an ambulance as they rounded the corner. An MP waved them to a halt, and Julia grinned as she saw the NCIS team dismount from the vehicles. "Mike Franks' crew," she said with obvious satisfaction. She turned to Meg, "He's a dinosaur, and will probably call you little lady or sweetheart, but he doesn't mean anything by it; it's just his way."

Meg smiled in return, "The first time he does, he gets a verbal warning. The second time he gets a red light, the third time het gets a formal written complaint lodged against him. I won't mean anything by it, it's just my way."

Meg turned towards the new arrivals and Julia shot Harm a concerned look, "She was joking, right?"

"If I was Mike Franks, I wouldn't want to bet my pension on it," Harm said, and although there was a touch of humour in his voice, there was absolutely none in his eyes. "So, you might want to drop a word of friendly advice in his ear. Just in case he's tempted to have a lapse back to the stone age!"

This time Julia shot a startled glance at Harm, but seeing no indication of any sort of humour, she quickened her pace and catching up with Meg, grasped her elbow, stopped her and spoke urgently to the blonde.

Harm walked past them and up to the group of NCIS agents, "Agent Franks, Gibbs," he nodded acknowledging the presence of the two men he knew rather than greeting them.

Mike Franks spat his cigarette out onto the sidewalk and then ground it under his foot, ignoring the glare from Gibbs as his actions offended the former Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant, "Why is it, Commander," he asked in his tobacco roughened voice, "that whenever I get called to a scene where a female has been assaulted, you're the first person that crawls out of the woodwork."

"Well Agent, that would be because I'm ahead of you in the game each time!"

Franks quirked an eyebrow, as he fished in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, "So… if you're that far ahead of the game, why don't you tell us what you got?"

"Well for a start, we don't know yet, whether the victim was assaulted and murdered, or whether she committed suicide. Other than that she's a Caucasian female in her early twenties, who was found hanging by her neck from the overhead in the shower room of that barrack.."

"She still there?"

"She is"

"Doc!"

An older man wearing a panama hat walked across from the ambulance to join them. "The body's in the shower room of Barrack there," Franks indicated the building with a jerk of his thumb.

The older man nodded and extended his hand to Harm, "Donald Mallard, ME," he introduced himself, "better known as Ducky," he added with a deprecating smile. His voice was quiet and carried a faint burr that after a few words Harm realised was a Scots accent.

"Before you begin your examination, Doctor, I best let you know that the body was moved."

"Damn! Why oh why, won't these people ever learn!" Mallard complained.

"Because, Doctor," Megan interrupted him, and Harm had never heard her sound so icily angry, "She was hanging by the neck, and I thought it was worth a try to cut her down and attempt CPR!"

"Oh, yes, of course! You must forgive me, my dear, but I get to so many of these scenes where evidence has been destroyed by well-meaning but misguided attempts to render assistance!" Mallard excused himself with a sad, gentle smile

Meg blinked, "Apology accepted, doctor… but you really shouldn't call me that. My name's Megan Austin, Commander USN."

"Again, I can only apologise, and very humbly too… but you see I'm a product of my age and upbringing. Mother was always so very strict, you see. There was one time…"

"Ducky?" Agent Franks, with an air of weariness, interrupted what Harm was sure was going to prove to be a fascinating anecdote, "The body in the shower room?"

"What? Oh… oh, yes… of course. Come along Gerald!" The latter half of his comment was addressed to his assistant, a tall, powerful-looking young African American, who tucked a folding gurney under his arm and followed the doctor up the steps and into the building.

Franks watched the ME and his assistant disappear into the building and then turned to his team, "Gibbs, photographs, Owens, tag and bag and then sketch, let's go people!"

Agent Franks ground out his second cigarette since his arrival and coughed hoarsely. "Who found the body?" he demanded.

"A Pfc Latimer," Harm told him.

"Well where is he – or she?" Franks asked, remembering just in time that the body was in a female barrack.

"I took her statement and released her to duty." Julia Klein answered.

"You did what?" Franks asked incredulously.

"I released her back to duty. She stumbled across the body, screamed for help, and that is about all she can tell us for the moment. Mike, she's about nineteen years old, going on fifteen and scared and shocked. I'm going to give her twenty-four hours to recover, and then I'll re-interview her, you can sit in on the second interview if you want. Now, walk with me a minute…"

Julia led him away from the group for a few yards and it was obvious from her body language that she was saying something vehemently to the older agent. He turned and looked back at the group and appeared to be laughing at whatever Julia was saying, until she repeated herself, this time forcibly prodding him in the chest with a forefinger, hard enough at one point to make him take a step backwards.

On their return to the group, Mike Franks cast a thoughtful glance at Meg and said, "I understand that you were second in the scene Commander, and that you were the person who cut Corporal…"

"Henderson." Harm supplied.

"Thank you, Corporal Henderson's body down?"

"Yes."

"OK, I'll need a full statement off you a bit later, but if you'll just wait a bit I got some questions for you now…"

He was interrupted by the re-appearance of Doctor Mallard and Gerald as the manhandled the gurney down the steps. Once they reached level ground, Doctor Mallard rejoined the group by the van, and left his assistant to load Corporal Henderson's body, now enclosed in a black body-bag, into the ambulance.

"Well?" Mike Franks questioned the ME.

"Well, the time of death is about thirteen hundred hours, give or take half an hour. It's quite refreshing to have a fresh corpse; it makes it so much easier to determine these things."

"Cause of death, Ducky?" Mike Franks sounded as if he was growing irritable.

"Well preliminary findings seem to indicate death by asphyxiation, but of course I'll know more once I get the unfortunate girl on the slab. So if you'll excuse me?" Ducky gifted them all with a gentle smile, and lifting his hat to the ladies, turned and headed towards the ambulance, where as soon as he had climbed into the passenger seat Gerald turned on the ignition and the awkward vehicle moved off towards the base main entrance.

As Franks and Julia turned towards the barrack Harm and Meg moved to go with them, "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Franks demanded.

"To check out the crime-scene," Harm explained in a tone of reason.

"The hell you are!" Franks spat, swinging around and getting in Harm's face.

"Exactly, Agent Franks. Tell me, don't you people ever talk to each other? This is a joint investigation. If you need to, check with your operations people back in DC; in the meantime, get out of my way!"

For a second it looked like Franks was prepared to continue his dispute but then with an exclamation of disgust he spun away from Harm, with the warning "Just don't get in_ our_ way!"

The shower room seemed so much more wholesome without Corporal Henderson's presence, and although the atmosphere was subdued Owens and Gibbs were working quickly, quietly and as far as Harm could tell, and to his surprise, efficiently.

Julia Klein rummaged through one of the team's gear bags, eventually emerging with three pairs of latex gloves. Handing one pair each to Harm and Meg she said quietly, "Just don't touch anything until you're gloved up!" and drew on the third pair herself.

Gibbs was photographing the remains of the rope which was still attached to the cross beams in the overhead, and Megan moved to stand beside him, also looking up. "Unusual choice for a tie-off," she mused.

"Huh, how's that?" Gibbs asked in a surprised tone, lowering the camera and looking at the woman beside him.

"Clove hitch," Meg explained, "Normally used for things like securing small boats –or animals to vertical posts. You just make two loops, pass the one behind the other…"

"I know how to tie a clove hitch," Gibbs interrupted, "but why is this one a strange choice, it's a good non-slipping knot?"

"Because it's tied around the beam, there's no open end for it to slide on, which means you have to know how to tie the hitch properly, not just the quick and dirty way."

Gibbs eyed her measuringly, "Uh-huh, good point. But… how do you know so much about tying knots, Commander?"

"Well, I am navy." Meg teased him lightly, "and sailors are supposed to know these things, but we also use ropes and knots and piggin' strings back home to the ranch. Why," she declared with an assumption of open eyed innocence, "we've even been known to use a clove hitch to secure a roped steer to the saddle horn!"

Gibbs ' face split into a grin, revealing his normally hidden sense of humour. "I guess I asked for that!"

"I guess you did!"

Harm had now seen all of the crime that he wanted, so nodding to Julia and Meg, he led them outside. "Meg, we need to get over to the brig and check on those arrests that were ordered. Julia, you'll need to get an authorisation for a search of the First Sergeant's office… and maybe his quarters too, but I'll leave that up to you to decide."

"Now we've got to make sure that Booker and Santiago have the opportunity to speak to an attorney while we interview them, so we'll get that ball rolling, and we'll be back at oh nine hundred hours in the morning. In the meantime, if anything blows up, or you need to speak with us, you've got my cell 'phone number, right?"

"Yes, sir!"

Harm nodded, "It's been good working with you today Captain, and maybe once all this has settled down we can find time to just sit down and talk!"

"I'd like that sir. And now sir, by your leave?" Julia Klein snapped to attention and saluted.

Harm braced and with a brief nod returned her salute. Julia took a half-step to the rear, about faced and headed back to the shower room where Franks and his crew were still working.

"Just two more things, Harm, and then I'm all yours," Meg sighed.

"You wish!" Harm grinned, and then grinned more widely as Meg took in what he'd just said and her eyes and mouth opened in shock.

"Harmon Rabb!" she exclaimed, halfway between laughter and annoyance. "You are far too sharp for your own good, and one of these days that wit is going to get you into more trouble than you can handle."

"Aw, c'mon, Meg, you ought to know better than to leave me an opportunity like that… or was it done on purpose?"

"No it was not!" Meg pouted, "And if I ought not to give you that sort of opportunity, you ought not to take it!"

"But where would be the fun in that? Come on Meg, don't get mad, get even; now what two more things were you talking about?"

"Oh I'm going to get even alright Harmon Rabb!" Meg assured him her sense of humour overriding her annoyance, "maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon…"

"Yeah, yeah, promises!" Harm smirked.

"Oh, yeah, and I never made a promise I didn't intend to keep! But the two things I need to do… first I need to pack my gear from Twelve Platoon Barrack, and then I need to call in to Battalion HQ and tell them who I really am so that they don't start marking me, or Sergeant Pierce, as UA"

"Good points. Do you want me to wait for you, or should we just meet at Battalion HQ after you've handed them their heads?"

"I'm a big girl Harm, I can handle them, and… I really want to get the dust of this place off me…" she shrugged, "I hate investigating suicides… they're so depressing…"

"Do you really think it was a suicide, Megan?" Harm asked gently.

It was so unlike Harm to use the full form of her name in conversation that Meg stopped and turned to look at him, he eyes searching his face and seeing the same heart-sickness there that she felt. Disappointed perhaps that he had no comfort to offer her in this situation, she reached out and gently grasped his forearm, "Yes, Harm. This time I really do think it was suicide."

**Tuesday 13 March 2001, 1910hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (130010ZMar01)**

Harm closed the door behind him and turned to face into the room as Loren jumped to her feet from the couch and came towards him. She walked into his arms and put her face up for his kiss, which he dutifully placed on her lips.

Loren was about to complain, but some instinct stopped her and instead she leaned back against the circle of his arms and gazed up into his eyes. "It was a bad one, wasn't it?" she asked compassionately after looking deep into his eyes for long seconds.

"Yes, yes, it was," he admitted, as he slid his hands up from her waist and brought her into a deep hug against his chest, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder and his arms holding he firmly against him.

For some minutes they stood together, Harm taking some comfort from the feel and smell of her in his arms. Her softness and the light woodland flower perfume she used such a contrast to the sordid events of the day. After a while Loren raised her head, "I've made a start on dinner, and it just needs browning off in the oven, it'll take about twenty minutes, so why don't you go and grab a shower and get changed into something about less stiff and formal than Dress Blues?"

"Yeah, I'll do that. And on the assumption you've had a better day than I, you can tell me all about it while we eat!"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe the day I've had!" Loren said, hoping to bring some light back into his eyes.

"You can always try me," Harm suggested from the doorway to the bedroom, already halfway out of his uniform jacket.

"Oh, I intend to, Mister Sailor-Man," Loren quipped, feeling a glow of pleasure and pride that after only a few minutes with her, Harm's mood had already begun to lighten.

The stinging heat of the shower did much to wash away the feeling of dejection that had seized Harm in the aftermath to the day's events, and Loren's last minute decision to open a bottle of sparkling wine to accompany the fisherman's pie she'd made for dinner did more to restore Harm's usual spirits. But the thing that gave the coup de grace to his mood was the production, along with the after dinner coffee, of a bowl of Loren's home-made ice cream – in pickled cherry flavour.

Of course, the weird and wonderful lunchtime encounter with Colonel MacKenzie had to be told. And told it was in Loren's drollest manner and highlighting the comedic aspects of it – "And Harriet Sims looked like she'd swallowed a wasp!"

At length, ice-cream, coffee and anecdotes alike all finished a comfortable silence fell on Harm and Loren, as they sat snuggled on the couch, Loren's head once again burrowed into the hollow of Harm's shoulder, which by some miracle was just the right size for maximum comfort, while his left hand hung loosely down her back and rested gently on the curve of her hip, while his cheek rested against the top of her head, until Loren squirmed a little, pulling her head up and away from his shoulder.

"You OK, now sweetheart?" she murmured.

"Yeah, I started, feeling better the second I walked into through the door, now I feel like I'm human again."

"Oh… does that mean I can now get a better kiss?" she teased him.

"Oh, I think so," Harm replied, suiting his actions to words and dropping a gentle kiss on to her lips, a kiss which deepened as Loren's hand snaked up and around to the back of Harm's head and drew him further in towards her.

Eventually the need for air forced them apart, and Loren looked up at him a clear challenge in her smoky blue eyes. Harm saw and identified the challenge, and surging to his feet with Loren still in his arms, he grinned at her and said, "I hope your stamina levels are riding high, woman!"

"High enough to cope with anything you've got, sailor!"

"Yeah? Bring it on woman!"

Later in the quiet, warm darkness of their bedroom after an exhausted Loren had dropped off to sleep with the rhythm of Harm's heart pounding against her ear, he laid contemplating the velvet darkness. Amongst the questions roiling in his brain was the one that demanded to know how he had missed seeing what a beautiful, caring loving person she was for so long. Oh, and the other one: When are you going to stir your lazy six, and get a real-sized bed over here?


	28. Chapter 28

**28**

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0550hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC, (141050ZMar01)**

Although Harm awoke early, Loren had beaten him to the kitchen where she had made a start on breakfast, and Harm although knowing that he had the clock to beat, took a moment to lean on the bedroom door frame to watch her.

She hadn't yet made it to the bathroom, the emphasis this morning being on the need to get Harm out of the apartment and on his way to Quantico, via Anacostia to collet Megan. A result of Loren's prioritising was that her hair was still mussed, just held back off her face with a mismatched pair of barrettes and she was dressed, if that's what he wanted to call it, in one of his over-sized academy sweat shirts, the sleeves pulled up to her elbows, and a pair of knee length rugby socks that had collapsed somewhere about the region of her ankles, exposing her legs from mid-thigh downwards, and in Harm's not-quite-so-humble opinion, she looked absolutely adorable.

Feeling his eyes on her she stopped stirring whatever she'd got in the pot, and turned towards him, "What?" she demanded.

Harm grinned, levered himself away from the doorframe and walked – no stalked, she corrected herself – towards her. He wore only a pair of pale blue boxers and the sight of him made her knees feel like jello, her breath catch in her throat and made her wish that it was a Saturday morning.

By the time she had come to that conclusion, he was in her personal space and using a long, strong finger under her chin to tilt her face up for a good morning kiss. As they kissed Harm realised his mistake, Loren had already made it to the bathroom, at least long enough to brush her teeth. A conclusion she reinforced with a little moue of distaste, an "Ugh! Morning breath – go!" and a gentle shove in the direction of the bathroom, but her smile robbed both words and deed of any offense, and Harm gave a good-natured, sloppy salute in return for her instructions and a lazily drawled, "aye, aye, ma'am" together with a look so meaningful that Loren felt herself blush and wish once again that it was a weekend!

By the time a freshened and shaved Harm emerged from the bathroom – still only clad on boxers, and with a few droplets of water clinging to his collar bones – Loren had finished preparing breakfast, and only by exercising a supreme dose of will power had prevented herself from jumping Harm's bones on the spot and licking those droplets off his chest and shoulders, as she watched him finish drying off and then dress in pants, shirt and shoes before joining her at the breakfast bar.

"Oatmeal with sliced banana, and there's honey and/or yoghurt if want," she said proudly.

"M'mm…" he added a generous dollop of natural yoghurt to the oatmeal and stirred it in, "That'll do nicely, but…"

"But what?" Loren said half suspiciously.

"But what would I want with honey, when you're here?"

On top of the tension that Loren had been feeling, the sheer corniness of his line, although she acknowledged that he meant it sincerely, was too much for her to bear, and her reaction was not at all what Harm had expected. Loren took one wide-eyed, disbelieving look at him and burst into peals of laughter.

Harm dropped his spoon into his oatmeal and glared at her in offended dignity, "What?" he demanded, "What was so damn funny? I try to pay you a compliment and…"

Loren mopped her streaming eyes and as her laughter started to die away she gasped, "Oh, Harm… it's just… that, it was such a sorry attempt…"

But the look of baffled hurt on his face was too much for her and she collapsed once again into helpless laughter.

"Fine!" he said flatly, getting up from his stool, "If all I am is a figure of fun, we'll talk about this later, when you're prepared to be civilised!" He snatched his jacket off its hanger, and grabbed for cover off the peg on the back of the door.

"Oh… Harm… wait!" Loren implored him, her eyes still awash with tears of laughter.

He turned back towards her, "What?"

As he turned she was in his personal space, her arms going around his neck as she pulled his head down towards her. He grasped her arms, intending to free himself, but before he could act, her lips were soft and sweet on his and her tongue was flicking at his bottom lip. With a helpless groan, he surrendered to her, but when they broke for air, his eyes were still a stormy green and he muttered, "This isn't over! We are going to talk about this later!"

"Yes, OK, we will if you want to, but while you're grumping all day, just remember that I still love you – even when you are being impossible!"

"Me, being impossible? Why…"

Whatever else he might have been going to say was lost when Loren kissed him again. "Go on," she said gently, her hands still resting on his shoulders, "Go. I'll see you when you get back from Quantico!"

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0714hrs EST, I-95 South, and I-495 West, Franconia, Washington, DC, (141214ZMar01)**

Megan leaned back in the passenger seat of the dark blue sedan, waiting until Harm had negotiated the interchange that would put them fairly on the I-95 South. She wasn't about to distract him from his driving at a point where he needed all his concentration, but she wasn't about to put up with behaviour for very much longer either. He'd been right on time at Anacostia VOQ, and almost unheard of occurrence, but he'd barely acknowledged her sunny "Good morning Harm!" and he hadn't said a word to her ever since he'd set the car in motion.

Megan watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye, his whole body radiated tension, his shone white as he gripped the steering wheel, and his lower lip was shoved forward in a definite pout, which might have looked cute on a four year old, had exactly the opposite effect on a forty year old.

"Alright," she sighed, "C'mon – give!"

"Give what?" Harm demanded.

"Give me a reason for that Mister Stone Face of the Year look you're wearing!"

"It's nothing, Meg! It's fine, I'm fine!"

Yeah, the hell it is and the hell you are, Meg thought, and took the opportunity to examine him more closely… he did look a bit tired… and that gave her a clue. Harmon Rabb was never what might be called a morning person, yet he had shown up at the VOQ bang on time. Meg at that point was willing to bet a sizeable sum that he'd overslept, missed breakfast, and more importantly, he'd missed at least half of his morning caffeine booster. Satisfied she had plumbed the depths of his disgruntlement, she kept her eyes peeled for a sign, and not more than five minutes later her prayers were answered.

"Harm! Pull over – there into that truck stop!" she almost yelled at him.

Startled by the tone of command in Meg's voice, Harm did as he was told without argument, signalling to move into the right hand land and then into the off-ramp for the truck stop, and then following Meg's instructions, he slotted the sedan into a parking bay near the diner's door.

"I shan't be long!" Meg threw over her shoulder as she unclipped her seat belt and exited the car. She was as good as her word, returning in under five minutes with a cardboard tray holding two large cardboard, plastic-capped containers, which gave of the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Meg slid into her seat and looked carefully at the containers before selecting one, "That's yours," she said almost unnecessarily, indicating the other container with a nod of her head.

Harm hadn't particularly felt in need of a coffee, but he wasn't about to turn down one that had been bought for him, "Thanks. But what brought about this urgent desire for coffee?" he asked.

"You did," Meg told him bluntly, "You've been crouched behind that wheel with a face that would turn milk sour. You said there was nothing wrong, so I figured because you had an early start you missed breakfast!"

Harm had the grace to look sheepish, "No… I had breakfast… and that was the trouble… Loren got up early to make me oatmeal, and then I paid her a compliment and she laughed…" he tailed off, carefully not looking at Meg as he belatedly realised just how pathetic he sounded.

"What happened, what did you say?" Meg asked sympathetically.

"Well she'd put some yoghurt and honey on the table, to add to the oatmeal…"

Meg nodded encouragingly.

"So I took some yoghurt, and said I didn't need any honey, because she was the sweetest thing that ever…" Then to his chagrin Megan threw her head back and laughed.

She didn't just laugh. She roared with laughter, until the tears rolled down the side of her face

"Oh come on Meg!"" Harm snapped "it's not that damn funny!"

"Yes… yes… it is!" Meg wailed helplessly, "But it's not… just funny… it's so corny too!"

"Corny?" Harm exploded.

Meg waved him off with one hand, the other pressed to her chest as she fought for control over her amusement. Finally when she had regained some composure, she mopped her eyes, and looked across at her fuming partner. "Oh come on, Harm, you must admit, it is corny – and it's so corny, it's that which makes it so funny!"

"Corny, huh?" he asked

"As Kansas in August," she confirmed, unable to prevent herself from bursting into another outbreak of giggles.

Harm continued to scowl at her for long moments, but he was never able to resist Meg's smile for long, and at last with an exasperated shake of his head as he felt his lips begin to twitch he growled, "OK, let's get this show on the road – or we're gonna be late!"

Megan looked at him in wide-eyed astonishment; Harmon Rabb was worried about being late? For an unsettling moment Meg felt as if the earth had tilted on its access, but then as she caught the glimpse of amusement in Harm's eye, she realised she had just been subtly had.

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0800hrs EST, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (131315ZMar01)**

Harm eased the sedan into a parking bay outside the brig, next to a white van with the DoN decals and "NCIS" in blue lettering along the sides. "Looks like the rent-a-cops are here," he grunted in disparaging tones.

"Harm," Megan said, drawing his name out in warning, "Play nice."

Harm flashed her a wry grin, "Yes, mommy."

Meg sniffed and rolled her eyes, even as Harm held open the door for her and stepped back to allow her to pass through before him into the temporarily crowded front office. Not only were the three MP NCOs behind the desk but two Marine Corps Officers in Service A's as well as NCIS Agent Gibbs and Captain Klein. Seeing Harm enter and taking in the number of rings on his sleeve, the ranking MP, a Master Sergeant called out "Attention on Deck!" the three Marines braced to attention, and even Gibbs started to react to the order, but again, as he had done during the confrontation with the head nurse at Bethesda, he just about successfully prevented himself from assuming a brace.

Harm nodded in satisfaction, "As you were, please. Captain Klein, Agent Gibbs," he said politely by way of greeting. Then turning his attention to the MP Master Sergeant, he said, "Commander Rabb and Commander Austin, from JAG HQ we're here to interview First Sergeant Santiago and Sergeant Booker."

The slightly older of the two Marine officers stepped forward, "Good morning, sir, I'm Major Devereux, and this is Captain Chavez, we're both from the Corps SJA's office here on base. I'm defending the First Sergeant, and Captain Chavez is defending Sergeant Booker."

"Good morning, Major," Harm offered his hand in turn to each of the Marine officers, and then turned his attention back to the MPs.

"Master Sergeant, when Santiago and Booker were brought in, did they have their article thirty-one rights explained to them?"

"Yessir! Neither of them would say anything until they had representation."

Harm nodded, "Good. Now, Major Devereux, have you been told what charges your client is facing?"

Devereux nodded, and Harm turned his gaze on Chavez, "Yessir!"

"Can we get on with it, Rabb?" Gibbs said in a voice of weary exasperation, "I've got all this noted."

Harm nodded, "Yeah? Well I just want to make sure it's done right – this time!"

Gibbs stiffened, and his eyes narrowed, "Just what do you mean by that, Commander?"

"Well… I'd say that was pretty obvious, wouldn't you, Special Agent Gibbs?" Harm replied with heavy emphasis on the other man's title.

Meg and Julia exchanged swift despairing glances, while Devereux looked quickly at Gibbs and Harm, wondering if the antipathy between navy investigator and navy attorney could be exploited to his client's benefit.

The MP Master Sergeant, embarrassed by the hostility that had suddenly flared, turned to his subordinates, "Alright! Wheel 'em out! Santiago in interview one, Booker in interview three – move!"

Meg stepped up to where Harm and Gibbs were still almost toe to toe and spoke in an urgent undertone, "Harm, Agent Gibbs, this isn't helping anyone. Can we just get on with the job – please?"

Recalled to some sense of decorum, Harm flushed, and stepped back. "You're right, Commander. My apologies to you – and to Captain Klein."

"Yes, sir," Meg replied, "So why don't Agent Gibbs and I interview Santiago – I really want Santiago, Agent Gibbs, and leave Booker to you and Captain Klein?"

Harm gave Gibbs a final glare – which was returned with interest – and stepped back. Drawing a deep breath, he centred himself and with a nod said "Captain Klein, if you're ready?"

"Yes, sir!"

Harm nodded again, "Interview three, I think you said, Master Sergeant?"

"Yessir!"

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0810hrs EST, Interview Room #3, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (141310ZMar01)**

Interview Three was a cheerless grey-painted room about twelve feet square with a narrow, perhaps eight inch high window, almost at ceiling height running the length of one wall. The room was unfurnished with the exception of a table and four wooden chairs. Harm, Julia Klein and Captain Chavez took three of the seats and waited for the MPs to bring Sergeant Booker in for his interview.

Once seated Booker stared across the table at Harm and Julia Klein, while Harm took the opportunity afforded to conduct his own visual examination. Booker was physically imposing, at about six feet tall, he may have lacked Harm's extra inches in height, but he more than made up for that lack in the breadth of his shoulders. Glancing at Booker's hands as they lay on the table Harm noted that his knuckles were a mass of scar tissue, matched by similar tissue where his right eyebrow should have been.

"I am Commander Rabb, Navy JAG Corps, and this is Captain Klein, the USMC IG's liaison to NCIS. Do you understand that Sergeant?"

Booker grinned, "Yessir! Clear as day, sir!"

"I understand that you have had your Article Thirty One rights read and explained to you?"

"Article Thirty One, sir?" A puzzled frown appeared on Booker's forehead.

"Yes. You have been told that you need not speak with us, and that if you do speak with us, then you have the right to an attorney being present while we speak with you?"

"Oh, yessir!" Booker agreed enthusiastically, and turning grinned at the Marine Officer sat next to him, "that's Captain Chavez, here. He's my attorney," then Bookers face fell, "But why do I need an attorney, sir? Am I in trouble?"

Harm blinked, "Sergeant, don't you understand that you are in serious trouble? Trouble that could land you in Leavenworth and see you kicked out of the Corps?"

Booker's "But I ain't done nothing wrong!" was a plaintive wail, almost like a small boy who didn't understand why he was being punished.

Harm looked across at Julia Klein in some perplexity before he looked back across the table at Chavez, "Haven't you explained to the Sergeant what he's facing?"

"Yes, sir, I have… several times… but he doesn't seem to quite grasp the concept." Harm looked at the Marine sharply; he wasn't quite sure whether Chavez was as perplexed as he, or whether he was subtly taunting the Navy JAG.

"OK, Sergeant Booker" Harm turned his attention back to the prisoner, "Let's take this one step at a time. Over the last year, you have been arrested nine times for fighting, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Each time you were arrested you were released the next day by the orders of the Sergeant Major, correct?"

"Yessir, 'cepting a coupla times I got the day wrong and got arrested on a Friday, so that I hadda stay in the brig 'til Monday."

"OK… Now each time you were fighting, you hit someone, right?"

Booker's face reflected even more confusion, "Yeah… of course, sir."

"Well each time you hit someone, Sergeant, you were committing a crime. It's called assault consummated by battery, contrary to Article One Two Eight of the UCMJ, and each offence can be punished by six months in Leavenworth, forfeiture of all pay and allowances and a Bad Conduct Discharge. Now, if the judge thinks it's OK, he can let the sentences be served at the same time. If he thinks it's necessary then he can stipulate that the sentences be served one after the other, and nine six moth sentences add up to four and one half years in Leavenworth."

"But that ain't right, sir!"

"Why not, Sergeant?" Julia Klein had shot Harm a quick glance, and he interpreting it correctly, sat back and let her take over the questions.

"'Cause I was only doing what I was told to do, ma'am!"

Chavez looked startled, while Harm sat back in his chair satisfied, and Julia Klein looked puzzled. Chavez looked across at Harm and said, "Could I have a couple of moments alone with my client, sir?"

Harm nodded and stood, "Of course, Captain!" and with Julia he crossed to the locked door and rapped twice. The MP Sergeant allowed them into the hallway and closed and locked the door behind them taking up a 'Parade Rest' position in front of the door. Harm and Julia moved a few paces along the hallway and had an urgent low-pitched conversation.

"What the hell do you make of that, Julia?"

"Damned if I know, sir. I can't make up my mind if he's as simple as he makes out, or whether he's trying to run a temporary insanity bluff."

Harm shook his head, "That same thought had crossed my mind. I think I'm going to get a Judge's order and have a psych eval done on him…"

"But if he is congenitally unfit to stand trial… how did he pass a basic psych eval for enlistment?"

"I looked at his service record last night," Harm mused, "There's nothing on his page eleven at all, but for someone to be that…"

"Clueless?" Julia suggested.

Harm shot her a look, but there was no hint of either mockery or amusement in her eyes. "Well I was going to say naïve, but clueless works. But if he were that naïve, how come there's nothing in his SRB, not even as a non-punitive letter… surely he must have fallen foul of somebody with less patience along the line…"

"He's LAV School, isn't he?"

"Yeah… what's your thinking?"

"Have you ever ridden in one, Sir? People get hurt just riding in those damn things, they bounce around inside, knocking their heads against the interior of the vehicle… It might be worth getting a judge's order for his medical records too…"

"Yeah… and a CT scan… good thinks Julia…"

"In the meantime…?"

"In the meantime, we keep the pressure on. I'm pretty certain that Booker was ordered by the Sergeant Major to carry out punishment beatings, and if that is the case, I want the Sergeant Major. Are you familiar with Webster's play, 'The Duchess of Malfi'?"

"No… why…?"

"Practically the whole first act is taken up with a diatribe against corrupt leadership; it doesn't matter, for example, how pure the water is, it takes only one drop of poison to foul the whole fountain – especially if that poison is at the well-spring…"

"And the Sergeant Major is that well-spring?"

"He's got to be! How else do we have Sergeants running around the battalion beating up on other marines, or the illegal use of EMI and Incentive PT, especially when they're applied in such a discriminatory fashion against female marines? No, you're not going to convince me that it could happen undetected on so large a scale in a battalion without the Sergeant Major being aware of it. And if I can link him to Corporal Henderson's death, I'm going to do my damnedest to have him charged with Manslaughter through Culpable Neglect, as well as DOD and anything else I can throw at him!"

"A bit extreme, sir?"

"No, I don't agree. So we go back in and see if we can cut a deal for Booker in return for him giving up the Sergeant Major."

Julia looked at him dubiously, but even with her limited knowledge of him she saw enough to convince her that his mind was made up, and she remembered, too, her husband's description of the Commander as a bulldog. As it was she didn't have too much time to reflect as the MP Sergeant outside the interview room door abandoned his Parade Rest position and opened the grille in the door, only to turn towards Harm and call out, "Sir, the Captain says he's ready to continue, sir!"

Harm nodded to Julia and with a "Thank you, Sergeant" from Julia they both re-entered the interview room and took their seats at the table.

"Well, Captain, is your client prepared to plead guilty?" Harm asked in a cold voice.

"No, sir… but we are prepared to hear an offer…?"

"Right. Is your client prepared to tell us who told him to go and fight the other Marines?"

"He is."

"And plead guilty to all charges?"

"No, not yet. But, he is willing to submit to a psychiatric evaluation to ascertain whether he is fit to stand trial."

"Alright then, we'll take confinement off the table, and if the psych eval shows he is not fit to stand trial, then he takes adsep on psych grounds. So, the sixty four thousand dollar question; Sergeant Booker, who told you to pick fights with those other nine Marines?"

Booker looked towards Chavez for reassurance, who nodded his head, "Go ahead, Sergeant, tell the Commander, who ordered you to pick the fights."

Booker licked his lips, suddenly looking much younger than his twenty six years, "It was the Sergeant Major, sir!"

Harm kept his face expressionless, although internally he was rejoicing. "That would be Sergeant Major Conlan, at Headquarters, Support Battalion?"

"Yes, sir."

Harm nodded his head in satisfaction, he now had the reason he need to arrest the Sergeant Major. That arrest would, of course rock the battalion, hell, probably the whole MCCDC to the core, and Harm had an idea that contrary to the laws of physics that in this case the crap would roll uphill as well as down.

He turned to Chavez, "OK. We'll get that deal down in writing and through to you by secure tomorrow, just get it signed and back to me at JAG HQ ASAP." He paused, "I don't suppose I need to tell you that there's going to be an almighty shit-storm over this?"

Chavez was glumly shuffling papers together preparatory to replacing them in his briefcase, "No, sir… Dammit! I could almost wish I was back on a line officer's tour!"

Harm cocked a surprised eyebrow, "Do you really mean that?"

"Honestly, sir, I don't know. It's a high profile case, and the effects on the career of anyone in the Corps involved in it could go either way. It might be that it could be seen as necessary house-cleaning, or it could be seen as betraying the code."

Harm nodded, thankful that the latter aspect wasn't something he needed to worry about.

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0810hrs EST, Interview Room #1, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (141310ZMar01)**

Gibbs allowed Major Devereux to enter the interview room ahead of himself and Megan, taking the opportunity to say firmly, "This is my interview, Commander; you will sit, observe and keep silent."

Megan's temper flared, "The hell I will Special Agent Gibbs! Just in case you'd forgotten," and she laid heavy emphasis on the word, "this is a joint JAG/NCIS investigation. Now, if you can't work with that, then I strongly suggest you get your ass back to the Navy Yard and let Director Morrow send a professional in your place! I have questions for Santiago based on events of which you have no knowledge, I am not a jg any more, and I will not let NCIS Rent a Cops shut me out of an investigation again!"

Gibbs went white with anger at the suggestion that he was not being professional in his approach to the case, "You forget yourself, Commander, you are speaking to a Federal Agent!"

"Yes, I am, but a Federal Agent who is also a former Marine, and one in my opinion who should never have been permitted to investigate this case in the first place!"

"Are you insinuating that I would not carry out a thorough, unbiased investigation into this case?"

"I'm not sure, Agent Gibbs, but my own previous experience of NCIS investigation techniques leaves me with very little faith in their abilities or integrity, and even if I am in error, just the appearance of impropriety could be sufficient to have this case thrown out of court. And now there is a dead marine, a dead female marine, linked to the man we are about to interview, I have no intention of letting him slip through our fingers because of some ridiculous notion of Semper Goddam Fi!" Meg paused for breath, and then another barbed thought occurred to her, "Or are you going to try and make Commander Rabb the guilty party again!"

Gibbs maintained an impassive expression, but his thoughts flashed back to the fiasco that had been the initial investigation into the MacKenzie case three weeks or so ago. His comment to Agent Owens at the time of their less than glorious retreat from Bethesda had been right on target. Mike Franks had set him up, having somehow found out that Rabb had a solid alibi, and when Gibbs had called him on it, he'd coughed, a deep chested smoker's cough, and grinned, "Damned right I set you up, Probie; teach you not to go off at half-cock just because you don't like someone's face or attitude."

Megan on the other hand was remembering events of years ago, when Agent Turkey had falsified a forensics report and had arrested Harm for the murder of Diane Schonke. And that, she recalled only too well, was when she had been sent on a wild goose chase by the then Commander Krennick. She had assumed then that Krennick had connived with Turkey to allow him to arrest Harm, and had thought it was it was just sour grapes on Krennick's part because Harm had resisted all her blandishments and attempts to get him into her bed.

The arrest had failed within half an hour of Meg's return to the Seahawk. Diane had signed out as she'd gone ashore at oh four twenty hours, and had been discovered in her car shot to death later that morning, but given the distance between DC and Norfolk it would have been impossible for Rabb to have killed Diane at oh four thirty hours and get back to Washington in time to be given orders to investigate the shooting and pick up Meg, And then when challenged on the forensics, Turkey had grudgingly admitted that the weapon that had been found had not been yet tested for fingerprints, and was, moreover, a nine millimetre automatic, while Diane had been shot with a thirty eight calibre revolver.

Meg was about to continue her protest over Gibbs' attitude when she remembered her own words of just a few moments ago, that 'this isn't helping!' Embarrassed now by her response to Gibbs, she felt the blood rose to her cheeks, and sidestepping the NCIS Agent, she stalked into the interview room and took a seat at the table, where Major Devereux shot her a not unsympathetic glance, and murmured, "Aggravating sonofabitch, ain't he?"

A silently outraged Gibbs took his seat and they waited for the MP to escort First Sergeant Santiago into the room, and then exit, locking the door behind him.

Gibbs took a portable cassette recorder from his pocket and placed it on the table. Meg eyed the device askance, and placed a legal pad and a couple of pencils on the table in front of her. Without giving Gibbs a chance to speak, she started the interview.

"First Sergeant Santiago, I am Commander Austin, Navy JAG Corps, this is Special Agent Gibbs, of NCIS and you know Major Devereux?"

Santiago had felt a flush of recognition as soon as he has seen the blonde officer, but had been unable to place her, but as she spoke, her West Texas drawl sparked a memory.

"But… you're… you're that new Sergeant… Sergeant Pierce!" he objected.

"Yes, let's talk about Sergeant Pierce for a minute or First Sergeant…"

"Is this necessary Commander?" Gibbs interrupted.

"Yes, it is." Meg said flatly and then returned her attention to the surly Marine sat opposite to her. "Tell me, First Sergeant, what is the uniform protocol for Marines rotating in to MCCDC?"

"Are you going somewhere with this counsellor?" Major Devereux interrupted Meg.

"I believe so, Major, if between the two of you," she looked at Devereux and then at Gibbs, "will just stop interrupting. I think you'll find we get where I'm going that much quicker! Now, first Sergeant, the protocol?"

"Personnel rotating in are to report in Service Alpha uniforms." Santiago grudgingly admitted.

"And what was Sergeant Pierce wearing when she reported to you?"

"Service Alphas uniform."

"I see, so why did you reprimand Sergeant Pierce for being out of uniform?"

"Uh… she wasn't… she didn't present a… properly groomed and uniform appearance."

"So, why didn't you reprove her for that, instead of telling her to report back to your office, properly dressed in BDUs?"

"Uh… well, I didn't want to seem to be too much of a hard-ass on her first day, so I let her improper rooming standards slide, and just told her to get with the programme." Santiago brazened it out.

Meg made a few notes before she continued, "Corporal Henderson," she noted that Santiago shifted uneasily in his seat when she mentioned the dead woman's name. "Did she appear improperly dressed when she reported in?"

"Exactly!" Santiago seemed relieved that the blonde officer had grasped the concept, "but she was a total screw-up, she didn't get with the programme. She was weak, a poor Marine. She never got the message."

Meg felt her anger begin to rise as the NCO tried to shift the blame for Corporal Henderson's death on to her.

Gibbs, mad as he was at Megan, felt a wave of disgust, as he intervened, "Blame the victim? Is that your strategy, counsellor?" he directed his question at Major Devereux.

"It's not a route I'd want to take, but I have to find a defence for my client, and if that means creating reasonable doubt, by casting aspersions elsewhere, then hey, I'll do it."

Meg tied to ignore the wave of nausea that swept over her and continued questioning Santiago, "And how long did you persist in your efforts to get Corporal Henderson with the programme?"

"Well, I guess from the day after she rotated in until yesterday."

"Including Sundays?"

Santiago shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. War fighting is a seven day a week task Commander, it doesn't have weekends."

"But Henderson wasn't war fighting, was she Santiago, she was a truck driver!" Gibbs reminded him.

"Yeah, she was today… but she coulda gotten orders for anywhere at any time. It is a Marine's duty to be ready at all times!"

"What form of persuasion did you use in order to get Corporal Henderson back with the programme, First Sergeant?"

"A mixture of Incentive PT and EMI, you know; hardening her physically and getting her on top line in her MOS."

Meg looked at her notes, "From the day she rotated in until the day she died; that's fifty eight days First Sergeant!"

"Well I said she was having difficulties, she musta been a slower learner than I thought."

"And that was true of the other eighteen women in your EMI squad, was it First Sergeant?"

"If they were due for EMI, then I guess so."

"But of all the men in your company, only four were on EMI?"

Santiago's face showed shock that Meg had those figures at her fingertips, but it was a fleeting expression, and his face settled back into what Meg was beginning to realise was an habitual expression, a combination of smirk and disdainful sneer.

"Yeah, well, I guess the men are quicker learners!"

"First Sergeant, what do you know USMC policy on both Incentive PT and EMI?"

"There's some paper floating around somewhere suggesting that it shouldn't be done, but if it is necessary then do it."

"No, first Sergeant that are two pieces of paper, Marine Corps Orders, in fact, that state quite clearly, that Incentive PT is confined strictly to Boot Camp and is to be regulated by properly trained Dis. The other Marine Corps Order clearly states that EMI may only be awarded for a maximum period of three days, which may not include the Sabbath Day of the individual's religion, and may only to be awarded outside working hours by a CO or OIC. NCOs may only award EMI during working hours and it must have instructional value. So for Corporal Henderson, a truck driver, appropriate EMU would have been extra tuition in vehicle maintenance, not being choused out of the mess-hall so that she doesn't have time to eat her breakfast!"

"But that's just politically correct bullshit! Everyone knows that's only being said to satisfy the mommas and freaking bleeding hearts!"

"No First Sergeant, they are not just politically correct bulldust, each and every word on those orders," Gibbs paused before he repeated, "orders, signed by the CMC means exactly what it says. Which is why you are being charged with twenty three violations of Article 92 of the UCMJ, Failure to Follow a Regulation or Order, twenty three charges of Maltreatment under Article 93 of the UCMJ and the same number of charges for Dereliction of Duty also under Article 92 of the UCMJ!"

"And" Meg continued, "If a link can be established between your maltreatment of Corporal Henderson and her death, then an additional charge of Negligent Homicide."

"Hey, you can't do that!" Santiago protested, "It wasn't my fault that she couldn't raise her standard to a satisfactory level!"

"Apart from your culpable negligence in failing in your duty of care to her, you should have noted that she graduated from Parris Island third in her platoon of forty four. In her three years in the Corps, until she arrived here, her fitreps had her marked down as 'Outstanding' and that her previous CO had recommended her for the ECP! So don't give me any more horse pucky about Corporal Henderson being an unsatisfactory Marine!" Megan blazed at him.

Santiago suddenly seemed to deflate, "But… he… she… he said that she…"

"Who said what, Santiago?" Gibbs asked quietly.

Santiago literally gave himself a shake, "Nothing!" he replied in a firmer voice, "And I ain't got nothing further to say anyway, so get me out here. Besides, what she did," he pointed to Megan, "was entrapment! Guard!"

The MP NCO opened the door and Santiago stood, "Take me back to my cell," he demanded.

The MP looked at Gibbs and Megan, both of whom nodded their heads. The door remained open as Santiago was led along the hallway to the cell block at the rear of the complex and the three remaining in the room started to gather their papers together. Devereux paused in what he was doping and looked across the table at Megan, "You weren't being serious about the manslaughter charge, were you?" he asked hopefully.

"Damn serious," Megan replied, fixing him with her bright blue eyes, "And if I thought I could make it stick, I'd go for Manslaughter due to Culpable Negligence, but that's a bit of a stretch – at the moment!"

Devereux continued to look at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then with a brief smile, he nodded his farewells to both of them.

Gibbs gave him a few seconds to get out of earshot, and then turned to Megan with the beginnings of a smile twitching his lips, "Well, I was wrong about you," he admitted with a graceless shrug, "You're quite something, after all!"

"For a woman?" Meg demanded belligerently.

"Hell, no, Gibbs grinned, "for a JAG!"

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 0930hrs EST, MCB Quantico Brig, Quantico, VA, (131430ZMar01)**

Harm and Julia Klein were waiting at the duty desk in the Brig's reception area, and both sighed with relief that wouldn't have much longer to wait when Major Devereux hurried past them, scarcely bothering to acknowledge their presence.

Harm turned to greet Meg and barely bothering to acknowledge Gibbs' presence asked her, "How did it go"

Meg shrugged and grimaced, "Not too well… he kinda admitted to there being someone else behind the scenes, but he wouldn't give up a name."

Harm managed a grin, "Well, we did a little better than that; we got Booker to give up the Sergeant Major!"

Gibbs grinned wolfishly "Good work!" he enthused, and then saw Ham looking at him in surprise and he asked defensively, "What? Hey, I've already had my butt chewed by the Commander here," he indicated Meg, "for being too much of a gung-ho Jarhead!" He paused, "Look, Rabb we don't like each other. It happens. Sometimes you have to work with people you don't like. Commander Austin here doubted my ability to work this case in a professional manner because I'm a Marine. But Captain Klein is a Marine and I don't hear either of you doubting her."

"Well, maybe that's because we've worked with Captain Klein before. Or maybe it's just because she hasn't tried to fit me up for a murder and an assault."

"OK, Rabb… we can discuss that later if you really want to push it… but for the present will you take my word that what I've seen and heard were this last twenty four hour really ticks me off. The people that did these things aren't fit to wear the same uniform that I wore with pride. They're a disgrace to that uniform, and I want them out of it and into prison fatigues as soon as it can be done!"

Harm looked dubiously at Gibbs, and then cocked an eyebrow in Meg's direction. She gave an almost imperceptible twitch of her mouth and a nod of her head. Harm drew himself up took a breath, and extended his hand to the former Marine. Gibbs cautiously took his hand, and after a perfunctory grip and squeeze the two released each other.

"Well, whaddaya know," Gibbs said sardonically, "this might just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, after all!"

"Or it might not!" Harm cut in, in much the same tone, leaving Meg and Julia to gaze at each other utterly baffled by the sheer amount of testosterone in the air.

"OK," Julia Klein stepped forward to fill what looked like turning into an awkward gap, "what next?"

Harm grinned, "I say let's really put the cat amongst the pigeons. Let's go and arrest the Sergeant Major!"

The two women look at each other, Meg raising a questioning eyebrow and receiving a confirmatory, "We do have enough to hold him," in return.

"Just hold on there a minute," Gibbs said, as he pulled a cell 'phone from his pocket and frowned at the instrument as if it was the work of the devil, "Let me get hold of Franks, first!" He pressed a couple of buttons, held the 'phone to his ear and then frowned at it before giving it a shake and holding back to his ear. Julia raised her eyes heavenwards while Meg and Harm stared with fascination at the pantomime before them. But to their surprise, Gibbs' tough and ready methods seemed to have worked.

"Boss?"

"_Yeah."_

"We got the goods we're on our way to Battalion HQ now to arrest the Sergeant Major."

"_OK, I'll tell 'em!"_

"What was that all about, Gibbs?" Julia asked.

"Franks is at Battalion HQ now, with the Deputy Commander MCCDC, who is about to relieve the CO of his command – well suspend him from it anyway. And we are going to arrest the Sergeant Major!" He grinned triumphantly, "On me!"

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1224hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141724ZMar01)**

Carolyn looked up as a sharp tap on her doorjamb broke her concentration, but on seeing the identity of her visitor, she smiled, "Come on in Loren, take a pew!"

Loren collapsed with a weary air and exhaled with a loud puff.

"That bad?" Carolyn said sympathetically.

Loren managed a sick grin, "Terri didn't tell us the half of it!" she exclaimed forcefully. "The woman's a nightmare!"

"Oh?" Carolyn asked cautiously.

"Yeah 'oh'. There's no doubt Carolyn that she's a genius. I mean that, a real honest to God genuine genius. She must have an IQ of more than two hundred!"

"That's impossible, IQs don't go that high!" Carolyn protested.

"No? Well, maybe they should," snapped Loren, "but she's got no social skills at all. For example, she despises the military and although I was at the Smithsonian as her guest in some sort of weird way, she not only didn't make me feel welcome, but she made no secret that she thinks the military are a bunch of beetle-browed Neanderthals. You can imagine how well that would go down with a panel!"

"Well, you've met some of our less… gifted enlisted in your time as an attorney, surely Loren."

"Of course I have, but that's just my point. When you deal with some of our less than gifted clients, you have to make allowances for them. She won't, and she lumps all of us, BS degrees and law degrees notwithstanding, all as lower forms of animal life. She talks down to everybody – including her boss. As far as she's concerned it seems that a PhD is just an indication that a person can do joined up thinking!"

"So you got on really well with her, then?"

Loren looked as if she was about to say something acerbic, and quite possibly insubordinate before she collapsed back into her seat, and gave a short bark of laughter.

"I suppose I was venting a bit," she admitted, "but seriously, if she doesn't watch how she speaks to the panel, she could, even with rock solid evidence to back up her testimony, alienate the panel so much that she could lose us the case!"

"Come on, you'll feel better with some food inside you. I'll buy you lunch. I understand it's meatloaf in the cafeteria today!"

"Huh, when isn't it?" Loren demanded.

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1312hrs EST, Cafeteria, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141812ZMar01)**

Loren put her knife and fork neatly on her plate, and then pushed it to one side, taking a sip of water from her glass, before she continued her story…

"And honestly, the look on his face when I laughed. I know I shouldn't have teased him like that, but God it was such a pathetic line, I couldn't help but laugh. And then of course, he got all pouty!"

"Oh, oh my," Carolyn wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, "What happened then?"

"Well, I kissed him goodbye and told him he could be grumpy all day but I'd still love him. Then he stormed out of the apartment and down the hallway, so I stuck my head around the edge of the door frame, and in the sweetest voice possible, I told him to drive carefully! Well, he just turned and looked at me, and oh, if you could only have seen his expression. I just wish I'd had a camera with me!"

Carolyn laughed again, "Oh that would have been so precious!"

Loren smiled in agreement but said, "But please, don't say anything about it to him, I know he's got a massive ego, but it's so fragile and so easily bruised!"

"Alright, not a word, I promise," Carolyn agreed, and mimed the turning of a key in her mouth... Then her eyebrows rose and she murmured, "Heads up!"

The cause of Carolyn's warning was the approach of Sarah MacKenzie, trying to hold a tray one handed as he made her way to the table occupied by the two blondes. Arriving at the table, Mac mumbled, "'S OK?"

Carolyn and Loren shrugged, "Yeah, I suppose so," Carolyn offered.

Mac carefully placed the tray holding two mugs and a glass on the table and then sat down.

"No minder today, Colonel?" Loren asked not quite sarcastically enough to count as insubordination.

Mac held up one finger in a plea for a moment's respite, and opened her purse, retrieving not only her drinking tube, but a legal pad and a pencil.

Sticking the drinking tube into one of the mugs on her tray, she quickly wrote on her pad and passed it to Loren.

"_No, gave Harriet the slip. Wanted to 'talk' to you without her disapproving stare!"_

Loren read the note and just said, "Why?"

Mac wrote again, _"Despite everything between us, and believe me it wasn't always my fault, I still count Harm as a very good friend. If I want to keep that friendship, then I need to come to some sort of concordiat with you. I doubt we'll ever be friends, not really, but I want to apologise for the way I behaved to you earlier this year, and last year too. I'm sorry that I coined so many hateful and hurtful nicknames for you, and I am even sorrier that I enjoyed doing that so much. I am sorry."_

Mac slid the pad over to Loren and then took a sip from her mug, and made a face.

Carolyn looked from cup to Colonel and said, "You're not really enjoying that… whatever it is, are you?"

Mac took the tube from between her kips, "Pro'ein drin'" she said.

"I don't what that is," Carolyn grinned, "but it sounds revolting!"

Mac scribbled on the pad that Loren had slid back to her, _"You wouldn't believe just how bad it is!"_

Loren waited for the by-play to end before she turned her pale blue eyes on Mac and almost pinned the older woman to her chair with their intensity. "Tell me Colonel, just why I should trust you, why I should even believe you on this?"

Mac regarded her for a few moments longer and then bent to her pad again, "_Because Harm's friendship is too important to me to lose it!"_

Loren read through Mac's last reply and then said slowly, "OK, I believe your reason. So for that reason, I am willing to call a halt to whatever we had going on – for the moment, until you can show me by more than words on paper!"

Mac nodded, and scribbled again, _"Understand you're calling Temperance Brennan as a witness in the Coulter Case?"_

Loren was puzzled and intrigued by the apparent non-sequitur, but merely nodded.

Mac wrote again, _"She's a nightmare on the stand, even when she's testifying for you. But I learned a thing or two about handling her to show her evidence to its best advantage."_

"You've worked with her before?" Carolyn asked in surprise.

"_Yes, Bosnia, International War Crimes Commission"_ Mac wrote,

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1440hrs EST, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141940ZMar01)**

Commanders Rabb and Austin reporting as ordered, sir!

"At ease, at ease," the older man growled, and then relenting, after all it wasn't really their fault. He should have remembered from his early days at Falls Church that these two were trouble magnets. At least this time around neither of them had been shot, arrested or kidnapped by aliens. So… "Take a seat," he added gruffly.

"I haven't had a full report yet, and I'll expect yours by staff call tomorrow, but from what little I've gleaned from NCIS, you two have done a fine job, and in record time." He sighed, "It's just too damn bad that it took the death of a young woman to expose a situation that appears to have gone on for some time. And in some respects therefore, I regret that I'm taking you off the case."

"But, sir…" Harm protested, only to have his protest cut-off by an upraised hand. "Not my decision, Commander. I'd have preferred to keep you on it, but the CMC, who, I remind you, outranks me by two stars, has, in the light of your discoveries decided to launch a full scale USMC IG investigation into the running of Support Battalion at MCCDC. He fears among other things that because you are Navy, you might run into a 'Green Wall of Silence'. Nevertheless he is not unappreciative of your work and has asked to place commendations for your efforts in your permanent records." He regarded the crestfallen faces of his officers, and shook his head gently, "Your part in this whole sorry mess may not be quite over, Commander Austin – your exploits as Sergeant Pierce may yet see you on the stand in what I am sure is going to be a spate of courts martial.

"But in any case, good work, both of you. And that's not from the CMC, that's from me! In the meantime Commander Rabb, see Lieutenant Roberts, he has some translations for you pertinent to the Blair Article 32. Study them well, and make out a report with your recommendations for either the Article 32 or a move for dismissal. Oh, and Rabb, I'll be happy to take that report off you at staff call tomorrow too.

"Commander Austin, you need to start thinking about the Krennick case." He regarded them both for a few seconds, "Any questions?"

"No sir!" the two chorused.

"Good, dismissed!"

"The two rose from their chairs, paused, about faced and marched out of his office.

Chegwidden, propped his elbows on his desk and dropped his face into his hands for a few seconds, before slowly raisin his head, giving the impression that he was clawing at his face with his finger nails. He drew a deep breath and said to himself, "Well, that could have gone worse. A lot worse!"

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1458hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (141958ZMar01)**

On quitting the Admiral's office, Harm had made straight for the Galley, where he had poured himself a mug of coffee and heading back to his office had called for Bud Roberts to "Grab those damn translations, and get on my six!"

Now in his office he brought the Blair file from where it had gravitated to the bottom of his In-Tray, and opened it, riffling quickly through the pages of the bulky file until he came to Blair's statement.

"Right, Bud," he said, "what have you got, if anything that would corroborate Blair's story about a massacre within forty eight hours of his being shot down in that area?"

Bud thumbed through the pile of documents he had amassed. With the originals and the certified true translations, his stack of paperwork rivalled the original Blair file in its thickness.

Harm kept his exasperation under control, "This is no good Bud, we'll need to take this to the Conference Room, there's more room there, and we need to get all this into some sort of chronological order!"

"Yes, sir…but…"

"What is it Bud?" Harm, said impatiently as he closed the file and tucked it under his arm.

"Two newspaper articles and a police report all about a massacre at a village near the ejection site, two days after the crash sir!" Bud's voice quivered with excitement.

"It's a start, Bud, it's a start!" Harm agreed, "don't let those reports get away, now. With me! Tiner!"

"Sir?"

"Tell anyone looking for Lieutenant Roberts or me, that we're in the Conference Room, oh and re-route any 'phone calls for me to there, please!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1506hrs EST Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (142006ZMar01)**

Harm stuck his head around the edge of Meg's office door at the same time he tapped on the window. "Hey Meg, how busy are you with your prep for the Krennick case?"

"Well… I've got a fair bit to do… why?" Meg answered cautiously.

Harm looked down at the carpet and rolled his shoulders uneasily, "Well, it's those two reports the Admiral wants for the morning…"

"Go on." Megan said flatly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms defensively across her chest.

"Well, when he said he wanted them both tomorrow, I don't think he realised that Bud seems to have struck gold on the Blair case. We've only just started to look through the translations if the faxes he got from Bosnia, and we're already nearly snowed under… so I was wondering if you could just do a time line for me for the Quantico investigation, please Megan?"

"Harmon Rabb! Some things never change do they? Still trying to palm off your paperwork onto someone else!" Meg complained not sure whether she should really be cross, or let her amusement show through as well.

"No, I don't do that anymore, Meg, not as a regular thing, not, in fact since you left," he added with an attempt at sincerity.

"Yeah, right," Meg answered sardonically, "What you mean is that your new partner wouldn't put up with your bulldust!"

Harm's eyes turned serious, "Oh Megan, I am so, so sorry for skipping out early for lunch that day. If I'd been there like I was supposed to have been, he wouldn't have been able to shoot you!"

Megan's face softened, and her hand went, almost of its own accord to the scar at the back of her head, "Harm if you'd been there, he would have shot you too. After all he tried for Krennick when he saw her. And anyway, you got him in the end."

Harm moved into her office and perched on the corner of her desk, "Yeah, I got him," Harm agreed, "but it wouldn't have amounted to a hill of beans if he'd really got you. In an instinctive gesture his hand went out as if to cup Meg's cheek, but she caught hold of his wrist before he made contact with her.

"No, Harm, Meg's voice was soft, but firm, "We can't do this. I know you don't mean anything by it and so do you, but just look around, there are so many people here who don't know our background, our shared history, and remember even the appearance…"

"Yeah, I know … of impropriety…"

Meg forced a smile, "So get on and do your other report, I'll rough out a timeline for you, and that'll save you some work."

"Thanks, Meg, you're a real pal!"

**Wednesday 14 March 2001, 1710hrs EST, Conference Room JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (142310ZMar01)**

"There you are!" Loren exclaimed as she opened the door to the conference room, her briefcase and cover in hand and her raincoat draped over her arm.

Harm and Bud looked up in surprise, "Is it that time already?" Bud exclaimed in shock, "Sir… I gotta go… we need to pick up Little A J and…"

"Yeah, go on Bud, get home to your family, and thanks for your help, all of it!"

"Yeah… I mean it's OK sir… I would have done it anyway… Goodnight sir, goodnight Lieu,,, uh Loren?"

"Well that's a first!" Loren said as she dumped cover purse and coat, "What are you up to?"

"H'mm… what's a first?" Harm asked absent-mindedly as he compared the details of a translated police report with what seemed to be a corresponding description from Lieutenant Blair's statement.

"Bud… calling me by first name! I guess you must be rubbing off on him!" Loren smiled as she came around the table to stand beside him. "But you still haven't answered me… what are you doing?"

"Trying to correlate dates and places in Blair's statement with Bosnian Police and newspaper reports."

"OK... wouldn't that go faster with two working on it?"

Harm looked at her, "Yeah, it would, but are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Loren smiled, "What else would I be doing? Only going home to an empty apartment, and somehow I've got used to the idea of not doing that!"

"OK, you read the date and place off the report and call it out. If I can find a match, or even a near match in Blair's statement, then put the report on this stack here, and if there's nothing that adds up, then the report goes on this pile here!"

"OK, that shouldn't take too long," Loren said cheerfully.

"No it shouldn't," Harm agreed, "but once that's done, I need to write up a report on the case for submission tomorrow morning."

"Wow! You really did piss him off!" Loren said in mock awe, her eyes alight with that mischievous spark that Harm loved.

Harm grinned back at her, "Surprisingly enough, I don't think I did. He even gave me a 'well done' today!

"No!" Loren gasped, as a huge grin split her face.

"Well… it might have been a 'good work'…" Harm pretended to reconsider.

"Clown!" Loren scolded him fondly.


	29. Chapter 29

**29**

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 0710hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC,(151210ZMar01)**

"Harm…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't wait for me, I'll be taking the Miata in today."

"Oh?" Loren's announcement was enough to bring Harm, half a slice of toast in one hand and mug of coffee in the other to the bedroom door, where he could see Loren just about to shrug into her jacket. "Any particular reason, or have you just gotten tired of my driving?"

"No, nothing like that… It's just I shall be securing early this afternoon – the Coulter case starts on Monday, and I need to get to the BX in the Navy Yard…"

"Oh… anything in particular?"

"Well, I could do with a couple of new summer blouses, and maybe a skirt, and a couple of other bits and pieces… I suppose I could leave it to the weekend… but I'd rather spend that time with you… and Sarah!"

"Of course! You've got a check-ride on Sunday morning! I was going to delay leaving until Saturday morning, but throw your civvies and go-bag in the Lexus tomorrow, and we can leave straight after work!"

Harm could see the protest forming on her face, "Come on, we'll make the whole weekend of it. It'll do you the world of good and you'll be able to start fresh and refreshed for the Coulter Case on Monday. Look, we can get our kit ready for Monday this evening, and then we'll have the whole weekend to ourselves. C'mon, sweetheart, whadda ya say?"

"It's tempting… can we get back on Sunday early enough to get a solid night's sleep?"

"A solid night's sleep on Sunday?" Harm grimaced as he put his mug down on the corner of Loren's dressing table, and moving behind her, clasped his arms around her waist before nuzzling that little spot just behind her ear, "I suppose we could manage that," he murmured huskily, sending shivers all the way down to her toes, "But if we have to behave on Sunday, I'm not making any promises for tonight."

Loren shivered and reluctantly pulled herself free of his clasp, "You are bad!" she told him stretching on tip-toes for his kiss.

"That's not what you said the other night," he replied mischievously, "I seem to recall words like, fantastic, great, amazing, wonderful, perfect…"

Loren gave a little crow of laughter, "Go on, get out of here, before…"

"Before what?" he demanded.

"Before we're both late for work," she chuckled as she backed away from him, "Go on – get!"

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 0810hrs EST, Galley, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (151310ZMar01)**

Harm had breezed through the bull-pen, whistling a badly out-of-tune rendition of Anchors Aweigh as he'd headed for his office, where pausing only to deposit his briefcase and cover, he veered away heading for his present location.

The galley had not been empty when he'd arrived, a silently fuming Lieutenant Colonel of Marines, had been trying to wrestle the lid of a large can of coffee, while trying to clamp the smooth object between her plaster encased and sling supported elbow and her rib cage, while she fought one handed against the seal.

Harm stood for a few seconds, weighing not only his options, but the likely range of Mac's reactions to any offer of help. Eventually – well, after about thirty seconds – he moved and spoke, "Good morning, Mac. Can I give you a hand with that?"

Mac turned to face him, and for a second or two he thought he saw the beginnings of a glare in her eyes, then her shoulders slumped, and with as near a grin as she could imagine through her wired jaws, extended the can towards him with a mumbled "Than's".

The next couple of minutes were spent in silence as Mac filled the carafe with fresh water from the faucet while Harm dug out a fresh filter and started to load it with coffee, pausing after a few scoops to cock an interrogative eye at Mac.

Mac craned over and held up three fingers, indicating that Harm should add more coffee to the filter. Shuddering theatrically he did so, and then stood back as Mac filled the reservoir with the water from the carafe, and with her eyes crinkling with amusement and an extravagant gesture flipped the switch to start the brewing process.

Harm leaned back against the counter and looked at Mac in some surprise, for the first time in months the silence between them didn't seem awkward, and from the look of mild bewilderment, tempered by the laugh lines at the corner of her eyes, neither did Mac. But before either could make a motion or say anything that might lead to an exploration of this newly-recovered amity, the door to the galley was flung wide open and three of the junior support staff, led by Seaman Liz Hawkins burst into the room in a whirlwind of giggles and chatter, only to come to an abrupt and embarrassed stop as they took in the spectacle of two of their senior officers quietly sipping mugs of coffee.

"Oh…" Hawkins was the first to recover, "I'm sorry ma'am, sir… we didn't know… we'll come back…"

"It's alright Hawkins, I was just about to leave. The Colonel and I…" said Harm before remembering that Hawkins was a bigger gossip than Harriet, "were just catching up on the last couple of days…" he finished lamely.

"Yes, sir!" Hawkins replied smartly with a smug, all-knowing grin, standing back as both Harm and Mac made for the door. Harm and Mac paused as they separated outside the galley, both of them raising their eyes to heaven in the knowledge that news of their 'secret' meeting would be widespread throughout the building in record time, when a burst of laughter made Harm start to turn back towards the galley only to be stopped by Mac's hand on his forearm, and in return for his questioning look a resigned shake of her head. As annoyed as he was with Hawkins antics and the gossip she spread, he realised that on this occasion at least, Mac was right, the least said, soonest mended.

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 0822hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (151322ZMar01)**

Harm eyed his in-tray with suspicion. That huge, bulky, full-to-overflowing file was the Blair case, now neatly rounded out with his report on his findings and a recommendation to the convening authority, COMNAVAIRLANT, that all charges against Blair be dismissed and that the unfortunate officer should be restored to the Active Duty list and that all back-pay and allowances accrued to him be paid in full. There was also a note to Admiral Chegwidden, that if the convening authority decided, in spite of the recommendation, to go for an Article 32 hearing, then he Rabb wanted the defence chair.

No, it wasn't the Blair file that was disturbing him. In fact, the final stages of putting that file together had been some of the most fun hours he could ever remember having at work. He and Loren had had the building practically to themselves, only the duty Legalman remained in the bull-pen and they been left undisturbed until they were just about finished, when the overnight cleaning crew arrived at twenty-two hundred hours. Not that there had been any inappropriate behaviour – although the thought had crossed their minds – but they'd had the freedom to work without worrying about the demands of protocol, and had both ended up in their shirtsleeves, but it was more even than that. It was a chance for he and Loren to actually to work together for a while and bizarre as it may sound to enjoy each other's company in an other than domestic setting.

No, it was the extremely slim file that sat on top of the Blair case that was the cause of his jaundiced looks. He hadn't put it there; he was pretty certain that he'd never seen it before. However, if it was a new case, then the Admiral's usual practice was to hand them out at staff call, or if it was urgent to call a team into his office to be detailed to it. Not without some slight degree of trepidation, he reached out, took the file and opened it on his blotter, only for his face to slit in a grin of relief. God bless Meg Austin's little cotton socks. All the file contained was one sheet of paper and a CD. The sheet of paper was headed "MCCDC, Investigator Timeline," and showed a skeletal timeline for the forty eight hours that Harm had been involved at Quantico. Guessing the disc held the frame-work, Harm hastily booted his computer and inserted the CD. As Meg's template filled the screen, he dug his notebook out of his briefcase and hastily began typing his report.

His fingers flying over the keys Harm failed to notice the time, until he was distracted from his task by a sharp tap on his doorframe, "Were you considering attending staff call this morning?" Carolyn Imes teased him.

A guilty look at the wall clock showed that he was in imminent danger of being late – again, so hurriedly grabbing the Blair file, he shook his head regretfully over the incomplete state of the MCCDC report and with a sigh, said to Carolyn, "Well, I've got half of it done, let's just hope that a soft answer succeeds in turning away wrath!"

"The wrath of God?" Carolyn asked lightly as she accompanied him around the edge of the bull-pen.

"No… I'm not worried about that!" Harm asserted boldly, "It's the wrath of AJ Chegwidden I worry about!"

"Which is just as it should be!" the gruff voice of their CO spilled over their shoulders as they neared the conference room door. Both officers braced themselves to attention, Harm uttering an almost breathless, "Sir!"

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 0859hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (151359ZMar01)**

The Admiral glared at him and raked him up and down with his penetrating eye, as if searching for some visible evidence of a misdemeanour. At length the former Seal relaxed, "You may do the honours, Mister Rabb!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm opened the door and giving Carolyn five seconds' grace to reach her seat he barked out "Admiral on deck!"

The room was briefly disturbed by the clatter of chairs pushed across the polished wooden floor which eventually subsided as the assembled officers took their seats in response to the Admiral's growled, "As you were, people, as you were!"

He took his seat and cast his eyes down each side of the long table, noting the absentees, "Commander Turner and Mister Barlowe are still on the Patrick Henry?" he asked almost incredulously.

"Yes, sir." Tiner answered nervously, "It seems Lieutenant Barlowe wants to court martial half the key personnel in air ops, and the skipper isn't having any of it. Apparently if Lieutenant Barlowe goes ahead there'll be so many key personnel away from their duty stations, that the Patrick Henry won't be able to launch a single jet."

"Yes, I know that!" Chegwidden snapped, "That's why I sent Commander Turner to sort the mess out. Damn it! He's supposed to have a level head! What the hell is going on?"

"Umm… we're not really sure, sir." Tiner replied looking around the table for support from somebody, anybody, "but it seems that Commander Turner, although appreciative of the Captain's position, feels that Lieutenant Barlowe has enough evidence to warrant raising charges and an article thirty two, sir."

Chegwidden fulminated silently as he looked around the table, and then unwillingly, although he knew he should have made the correct choice in the first place ground out, "Mister Rabb,"

"Yes, sir?" For once in his life Harm had mixed feelings, he loved being on board a carrier, of course he did, but he was also looking forward to getting away this weekend to Charlottesville with Loren.

"Did you say that you had your report on the Blair case completed?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the report on your involvement at Quantico?"

"Ah… not quite ready, sir, no. Sorry."

"H'mph! Well, how much longer for you to finish it?"

"Oh… I'm already on it, sir. Less than an hour!"

"Good! Get it done, and then see Tiner for orders and movement instructions. Get out to the Patrick Henry and sort out the problem and get back here just as fast as you ever can. Understood?"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Good! Commanders, Imes and Mattoni. The Coulter case. All ready to go?"

"Yes sir!" Alan Mattoni answered after having looked for and received a confirmation from Carolyn Imes. "Captain Coulter arrives from Leavenworth tomorrow, to be accommodated in the Navy Yard Brig, and the trial starts at oh nine hundred hours Monday, Courtroom three."

"Three?" Chegwidden raised his eyebrows.

"Admiral Morris' decision, sir" Carolyn chimed in, "Apparently there's a lot of outside interest in the case."

"As in media?" the admiral grumped.

"'Fraid so, sir,"

"H'mph! Anything else from anyone else? – oh wait, Mister Roberts,"

"Sir?"

"Are you still steaming through that stack of minor offences?"

"Just about done, sir."

"Anything that you can hand off to our makee learnees?" he indicated Lieutenants Fairchild and Warren sitting at the far end of the table

"Uh…" Bud frantically carried out a very rapid mental review of the cases on his desk, "There's a drunk and disorderly and a case of disrespect towards a petty Officer, sir?" he offered hopefully.

"H'mm.." Chegwidden pursed his lips and nodded his head, "Yes, they'll do… Miss Fairchild, prosecute the drunk and disorderly, Mister Warren, you'll defend. Then exchange roles for the disrespect. Mister Roberts, that's your show, keep an eye on them if you please!"

The three Lieutenants looked at each other before chorusing, "Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden started shuffling his papers together preparatory to moving before something else leaped to his mind, "Oh, Colonel, Legal Services, downstairs, have asked me to pass on to you their thanks for the dent you're making in their backlog!"

"M'kew" was all that Mac could manage in reply, heartily sick as she was after just a few days ploughing through FOI requests and civil law suits of various kinds, but slightly gratified to note that her contribution had been noticed. A sad come down from her past heights, she reflected, but still better than being stuck on her own all day. And each day did bring her nearer the date when these damn wires would come out of her jaw. God, just how much was she looking forward to sinking her teeth into a juicy, medium rare steak, or even a Beltway Burger!

So wrapped up in her daydream was she that Mac nearly missed the admiral's cue as he stood to leave the room, bringing the all the other officers to their feet, and it was only by dint of an undignified scramble that she made it to a standing position without being obviously late.

Casting a slightly flushed glance around the room to see if anyone else had noticed her near fall from grace she encountered a twinkling pair of blue-green eyes and a supportive smile from the other side of the table. Suddenly feeling like a schoolgirl, she hugged her files protectively against her chest and heels tapping against the wooden floor boards she hurried from the conference room, cheeks burning and eyes down as she almost fled back to the sanctuary of her office, where she closed both door and blinds before sinking into her chair and fanning herself with a file. Damn him, and his smiling eyes! Oh, she knew he was only trying to show support and friendship, but he ought to know the effect that smile and those eyes had on her!

Harm bustled away from the conference room, his long legs trying to eat up the distance to Tiner's desk, his calls of "Make a hole, there!" not having the slightest effect on the uniformed bodies packing the hallway in front of him. At last reaching the Yeoman's desk, he gasped out, "Tiner, have you started making any movement arrangements for me yet?"

"No, sir, not yet!"

"Good! Don't! Let me check where the Henry is and let me talk to some people I know, and I'll get back to you!"

"Aye, aye, sir… and she's in the Virginia Capes Ops Area… sir" a bemused Tiner falteringly responded as he watched the Commander plunge across the bull-pen, adroitly swerving here and side stepping there to avoid a collision with either body or piece of furniture, until with a wide grin back in the Yeoman's direction he spun through the door into his office, where his butt having barely touched the seat, his hand grabbed for the telephone.

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 0952hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (151452ZMar01)**

He had barely finished punching in the first number he'd wanted when he became aware of his visitor, looking up and to his right his face split in a huge smile. He'd barely had a chance to exchange more than a word with Loren since they'd arrived at Falls Church, so beckoning her to enter he also indicated that she should sit.

At length the person he'd called picked up the 'phone, "_CNO's office, Commander Grant, sir."_

"Hey, Harry it's Harm Rabb. Listen, unless it's classified, I need one little snippet of information…"

"_Hello, Harm… go on…"_

"I've got to get out to the Patrick Henry for a few days, and I need to know how much to pack, I mean do I need to pack for a three day transit or…"

"_Harm, is this official?"_

"I swear, Harry, there's been an on-board incident and I need to get out to her to investigate and raise any necessary disciplinary charges."

"_Well, you're in luck – but you didn't hear this from me, but she's working up for… well, let's just say she's working up, and leave it at that."_

"Fine, Harry, but where she's working up?"

"_Virginia Capes… but…"_

"Yeah, I know, I didn't hear it from you! Thanks, pal!"

Harm replaced the hand set and turned to Loren, "Hey, booful," he murmured, "long time, no see."

"Stop it!" Loren hissed, but her eyes were full of laughter, "It hasn't been that long!"

"Maybe not if you're talking about just seeing each other 'across a crowded room'," he half sung the last phrase from 'Some Enchanted Evening'.

"Harm! Stop it…"

But he overrode her protest, "But if you're talking about actually seeing each other, talking to each other, make each other smile… ah… that's better… then it's been two hours thirty seven minutes, and that's far too long!"

"Two hours thirty seven minutes?" Loren queried through her smile, her right eyebrow delicately arched.

"Something like that," Harm grinned, "but honestly, who's counting?"

"You obviously are!" Loren shot back at him, "but you're right, it is nice to be able to do more than smile as we pass each other." She became grave, "It's going to kill us working together until the Admiral comes up with something…"

"I know, sweetheart, but we'll just have to tough it out."

"H'mm, I s'pose," Loren agreed. "And on the subject of toughing things out, how long do you expect you'll be gone for this time? I was so looking forward to the weekend!"

"We're in luck, I think," Harm tried to console her, "The Henry's somewhere in the VACAPES OPAREA, so she'll only be a couple of hours' flight time out. And, I'll be willing to bet that once I'm on board it won't take me more than a couple of hours – alright, maybe six or seven – to sort through this whole mess."

He cast a precautionary glance at the door to make sure there was no-one within earshot to hear his next words, "Sturgis is a good attorney, but he's a bubblehead, I don't think he's been on a carrier more than two or three times in his career, and Barlowe – he's just a novice. What was the Admiral thinking when he sent them to investigate a flight deck accident!"

"So… he should maybe have sent you?" Loren teased him gently.

"Hell, yes! Sturgis could have done the Quantico investigation as well as I did, and I would have been finished on the Henry by now and on my way back home – if I wasn't already back!"

"But you'd have hated being pulled from the MCCDC investigation – I know I was!"

"Probably true, but at least our weekend wouldn't be threatened. Look, go ahead as planned, pack tonight, and book a room Friday and Saturday nights at the Boar's Head. I'm going to call in a favour or two, and see if I can't arrange a speedy itinerary!"

"Harm…" Loren said warningly.

"Nothing illegal, immoral or fattening, I promise! Now, go on, skedaddle!"

Loren looked at him doubtfully, experience was beginning to teach her that Harm was at his most reckless when he looked at his most angelic. And right now he looked as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Alright…" she agreed slowly, "I'll trust you – this time. And that's only because I love you!"

For an instant or two, Harm's face lost his slightly mischievous smile as he looked deep into her eyes and replied, "I know, and I love you too!"

Loren managed a quick grin and then left his office before she made a complete fool of herself she told herself severely.

Harm sighed as she left, and then shook his head as he sat down again and once more reached for the 'pone.

"Andrews Joint Air Facility, Navy Air Operations Room Chief Petty Officer Jakeman, sir!"

"Good morning, Chief. This is Commander Rabb at JAG HQ. Is Commander Kingsley around?"

"Good morning, sir! How are you keeping? Yes, Commander Kingsley is right here. Ma'am, Commander Rabb for you…"

"Hello, Harm?"

"Hey Marie, how are you?"

"I'm good," a slightly puzzled Marie Kingsley replied.

"And Tom and the kids, are they all OK?"

Warning lights started flashing all over Marie Kingsley's personal alarm board, and with deepening suspicion she asked, "What do you want, Harm?"

"I want to go and play," he said, "Fancy coming with me?"

"Where?"

"The Patrick Henry," he said carelessly.

"H'mph!" Harm couldn't tell whether the snort was one of amusement or one of disgust at his ingenuous manner, "What you mean is, you want to borrow a ride, right?"

"Well, yeah, but it is for an official investigation, Marie. Seriously, there was a flight deck fatality and I need to get out and back as quickly as I can. Preferably before taps tomorrow."

"Let me have a look… Your DLQs are up to date, right?"

"Yep, another two months before I need to requalify – and they're already booked… uh… on the Henry… do you think…?

"I think you're going to get the both us court-martialled! Alright, I've got an F-14D to go out to replace a Bravo, and I've got a rookie RIO, to replace one who was injured during a flight deck incident… Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'. Can you get someone to prep the ride, I'll be with you in…" Harm did a quick mental calculation "An hour – given the traffic this time of day!"

"OK, Harm, see you soon!"

Harm left his office in a rush, heading straight for Tiner's desk. "Don't worry about transport for me Tiner, it's all fixed. If you've got my orders, I'm off – I gotta a plane to catch! Tell the Admiral!" he called over his shoulder, as he once again swerved, swayed and pirouetted across the crowded bull-pen, stopping only at Loren's office, "I'm off sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, not sure when and where, but I'll e-mail you when I know for sure. But if I'm not back by secure tomorrow and you haven't heard from me, assume we're still going to Charlottesville, and I'll meet you at the Boar's Head, OK?"

Harm took a quick glance around and blocking the view through the door with his body, leaned in and gave Loren a quick peck on the forehead. "That's just a deposit on tomorrow evening," he told her over her instinctive protest and was gone leaving her gazing open mouthed and pink-cheeked at the space he had just vacated.

Throwing his sea-bag and helmet onto the middle seat of the Lexus, Harm drove out of the JAG parking lot, half wishing that he'd brought the 'vette to work today, and for a few moments toyed with the idea of going to the old apartment and swapping the Lexus for the 'vette, but then realised that the detour would probably cost him more time than changing to the faster car would make up. So settling down behind the wheel he concentrated on making the best time he could along Suitland Parkway.

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1112hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (151612ZMar01)**

Carolyn Imes looked up from her desk and out across the bull-pen, where for once by some fluke she had a clear sight of Loren Singer's office. The blonde Lieutenant seemed to be stuck in a trance, she was leaning back against her chair and idly but rhythmically tapping the end of a pencil against her blotter. Carolyn frowned; it was not like the ambitious younger officer to waste time in day dreams. She reached for her phone and tapped in Loren's extension number. She shook her head exasperatedly as the 'phone rang repeatedly before its shrill summons dragged Loren back to the here and now.

"_Singer_!" she snapped.

"Hey, Loren, it's Carolyn. Meet me in the galley in two, hey?"

"_Ye…yes, of course, ma'am, sorry ma'am!"_

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1115hrs EST, Galley, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (151615ZMar01)**

Carolyn already had the reservoir filled and the coffee brewing, and although she smiled sympathetically as Loren walked into the small space, she couldn't resist a gentle dig, "It's a good thing it's not Monday today!"

Loren looked challengingly at her, "Meaning?"

"Meaning your head's not exactly in the game, is it? And we'll need both our heads to be fully functional come Monday."

"There's nothing wrong with my head, ma'am!" Loren defended herself.

"No, I'm sure there's not, that's why it only took twelve rings of your 'phone before you even realised someone was calling you!"

"It did not!" Loren protested indignantly.

"Yeah… it did," Carolyn smiled, passing Loren a mug of fresh-brewed coffee, "Black with sweetener, right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Loren said a trifle ungraciously, and then relented slightly, "OK, I'll confess, I zoned out a little…"

"H'mmm… I know what you need," Carolyn grinned and went to the 'fridge, retrieving a white cardboard box, "I was going to save these for this afternoon's treat, but I figure they're better off used as an emergency pick you up," and Carolyn opened the box to reveal half a dozen chocolate covered éclairs filled with whipped cream.

Loren's eyes opened wide, "Oh God… if Harm could see these, he'd have a fit…"

"Yeah, but if Harm was here, you wouldn't need the pick me up, would you?" Carolyn teased, "Go on, try one…" she waved the box slowly to and fro under Loren's nose.

"Oh this is so not fair! Loren protested laughingly, "Vade retro me Satana!"

"Go on, Loren," Carolyn urged her, "What Harm can't see won't hurt him!"

Loren still unsure, slowly dipped her hand into the box, and then with a "What the hell, let's live dangerously!" grabbed one of the pastries.

Carolyn chose one the cream-filled confections for herself and then looking at each other straight in the eye, each waited for the other to start first. Loren's eyes twinkled with mischief, "On the count of three, right? Ready, one… two… three…!" An instant's silence was followed by a duet of eyes-closed "M'mms…" as the pastries practically dissolved in the two women's mouths.

Loren opened her eyes and giggled, "You've got cream on the corner of your mouth," she said somewhat severely to Carolyn.

"And you've got some on the tip of your nose!"

Both giggled again, and then leaned back against the counter to enjoy their coffee and pastry. Carolyn let the silence last for a couple of minutes before asking, "What's the problem, Loren, it's not just that you're missing him, is it?"

"No… Well, yes, of course I miss him, but I missed him the last couple of days he was down at Quantico, but it's not that…"

"Well what is it? At least he's not swanning off around the country with some extraneous blonde!"

Loren chuckled, "Do you mean Meg? No, I've got no worries about Meg and Harm. If they ever had anything for each other – and I think Harm did, but I haven't got a clue about how Meg felt back then – it's all water long gone under the bridge. They're more comfortable around each other than lovers or former, especially former, lovers, tend to be. No, it's not Meg… it's that he's going out to a carrier, and from the way he grabbed his sea-bag and his helmet, he expects to be flying while he's on board. And apart from anything else, we're supposed to be heading for Charlottesville tomorrow evening for a weekend flying together, and if he gets wrapped up in whatever's going on on the Patrick Henry, then it'll be another wasted weekend!"

"Apart from anything else, Loren?" Carolyn asked.

"Yeah, the thought of him flying off and landing on a carrier terrifies me! Did you know he's already had one ramp strike? It killed his back-seater and it nearly killed him. And if anything happened to him now…"

Carolyn was at a loss; sure, a lot of what Loren said made sense. She was afraid of Harm flying on the one hand… but then on the other she was also afraid that she, that they, might miss out on a weekend flying together. "But you said you were going flying this weekend…" she faltered.

"Yes, we're supposed to… Oh, that does sound dumb after what I just said, but let me try to explain… Harm's own airplane is a 1930s bi-plane basic trainer, it weighs about a ton and at its fastest goes at about one hundred and twenty five miles an hours. It lands at about sixty miles an hour and rolls to a stop down the whole length of the runway. Those damn Tomcats weigh about thirty tons and can do twice the speed of sound. They land at some ridiculous speed on a tiny patch of rolling, pitching iron in the middle of the ocean and are snatched to a standstill two seconds after hitting the deck." She smiled wanly, "It's just a little bit different you see."

Carolyn had let the statistics flow over her and just listened to the fear in Loren's voice. She gently took hold of Loren's wrist, and asked simply, "Why don't you ask him to give up the jets, if they scare you that much?"

"I couldn't ask him to do that for me, Carolyn. They are so much a part of what he does, what he is. If the day ever comes that he decides to stop flying off carriers then I shall welcome it with all my heart. But it's going to have to be something that he wants to do, that he decides for himself, I can't make that choice for him. Apart from anything else – again – I'm afraid that just the asking would drive a wedge between us, and though we might stay together for a while longer, we wouldn't truly be together, and in the end I would have let my fears drive us apart, I've done that too many times, had too many fears and let them rule, and ruin my life, well, I'm damn sure I'm not going to let my fear of him flying rule or ruin our lives!"

Carolyn looked at the younger women with something very much akin to awe in her face, "Tell me Loren, how come you never tried for Hollywood?"

Loren looked at her blankly, "Huh?"

"Well, all the time you've been here you've kidded us that you are an Ice Queen, a frost maiden, the Wicked Witch of Washington! But you're not any of those things! You are quite simply, just a brilliant actress!"

Both women broke into peals of laughter, which broke down into chuckles as they tidied their part of the Galley and washed their mugs. They were still grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats as they quit the galley and crossed the bull-pen to their respective offices.

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1228hrs EST, Tomcat 601, Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, approximately one hundred and fifty miles SE of Cape Henry (151612ZMar01)**

Harm had made good time covering the distance between Falls Church and Andrews JAF in less than the estimated hour, but he still felt rushed as he scrambled out of his service Dress Blues and secured them in a locker made available to him and then climbed unto his flight suit. Marie Kingsley, one of the first women ever to strap on a Navy fighter had drawn his survival vest and a side-arm and helped him to shrug into it, before walking him out to the flight line, where she introduced him to his RIO for the day. Harm almost stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the fresh-faced Lieutenant waiting for him.

"You've got to be kidding me, Marie!" he protested, "He doesn't look a day older than seventeen!"

Marie planted her hands on her hips and glared up at the much taller male pilot. "None of your ageist chauvinism here, Hammer! He's qualified, and he's managed to rack up a few hours since then."

"How many hours? And in what, a real jet or just a simulator?" Harm challenged her, more for the sake of the argument than out of any real concern.

"Fine, if you don't want to fly with him, I'll find someone who will, and they can take your bird, while you sit on your sorry ass and wait for the next COD – at oh five hundred tomorrow – from Oceana!"

"Alright, alright, already, sheesh! I was only asking how old the kid was!"

Marie Kingsley, well satisfied with her moral victory over Harm just grinned and let the argument drop, as Harm crossed the hangar, his hand held out in greeting, "Hey there, I'm Commander Rabb, your driver for today!"

The younger man braced to attention, "Sir! Lieutenant Leighton, sir!"

Harm grinned, "At ease Lieutenant," and squinted at the other man's helmet dangling from his hand, "No call sign yet?"

"Not yet, sir. And I'm told that can be a good thing – the guys not wanting to rush into pinning a handle on you before they see what you're made of."

"Could be, could be," Harm agreed as the vaguely familiar accent washed over him, "Texas?" he inquired.

"Nossir! Just over the state line, Eastern New Mexico, but it's a close enough accent that a lot of folk get the two mixed up."

"Yeah… don't suppose you know a guy by the name of Jack Keeter?"

"Uncle Jack? You bet I do sir! It was him that got me interested in the navy in the first place. There ain't 'xactly a whole lot of ocean around Lovington!"

"No, I guess not," Harm chuckled, and then something else that had just been said triggered a fresh reaction, "'Uncle' Jack?" As far as he knew Jack was an only child,

"Oh, he ain't really my uncle, sir, it's just that the two families were so close…"

"OK, you ever fly with Jack, as his RIO?"

"No sir, but he taught me to be a pretty fair stick on general aviation birds, though sir."

That was good enough for Harm, "OK, get the paperwork done with Commander Kingsley, while I do the walk round, see you ready to fly in ten, OK?"

"Got it, sir!"

Ten minutes later saw Tomcat 601 squatting on the threshold of runway three-six left as Harm held the brakes against the increasing thrust of the F-14's engines, "Are you with me, Leighton?" he called into the intercom.

"To hell and back, sir, to hell and back!"

That had been nearly two hours ago and now they were just boring a hole in the sky, as older more cynical pilots expressed it, but not Harm. No matter how mundane the sortie, he always felt the thrill of the flight, and glancing up into his mirror, he could see the same sort of pleasure on his RIO's face.

"Leighton?"

"Sir?"

"Do you know the major cause of ejection fatalities?"

"Yessir – delaying the decision to punch out!"

"Good! When we come onto finals for the Henry, I will pass the ejection control to you and I will tell you that I have done so. If you hear Paddles or myself give the order, then you punch us out on the instant. But unless and until you hear that word, you keep your damned hands off the trigger! Understood?"

"Roger that, sir!"

"Good," Harm grinned reassuringly into his mirror, "I don't expect anything to go wrong, but you know what they say…"

"Yessir! Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst! Sir!" Leighton's voice had taken on an edge of excitement, "Two bogies, bearing one six two degrees, range seven zero miles, altitude Angels one-eight!"

"Roger, keep an eye on 'em!"

Although the odds of finding a hostile target this close to the US Coast were ridiculous, Harm couldn't help feel a frisson of tension as he registered the description 'Bogies'.

"Sir, Bogies have turned towards us, and are climbing, range five five miles passing through Angels two three, closing rate… seven hundred and ninety knots, sir!"

"Roger. They've probably only just seen us, must have been asleep at the wheel. Good work Leighton!"

"Aye, sir! Thank you. Bogies now squawking on IFF sir, F/A-18E, sir! And surface contact, range six zero miles, come right three degrees, sir!"

"Roger…" Harm opened his radio channel, "Hello City Desk, this is Tomcat six zero one, coming to join you."

"Tomcat six zero one, this is City Desk, roger, we have you on radar, maintain present course, speed and altitude!"

"Six zero one Roger." Harm thumbed the selector switch back to intercom, "Now we wait until they call us in…"

Just as he spoke the pair of Super Hornets broke free of the lower layer of cloud cover and climbed past the Tomcat, the leader waggling his wings as he did so.

Leighton continued to watch them on his scope as they broke away to their right intent on resuming their original mission, while Harm stayed on course for the Patrick Henry, at the speed at which they were flying it wasn't many minutes before Harm received the next message, "Tomcat six zero one, this is City Desk what is your fuel?"

"Tomcat six zero one, fuel is three point two."

"City desk, roger. Descend to Angels two. You are clear for straight in approach. Am handing you off to Paddles."

"Tomcat six zero one, this is Paddles we have you on visual!"

"Roger, Paddles." Harm began to line up his jet for the final approach and touchdown.

"Tomcat six zero one, call the ball!"

Harm kept his eye on the HUD, looking for the glowing orange light that would bring him home safely, "Six zero one, Tomcat, has the ball, two point eight! Going dirty!" Harm felt rather than heard the hum of the landing gear coming down and the lights on his instrument panel confirmed that the tail-hook and all three wheels were down and looked

Harm licked his lips, this was the one aspect of landing on a carrier he did not like, as he moved the ejection trigger selector to the 'rear seat' position, "Leighton, you have ejection control!"

"Roger, sir!"

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1249hrs EST, On Board the USS Patrick Henry approximately two hundred miles SE of Cape Henry (151749ZMar01)**

The deck of the Patrick Henry although huge by normal standards still appeared tiny when viewed from the cockpit of an approaching Tomcat, and even as it grew larger in his vision, it still didn't seem big enough, long enough or wide enough. But it was too late to do anything about it now, the wheels hit the deck with a thump and Harm slammed the throttle forward for full power in case of a bolter, but the sudden deceleration as his hook caught the arresting wire told him to kill the power, and less than two seconds after the hook had caught, he was being marshalled away from the landing deck and assigned a parking spot.

Popping the canopy, he waited until the plane crew had opened the panels covering the footholds down the side of the aircraft before dropping to the deck, where he was almost immediately accosted by a very young Ensign wearing a white skull protector and vest. "Ensign Childers, Sir , I'm the PAO," she introduced herself, "I'm to escort you to the bridge, sir, the Captain wishes to see you immediately!"

"I know the way," he shouted over the hubbub on deck, "but you could take the Lieutenant here down to the CAG's office!" He indicated Lieutenant Leighton, who was looking a little lost, and showed a tendency to stick closely to Harm.

Ensign Childers smiled, "Aye, aye, sir! Lieutenant, if you'll follow me please!"

Harm was about to enter the superstructure, when he heard his call-sign being yelled in a pleased and excited voice. Turning he saw to his own delight the diminutive figure of Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes, his one-time RIO and better known to almost everyone as 'Skates'.

"Hey, Hammer," she panted as she pushed through the crowd around the newly arrived aircraft, "the good word is out, you're here to do your quals?"

"Well, they're not a priority this trip Skates; I need to sort out what happened on the flight deck the other night!"

"Well if you're flying, I'm your gal in the back seat!" she grinned as she followed him as he made his way to the bridge, where on entering the Marine sentry barked out, "JAG on the Bridge!"

Captain Tobias Ingles turned and gave Harm an inscrutable look. Harm stiffened to attention, saluted and said, "Commander Rabb, reporting as ordered, sir!"

"Welcome on board. Commander! I do believe the last time our paths crossed your words to me were that you'd be proud to serve under my command again!"

"Aye, sir!"

"Well it's only for a day and night; we'll see how it goes. Now… You are here primarily to sort out the goat rope over the flight deck mishap, but I've also received a request that you update your deck landing qualifications while you're here?"

"If it can be managed, sir, yes!"

Captain Ingles turned to the officer next to him, "What do you think?"

"Commander Rabb, Commander Loftness, the LSO and pilot instructor."

Harm acknowledged the other officer's presence with a nod, but Loftness merely looked at him, "You're a JAG?"

"Most of the time," Harm agreed.

"How many strings did you pull to get back to the fleet?"

"I earned my way," Harm stated calmly.

"I have training squadrons to qualify Commander, what I don't need is a Washington Weenie wasting my time."

There was no mileage in getting into a pissing contest with the other officer, Harm just nodded slowly, and then ignoring the hostile waves rolling off Loftness, he asked, "Will that be all, Captain?"

Ingles seemed dryly amused at the situation and stated calmly, "You won't catch a break here, Rabb."

Skates had been listening in disbelief at the verbal mistreatment being handed out to one who she considered not only a friend but a saviour twice over, and a damn good pilot, "Captain, for what it's worth, I've flown with Commander Rabb, he's a good stick and he's paid his dues. He doesn't need a break, sir, just a fair shot!"

"Well, thank you Lieutenant, I'm sure Commander Loftness will keep that in mind," Ingles replied.

Harm gave the other two officers a final look and upon Ingles nodding slightly, he drew himself up to attention again, and then relaxing merely said, "Commander," to Loftness before leaving the bridge.

As he clattered down the companion way, he grinned back and up over his shoulder at the still silently fuming Skates, "That went well, I thought!"

The sheer inanity of his comment broke through to Skates ready sense of humour, and her infectious grin spread across her face, but she still protested, "The man's an asshole; he had no call to treat you like that!"

"Was he on board at the time of your court-martial?"

"Uh… yeah, he was just one of the pilots at the time, but not even in the same squadron!" Skates protested.

"Well, he could have felt that the honour of his ship was being impugned."

"Yeah? Well I didn't see any DFC ribbons on his chest!" Skates refused to be comforted.

Harm shook his head and gently took her by the shoulders, giving her a little shake too, "That's enough of that Skates, not everyone can be as dumb as me and get away with it – twice!"

"Yeah, and not everyone's big enough to recognise that they're jealous!" Skates muttered, still not happy with the reception Harm had received on the bridge.

"Look, I'm going below to the Legal Office, why don't you go and check out the ready room for us both. I wouldn't be surprised not to get a call, just to find that our flight schedule had been posted without warning!"

Skates looked at him earnestly, the thought had never occurred to her that one pilot would deliberately sabotage another pilot's career, but Harm's words had raised that awful spectre in her mind... "OK Hammer, but if he pulls a stunt like that, I'll…"

"Shush, Skates, just go… before your blood pressure goes through the roof!"

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1312hrs EST, On Board the USS Patrick Henry approximately two hundred miles SE of Cape Henry (151812ZMar01)**

Harm opened the door to the Legal Office to find Sturgis and Lieutenant Barlowe poring over a bundle of statements, and with a stack of blank charge sheets interleaved into a copy of the UCMJ.

Sturgis looked up as the door opened, and his rather worried expression dissolved into a broad grin as he shook Harm's hand, "Hey, my man, come to make the skipper see sense?"

"Sturge, Lieutenant," Harm acknowledged them both, before placing his helmet on top of a filing cabinet and perching on the corner of the desk. "What exactly are we looking at here?"

"A systemic failure, sir," Barlowe replied, leading to the death of a Bosun's Mate and the injuring of another and further injury to a RIO who was learning the LSO's job."

"OK… but what actually happened?"

"The aircraft came in, snagged the wire, but then the wire snapped and whiplashed across the deck. One end carved into the two bosun's mates, the other flicked back onto the LSO's platform!"

"Unfortunate. But if the wire was with normal usage tolerance, there's not really anything that can be done. You can't fault the arresting gear department if the wire was within the norm."

"But you can sir, if the wire tension was set for the wrong aircraft!" Barlowe said triumphantly.

"How do you mean? The wrong aircraft?" Harm asked

"Listen!" Sturgis pressed a button on a cassette recorder and all three JAGs listened to the Pru-fly recording as the pilot of the incoming aircraft called the ball, "One two seven, Hornet, four point five", and had the same "Hornet" repeated back to him.

"And?" Harm asked.

Barlowe picked up the stack of statements and shuffled through them, "Here, the arresting gear department chief, states that he was told to set tension for a Hornet!"

"And…?" Harm repeated.

"But it wasn't a Hornet, sir, it was a Super Hornet, that's a bigger aircraft…"

"Yeah by about nine thousand pounds!" Harm rubbed his chin, "So… if the wire was set at the correct tension for a Hornet, as they'd been instructed to do, why are you writing up the Arresting Gear Chief and his Petty Officer?"

"Because the wire should have been properly inspected after two earlier incidents that day! First was an off-centre landing, and then a very heavy landing by another Hornet. That wire should have been stripped out and overhauled, as per the manual!"

Harm searched through the documents until he found that particular wire's log book, "H'mm, eighty one landings, less than fifty per cent of the wire's estimated life. No, there's no reason there for an overhaul. Right, moving on, you also want to charge the LSO and his assistant, why?"

"They should have seen it was a Super Hornet and amended the orders sent to the Arresting Gear department."

"How?"

"How what, sir?"

"How should the LSO's party have seen it was the wrong aircraft type, it was a night landing. Wasn't it?"

Sturgis and Barlowe looked at each other in consternation, it was a fact so obvious that no-one had thought to mention it to them.

"And what about the Air Boss?" Barlowe challenged, "Surely if anyone should have caught the discrepancy he should?"

"Maybe," Harm conceded, but it's a bit harsh to make one man a scapegoat for everything that went wrong that night."

"So you concede that things went wrong?" Sturgis jumped on his words.

"Of course things went wrong, Sturgis, flight deck operations are dangerous, they always have been and they always will be. Protocols are put in place with the aim of preventing accidents, but accidents do happen, and there isn't always someone to blame."

"Harm, are you sure you're not being overly sympathetic because it's the aviation department that's in trouble?"

"Sturge, I thought you knew me better than that?"

Sturgis shrugged, he was on the side of Lieutenant Barlowe, and believed that anyone with the slightest degree of involvement in the mishap that resulted in the death of a sailor should face appropriate disciplinary measures, and he didn't like having his judgement called into question.

"Like you said, there are protocols in place so that accidents don't happen. So if there's an accident someone didn't follow protocol. Simple"

Harm recognised his old academy buddy's stone-face and relented slightly. "Look, I'll review all the evidence this evening and tonight, and I'll tell you what I think in the morning. For the moment, I think you two have chased yourselves round in circles for long enough, why don't you get some air or some exercise…"

He might have said more, but was interrupted by a knock on the door which opened to reveal the broadly grinning face of Skates, "Loftness sent me to find you, sir," she told Harm, "We're up; flight briefing in thirty minutes!"

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1420hrs EST, Tomcat 241, in the air above the USS Patrick Henry and on the flight deck, approximately two hundred miles SE of Cape Henry (151920ZMar01)**

"Hook down" Skates' voice came through Harm's headset as clear as crystal.

"City Desk, this is Tomcat two four wannabe, Pilot Rabb" Skates called the ship

In the Pri-fly the Air Boss picked up his handset, "_Two four one in the groove, give me tension for a Tomcat_!"

Harm told Skates, "I have the ball!"

"Paddles, two four one, Ball, two point eight, manual."

"_Roger Manual, twenty seven knots down the angle_"

"_Two four one, you're high, fly the ball, fly the ball_!"

Then one of the trainee LSOs saw the hazard, "Number three wire is foul!" he screamed.

Paddles – Commander Loftness – reacted instantly, "_Wave off, two four one, wave of_f!" as the Tomcat continued to sink towards the deck. In the comparative silence a shocked voice was heard, "Too late!"

Harm held the Tomcat in the air until he was beyond the fouled wire when he let his wheels touch down as he rammed the throttles open to take off again in a 'touch and go' or Bolter move.

In the cockpit Skates was jubilant, her grin threatening to split her whole head in two, "Nice save, Commander!" but the excitement was short-lived as Paddle's voice came through their headsets.

"_Two four one, make your next trap your final"_

Harm could hardly believe his ears, "Say again for two four one?".

"_I'm taking you out of the air!"_

A disgusted Harm and Skates made a perfect trap on their next attempt, and obedient to their orders they allowed their aircraft to be marshalled. Dismounting from the Tomcat, they made their disgruntled way across to the superstructure, ready to go below, only to be called back by the LSO, "Wait a minute!" he yelled

Commander Loftness stalked across the deck towards them anger showing in every line and every movement of his body, "What the hell did you think you were doing up there, Rabb?" he demanded as Harm and Skates turned to face him.

"I just prevented an in-flight engagement Paddles," Harm snapped at him as the LSO ripped his sun glasses off his face.

"We don't give merit badges here Rabb" he shouted sarcastically, "The point is you were high before the landing!"

"Commander Rabb was making the correction when you waved us off sir!" Skates shouted back.

"He was slow to react, Lieutenant! When I say fly the ball - fly the damn' ball!" Loftness remained unappeased by Skates defense of her pilot.

"I was trying to be smooth, Commander," Harm protested.

"Are you doubting my judgement?" an incredulously indignant Loftness demanded.

"Look, I may not have been correcting as fast as you wanted, but I'm not about to be talked into a rookie mistake and dump the nose!"

"He was easing the nose down sir!" Skates continued in her defense of Harm, "You taught us it was better to go high than to hit the ramp!"

Loftness looked at them both for a long second before he spoke grudgingly, hating having his own teaching used as a weapon against him in the argument, "You can go back up Rabb, but your next four traps had better be spaghetti, or I'm sending you back to the beach!"

Only too conscious of the eyes of the whole air division on them, Harm and Skates meshed together and worked more smoothly than they had ever done before and the following four traps were just about perfect.

So it was with a feeling of unmatched confidence that Harm and Skates headed for chow in the interval between the last of the daylight traps and the beginning of the night session, where Harm would have to complete a further three successful traps before he could be considered fully qualified again.

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1830hrs EST, Aviation Department Wardroom on board the USS Patrick Henry approximately two hundred miles SE of Cape Henry (152330ZMar01)**

The mystery meat and overcooked vegetables finished – or in Harm's case, toyed with – the two sat back and dawdled over their coffee. "So what's the news from DC?" Skates asked no more than casually interested.

"Well…" Harm suddenly realised that with the stress of dealing with Loftness and Sturgis and then having to concentrate on trapping, he hadn't shared his news with one of his oldest friends outside the legal community, and his eye lit with amusement.

Her attention caught by his one word reply and then the long pause, Skates looked up from her coffee cup, "Well, what? Go on!"

"Well…" Harm said slowly, enjoying the impatience he could see building up in the petite Rio, "I suppose I could tell you…"

"Tell me what, dammit!" Skates was almost dancing in her seat by now.

"Oh, only that I got engaged last weekend!"

Skates' "Oh my God!" was more of a squeal than anything else and attracted attention from almost every other table in the compartment, and she subsided, her blush apparent even through her olive skin, tucking her chin down and hiding as much of her face as she could in the collar of her flight suit, "Who?" she demanded, "Don't tell me that you and the Colonel…"

"No… Mac and I have decided that we could never make a go of it. No, I'm getting married to Loren Singer, you probably wouldn't have seen her during your trial, but she'd only just transferred up from Legal Services. We started getting close at the beginning of the year, and well… I guess… I just didn't like the idea of not having her around for the rest of our lives…" Harm finished somewhat uncomfortably, the tips of his ears burning red.

"Harmon Rabb!" Skates whispered gleefully, "You did it, didn't you. You finally fell in love!"

Harm grinned, "Yeah, I guess I did!"

"So, when's the wedding?" Skates continued to probe remorselessly.

"Last Saturday in June. Do you want to be there?"

"Rabb, wild horses wouldn't keep me away!"


	30. Chapter 30

**30**

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 1850hrs EST, Aviation Department Wardroom on board the USS Patrick Henry approximately two hundred miles SE off Cape Henry (152330ZMar01)**

Having issued the wedding invitation – and promising to back it up with a formal written one, Harm hoped that Skates would let drop the subject of his impending nuptials. He found out in very short order that the lively RIO had no such intention, and after rising and grabbing two fresh cups of coffee she returned to their table and satisfied as to the 'why' she set about grilling Harm as to the how, where and when.

At first amused by her curiosity but then slowly becoming exasperated by her persistence, Harm was on the verge of a sense of humour failure until Skates asked, "Did you tell your mom and Frank?"

Harm grinned, Skates had met Trish and Frank on a couple of occasions and she and Frank had liked each other on first sight and had formed a merciless, unholy alliance that delighted in not only teasing Harm at every conceivable opportunity but spent a great deal of time swapping discreditable stories about him – 'exchanging blackmail material' he had called it, while Frank and Beth insisted that they were just 'intel updates', but Skates' question brought back to mind the entirely unexpected encounter with his family of the previous weekend.

The sight of his grin, which replaced the beginnings of his frown, prompted Skates to ask, "OK, Harm, what's so damned funny?"

"Well…" Harm began, "I knew Grams was visiting Mom and Frank, so I took Loren up to the farm…" and by the time he had finished the story of Loren's first meeting with his family, Skates was alternately and helplessly mopping her eyes and cradling her sore ribs.

"Oh, Harm, Harm, Harm…" she half-wept, "Everyone's heard of a shotgun wedding – but only you could come up with a shotgun engagement!"

"It was no such thing!" he expostulated furiously, "We had already become engaged before they descended on us!"

"Oh… true I suppose… but it sounds so much better the other way 'round! Besides, remember the old aphorism – 'when the legend becomes fact – print the legend!' And you do realise that whoever becomes your best man is going to be fully primed with that story!"

"Not if I keep his ID secret!" Harm retorted with a grim smile.

"And do you really think that I won't find out?" Skates teased him.

Harm sunk back in his chair, "Yeah… you probably will," he conceded resignedly.

Skates grinned in triumph and drained her cup, "Well don't let it get your panties in a wad, Hammer, you need to keep your head on straight – we've still got three more traps to make!"

Harm eyed her frostily, "One day, Elizabeth Hawkes, when you finally decide to tie the knot, you are so going to regret this conversation!"

"Nope, not going to happen, Hammer!"

"What? You're never going to tie the knot?"

"Oh yeah, that's gonna happen! But what I meant is that I'm never going to regret this conversation. I'm having way too much fun!"

Harm threw her another darkling look and pulled himself to his feet, "Come on, Lieutenant! Let's get to the ready room and check our schedule!"

Skates, totally unabashed by Harm's assumption of protocol, stood, offered him a sloppy version of a salute and a grin that accompanied her giggling "Aye, aye, sir!"

Harm shook his head and turned towards the door, "One day, Skates, one day…"

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 2142hrs EST, 'Cougar' Squadron Ready Room, USS Patrick Henry approximately two hundred and forty miles SE off Cape Henry (160242ZMar01)**

Commander Loftness surveyed the crowded ready room, and called the assembly to attention, ordering them to re-take their seats once he was satisfied that that he had become their focus of attention.

"Gentlemen – and ladies," he began, amending his address in deference to the presence of Skates and three other female pilots and RIOs, "Congratulations, you have all passed your DLQs – every single nugget of you, as well as our guest," he nodded vaguely in Harm's direction, who then received a playful dig in his ribs and an ecstatic grin from Skates.

Loftness then turned to the length of green baize that covered the 'Greenie Board' on the rear bulkhead of the compartment and removing the strip of material, he continued, "And today's King of the Greenie Board is… Commander Rabb of the JAG Corps!"

A buzz of congratulations – some of them even genuine – broke out for a few moments before Loftness called for order. "I've posted tomorrow's flight schedule," he indicated the bulletin board mounted on the side bulkhead, "But take note, nuggets, it is a provisional schedule; we have received a severe weather warning, and despite my comments yesterday about not being able to choose the weather we fly in, there are some conditions that are just too nasty to risk losing a forty million dollar jet! Even so, the severe weather may pass us by or turn out not to be so bad, so with that in mind, I suggest you cut short any celebrations you might have in mind, and get yourselves a good night's sleep! Dismissed!"

Harm hung back until the crowd of younger aircrew had pushed and shoved each other through the door, and then turned to Loftness, who looked at him askance, "Don't bother telling me that I misjudged you – I didn't! As far as I'm concerned, you're still a Washington Weenie who has no place on a carrier. And don't let the Greenie Board thing go to your head, I've skimmed your record and with your hours and traps, if you hadn't come out on top, I'd have given you a fail! And," he added with heavy emphasis, "you were still too high on that first trap, and you were still too slow in correcting. Like I said on deck, when I say fly the ball, fly the Goddam' ball!"

Harm nodded; for some reason Loftness seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him that was as irrational as it was unexpected, and Harm had long ago given up hopes of changing that sort of mind-set, instead he made a cut-out signal with his hand and replied, "I'm not here to talk about traps – or waves off. You were the LSO the night of the wire incident; I'd like to go over your statement with you as soon as we can."

Loftness pulled down the corners of his mouth, "Not going to happen, Rabb. I've made my statement, and I'm sticking by it and I'm saying nothing more until it comes to my article thirty-two hearing."

Harm was surprised, "Who said it was going to come to that, Loftness?"

"Hell, your two other shysters have made their recommendations, and it seems like that half the air-department are likely to face charges!"

Harm had an insight into a possible source of the other Commander's hostility. "That hasn't yet been decided, Loftness, and that's why I'm here," he used a thumb to jab at the wings on his flight suit, "The application of experience – and hopefully common sense – to a bad scenario, and see if we – JAG and aviation department between us – can't resolve this mess without a mass court-martial, but to do that I need to speak to all involved…"

"Good luck with that!" Loftness scoffed, "But I don't think you'll have any! Your 'colleagues' below, have turned all your witnesses into suspects, and like all suspects everywhere they know enough not to answer any more questions until they have a proper attorney representing them! And now, Commander, I still have work to do, so if you'll excuse me…"

Harm could only nod his assent and step back a pace allowing Loftness to brush past him and stalk out of the compartment, once again his posture and body language easy to read. This time every inch of his frame screamed indignation.

Harm thoughtfully rubbed his chin, and more slowly followed Loftness out of the compartment and headed for the legal office two decks below.

**Thursday 15 March 2001, 2344hrs EST, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (160444ZMar01)**

Loren glared at her watch, where it lay on the bathroom stool, for about the forty-eleventh time this evening and then with a muttered "Crap!", she surged upright to stand up in the tub, heedless alike of the suds that streamed down her body and legs and of the water that slopped over the side of the bath. Stepping out of the tub onto the bathmat she grabbed a bath-towel off the heated rail and rubbed and patted herself dry before shrugging into Harm's bathrobe – hey, it smelled of him, and seemed to bring him closer, she told herself defensively, and wrapping it close around her body, she shoved her feet into her mules and headed for the kitchen, perhaps a mug of hot chocolate might help her sleep.

Chocolate-filled mug in hand, Loren slumped on the couch, a picture of discontent; the work day hadn't been too bad, Carolyn had not only helped keep her spirits up, but had also kept her too busy to brood over Harm's absence, but since her return home at secure, she had found time hanging heavy on her hands, and disinclined to undertake any activity. As a consequence, after she had prepared fresh uniforms for both herself and Harm, ready for Monday, she had packed their sea-bags, dinner had been a pastrami on whole-wheat sandwich followed by a large bowl of pickled cherry ice-cream, but even that treat hadn't done much to lighten her mood.

It was ridiculous, she'd told herself, she and Harm had only just started living together and already she was finding it difficult to be alone. There was more truth than she had realised at the time when she'd said that going home to an empty apartment wasn't something she wanted to do. But for God's sake, this was only his first night away, and with luck he'd be back tomorrow! How the hell was she going to manage if he was sent on a long or indefinite TAD!

Moodily, she picked up the remote control and activating the TV she started channel hopping in the hopes of finding something to help pass the time until she felt drowsy, or even better, send her to sleep!.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 0048hrs EST, Legal Office, USS Patrick Henry approximately two hundred and seventy miles SE off Cape Henry (160548ZMar01)**

Harm leaned back in his chair and slowly massaged his temples, where he could feel the beginnings of a stress-headache building. He had called for every witness on the list that Sturgis and Barlow had compiled and had found them all to be uncommunicative at best. The junior enlisted men had been nervous while Chief Kafenhaus of the Arrester Gear Room had been defensive, but at the same time close to blaming himself.

"The overrun on that arrester wire failed was within the tolerances of the point where the pennant required a thorough inspection, wasn't it Chief?"

"Yes, sir. By an inch. But we all know sir, that the figures on those SOPs are recommended bench marks. That over-run was so near the mark that I should have had it pulled for an in-depth check!"

"Chief, hindsight is nearly always a hundred per cent accurate, but you work at a high tempo down there, and you can't afford to start second guessing yourself. You're well trained, your fitreps are uniformly outstanding, and the CAG and the Air Boss both state that they have the utmost confidence in your judgment and abilities. Chief," Harm ended earnestly, "nobody, I repeat, nobody, except yourself thinks you're to blame!"

"And the other two JAGs, sir!" Chief Kafenhaus replied with more than just a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"It doesn't matter what they think, Chief," Harm said decisively, "it is my report that will be forwarded up through channels!"

Shortly after speaking to the Chief a broadcast had been heard through the ship-wide speaker system, "_Now hear this, now hear this_: _Commander Rabb to report to the Captain's day cabin. I repeat, Commander Rabb to report to the Captain's day cabin!_"

Harm had dismissed the two remaining crew members he'd been waiting to interview and made his way up to the Captain's day cabin, where upon knocking he had been bidden to enter.

"Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, Captain!" he had barked.

"Take a seat, Rabb." Captain Ingles had invited him, indicating a leather-covered and padded swivel chair lashed to a pair of ring-bolts set in the deck.

"Firstly congratulations on passing your CLQ's, as nice a piece of flying as I have been privileged to watch in a long time!"

Harm had felt his face becoming heated, "Thank you, sir!"

Ingles waved off Harm's gratitude, "No thanks needed, Rabb. I just call 'em as I see 'em!"

"Sir!"

"Now…" Ingles gave Harm a long, cool look, "About this investigation… I understand that Commander Turner and his Lieutenant are still determined to press for formal disciplinary action?"

"So it seems, skipper," Harm agreed.

"And what about you?"

"Well, skipper, I haven't quite made up my mind… although I'm beginning to think not… Having said that, I am finding it difficult to extract any extra details from those I would normally count as witness, but as your LSO has been at pains to point out, they have felt so threatened that they now consider themselves as suspects and are refusing to talk to me. However, both Commander Loftness, and Chief Kafenhaus have stepped up and said, or at least implied, that they are to blame for the mishap."

"Are they?"

Harm shook his head. "Not in my opinion, Sir!"

"And your report will reflect that?"

"Very much so, skipper."

"Skipper… H'mm… you're right Rabb. I am the Captain of this ship and I am responsible for everything that happens on board her. I am the only person responsible for the death and injuries that occurred on the flight deck. I will not have a Junior Officer or Enlisted Man in my Command falling on his sword! I have already drafted my resignation, Commander, and I shall be forwarding it up through the Chain of Command in the morning!"

"Sir, if I may speak freely… We may have… gotten off on the wrong foot, but I have come to respect you and I am proud to serve under your command, no matter how temporarily, and although I may be out of line here, please don't do anything rash. Sir, in the scale of things, my opinion may not count for much, but…"

"I think you've said, enough Commander!" there was sufficient bite in Ingles' voice to show how much he considered Harm to have crossed the line, leaving Rabb with no alternative.

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Ingles had nodded again, "Alright, Rabb, dismissed!"

Harm had returned to the solitude of the Legal Office where he had again ploughed through every statement that Turner and Barlow had collected, and while he appreciated their point of view, their inflexibility betrayed their total lack of understanding of the nature of carrier operations. Yes, there had been a cumulative effect of a number of minor instances which had, in the end led to the deaths and injuries on the flight-deck, and taken all together there was a _prima facie_ case for formal disciplinary action to be taken, but against whom? None of the individual failures were of themselves sufficient to warrant an Article Thirty-Two hearing, let alone a General Court-Martial, and that, Harm decided was the conclusion that he intended to present to both Captain Ingles and COMNAVAIRLANT. It was, he acknowledged with a bitter grin, a conclusion that no matter how welcome to the Captain and CAG, was most unlikely to endear him to either Turner or Barlow. Harm shrugged; it was a truism that life was full of disappointments. Turner and Barlow would just have to suck this one up, just as he would have to suck up their inevitable resentment.

But all that could wait until the morning, right now he need a shower and then some sleep, no matter how fruitless an attempt at sleeping in a rack that was at least four inches too short for his tall frame.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 0703hrs EST, Legal Office, USS Patrick Henry approximately three hundred and forty miles SE off Cape Henry (161203 ZMar01)**

Harm looked around as the door opened, "Sturgis, Lieutenant Barlow, thanks for coming in so early… and good morning…"

Sturgis' reply was a monosyllabic grunt – Harm had forgotten just how little Turner enjoyed mornings, especially before he'd had time to top-up his caffeine levels, while Barlow managed a polite, if not crisp, "Good morning, sir!"

Harm pushed two empty mugs and a thermos flask of coffee across the table in the direction of the other two officers, "Here, it's fresh, I got the mess hand to brew it about fifteen minutes ago. There's no creamer or sweetener, but from the looks of you, you could both do with an undiluted brew right about now."

Barlow grinned, "You got that right, sir!"

Sturgis poured a generous measure of coffee into his mug, but slid it to one side as he looked suspiciously at his old friend. "Alright, Harm, you're far too friendly and cheerful for this early in the morning. That tells me that I'm not going to like what you have to say…"

Harm leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the steaming contents of his own mug. "Am I that obvious?" he asked in mild amusement.

"Transparent as glass!" Sturgis affirmed, "So fish, or cut bait!"

Harm lost his smile, "Sturgis, Barlow, like I said, I reviewed all the statements last night, and while I will concede that there was an accumulation of circumstances that led to the mishap, there is no individual who either by act of commission or omission acted in such a manner that a reasonable man could point a finger and say 'that individual is responsible for the mishap, and nobody whose actions would justify having formal charges raised against them'. So…" he paused to judge the effect his words were having, "I am recommending to the convening authority that no charges be raised, but I will advise the skipper that the individuals you have identified as having contributed to the mishap receive counselling, and that once he has read the report that he may wish to insert non-punitive letters of reprimand in their SRBs on either a permanent or temporary basis."

Sturgis had stiffened as he listened to Harm's decision, his face becoming stiff and cold. With an effort he kept his voice level as he replied, "That's hardly satisfactory, Harm. There is a dead man and two others badly injured. Mistakes were made, and those responsible ought to pay!"

"Sturgis, if there was one individual clearly culpable then I would agree with you, all the way. But there isn't, we have a chain of individuals all doing demanding jobs, at more than one point along that chain, slight errors were made, but none of those errors were enough to cause the mishap and none of the individuals deserve to lose their careers or have their careers blighted."

"So, you're pulling your old stunt, are you? Diffusion of blame?" Sturgis almost sneered.

"No, no I'm not playing any game, Sturgis. If I was going for diffusion of blame, I could. I could take it all the way up to the very top. Let's just look at one example: You and Lieutenant Barlow have made much of the pilot identifying his jet as a 'Hornet' instead of 'Super Hornet', but who decided on that misleading name? The DoN at the Pentagon. But why? Because Congress was happy to vote funds for refining an existing jet, while they weren't willing to appropriate funds for a new one! So, I could take that argument all the way to the top! Similarly with the wire, the arresting wire department did all that they were supposed to – just like the way you wanted, by the book. Obviously, in retrospect there was a fault in that wire, so do I raise charges against the manufacturer? I could make similar arguments on behalf of all your suspects! "

Sturgis remained unmoved, except for turning to the unlucky Lieutenant Barlow, who was becoming embarrassed at the friction between his two seniors, "Lieutenant, give us the room, please," Sturgis said even more stiffly.

Barlow shot to his feet, more than welcoming the opportunity to escape from what was shaping up to be a heated argument between the two commanders, and he was almost out of the door before he had finished his "Aye, aye, sir!"

Once left alone with Harm, Sturgis' demeanour changed, "Dammit Harm! Why the hell are you undermining me like this?"

"I'm not undermining you, Sturgis, I am just applying a fresh eye to a case which it seems has gotten too close to you!"

"That's just not true is it? Admit it, you're sore because the Admiral handed this case to me, instead of to his resident flyboy, and this just a way for you to make your point that nobody at JAG, except you, has the necessary insight and experience to be qualified to investigate aviation cases, and that therefore nobody else should be allowed to investigate those cases!"

"Not it at all, Sturgis." Harm denied, "If I hadn't been involved with the MCCDC case, then yes, the Admiral might have sent me on this case, but I was busy at Quantico, and he decided to send you instead." He paused and then when he spoke again, he spoke slowly, pausing slightly between each word for emphasis, "And… I… have… no… beef… with… that… decision."

"So why are you second-guessing me, calling my judgment into question?" Sturgis demanded hostilely.

Harm sighed silently, this was the sixty-four thousand dollar question, but honesty, especially to an old friend, dictated that he answer truthfully.

"Not your judgment, Sturgis, but I am questioning the path you took; led in my opinion by a lack of carrier experience. Because," he replied, "I think that on this occasion that your strict adherence to protocols and inability to be flexible in a new situation has led you into becoming target fixated." Harm gave a snort of wry laughter, "And that's something that is generally applied to aviators, and something of which I have been accused in the past – more than once. So I think I know and understand how it happened. But I also think you have gone one stage further than that. I think you have been over aggressive in this case, and as one of those involved informed me, and I think with a great deal of truth, that the way you and Barlow went after them that you've alienated the whole aviation department and have turned possible witness into suspects. Not one of the men I tried to interview last evening was willing to speak with me unless they had their own legal representation."

"Dammit Harm! You've made me look ridiculous in front of Barlow and this is not going to look good on my record!"

Harm was stunned into momentary silence before he could speak, "Sturgis, please tell me that you didn't just place more weight on your record than on the careers of seven other sailors…"

Sturgis had the grace to blush, "No… that's not what I meant…" he grudgingly admitted.

Harm gave a small friendly smile, "I'm relieved to hear it, old buddy. For a horrible second I thought you were beginning to value your win-lose ratio over the need for truth and justice…"

"No… not my win-lose ratio Harm, but definitely justice. There was a screw up; a man died and two more were injured as a result of it, and I still say that those responsible, that those who contributed, no matter how slight the degree, should face the consequences of their actions."

"And there's no changing that opinion?"

"No!" Sturgis declared.

"In that case, Sturge, as lead investigator on this case, I am going to overrule your recommendations, and inform the skipper that no formal charges should be raised." Harm said levelly.

Sturgis jumped to his feet, "I shall protest this to the Admiral!" he warned Harm.

Harm sat back in his chair, not intimidated by the other officer's looming presence. "You must do as you think fit, Sturgis. And… I… must… do… the… same!" he said, "But before you do, ask yourself a question: Are you pissed with me because you really think I'm wrong in this case, or are you pissed with me because you think I'm questioning your judgement?"

Sturgis glared at him before snatching his cover off the table and turning to leave the compartment.

"Before you go, Sturge… you should know that all seven of your suspects will be on the bridge at oh nine hundred hours together with the skipper and the CAG when I shall not only deliver my recommendations, but explain the reasoning behind them. You and Barlow should be there too."

Sturgis paused briefly with his hand on the door-handle and gave a curt nod before he stalked out of the compartment.

Harm watched him go and sadly shook his head. He had seen Sturgis Turner in the same inflexible mood on other occasions and knew that it was going to take some time for the other officer to return to friendly relations, but he had no doubt it would happen – eventually. Standing, he gathered his cover and decided he had enough time to head for the wardroom for breakfast, and leaving the compartment he exited into the companionway outside the Legal Office.

As he did so he became aware of something that his subconscious had recognised some time ago, the _Patrick Henry_ was both pitching and rolling in a manner that would be more usual in a smaller ship such as a destroyer, evidence that the ship had hit unusually heavy weather. Harm instantly abandoned his plans for breakfast and instead headed for the CAG's office.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 0715hrs EST, USMC Security Detachment CP, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (161215ZMar01)**

PFC Julia Somers had taken one look at the expression on Loren Singer's face as the officer marched across the tiled floor of the lobby and had immediately found something to occupy her attention at the back of the office, leaving Sergeant Hernandez to supervise the Lieutenant's signing in. Hernandez' good morning and his subsequent remarks on the pleasant nature of the weather had been met with snarling, sarcastic and frankly ill-tempered responses from the blonde attorney. Her sudden reversal of her recent attitude came as an unpleasant surprise to the Marine NCO, who over the past few weeks had come to expect a far happier Lieutenant Singer than had been known heretofore. Watching Loren storm across the lobby to the elevator, Hernandez whistled silently and shook his head in bewilderment.

Julia Somers looked up from the totally unnecessary paperwork she had been pretending to complete, and with a mischievous half-smile said in an innocent voice, "Commander Rabb's on a TAD, isn't he, Sergeant?"

An unsuspecting Hernandez fell right into the trap, "Huh? Yeah, he is, he…" and then the other shoe dropped. "PFC Somers!" he said in a threatening voice.

"Yes, Sergeant?" Julia answered in the most innocent voice she could muster, at the same time opening her emerald green eyes to their widest extent.

Hernandez glared at his junior in pure exasperation, "Women!" he exclaimed.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 0740hrs EST, CAG's Office, USS Patrick Henry approximately three hundred and fifty miles SE off Cape Henry (161240ZMar01)**

Harm had reeled along the companionways, occasionally ricocheting off the bulkheads when an unanticipated roll caught him off-balance, and up three decks to reach the CAG's Office in the tower, one deck above the flight deck, where in passing he had seen the very rarely used signs on the watertight doors leading to the open and unprotected deck, 'Flight Deck Off Limits' and then on reaching his destination, he rapped smartly on the bulkhead next to the door and waited.

"Enter!"

Harm stepped through the door and braced to attention, "Good morning, sir, Commander Rabb. Can you spare me a few minutes, sir?"

"I know who you are, Rabb," the CAG confirmed, "Come in and take a seat. What can I do for you?"

"Uh… this storm, sir… I have orders to ferry a Fourteen Bravo back to Andrews for onward flight to Grumman for retro-fitting…"

The CAG grinned humourlessly, "Well, you've no doubt seen that the flight deck is posted off limits, so that should tell you something about the severity of the storm…"

"It does sir," Harm agreed, "but I was wondering if the weather-watch guys had any idea of when we might be clear?"

The CAG shuffled some papers from his In Tray before selecting one. But then before reading it, he turned to Harm, "This is a pretty bad storm, Commander. We've not only closed the flight deck, but we've also completely cleared it, everything has been struck below to the hangar deck…"

Harm's eyebrows shot up his forehead and he whistled soundlessly, "That bad, sir?"

The CAG nodded, "We've already taken a couple of green seas on board, and anything that we missed in striking below is now at the bottom. The weather guys are saying this storm is approaching a tropical storm in intensity, it's moving up from the south east, and it's travelling pretty fast, but it's also pretty damn big. The skipper is heading south, skirting through the edge of the storm in the hope of getting through it the quicker, but we're not expecting to hit cleaner weather much before thirteen hundred hours."

Harm nodded, thirteen hundred was still good, in fact, any time up until fifteen thirty hours was good, and even up to sixteen thirty was, in his opinion, doable. "CAG, could you indulge me in this?" he began tentatively.

"That depends, Rabb, what exactly is it you want?"

"First slot on the cat as soon as the weather permits us to launch?"

The Cag checked another folder, "Well, the aircraft is ready to fly; she's fuelled and prepped – unarmed of course, but we haven't detailed a RIO…"

"It wouldn't be the first time I've flown a fourteen solo, CAG," Rabb interjected.

"Probably not," the CAG said with a wry grin, "but you won't fly solo in one of mine, especially not in marginal conditions you won't! You get on OK with Hawkes, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure... we're good friends…"

"OK, her usual driver's on the sick list, that's why she was detailed as your RIO for your quals… incidentally, that was a good set of traps. I hear you put Loftness' nose out of joint?"

"That was not my intention, CAG!"

"Maybe not, but it was an added bonus, I'll bet! OK, so, I'll cut orders for Hawkes to be your RIO for the flight back to Andrews, and she can jump on board the Monday morning COD." The CAG grinned again, "That'll give her time for a weekend in DC. She's due some sort of reward for putting up with a Legal Weenie as her driver!"

The CAG's friendly grin robbed his words of any barbs, and Harm grinned too, as he responded, "Don't I get a reward for flying with Skates?"

"Sure you do, Rabb, - you get the first launch as soon as the weather allows it!"

Harm stood, "Thanks, CAG. I'll get out of your hair now."

"Dismissed, Rabb. See you on the bridge at oh nine hundred!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Friday 16 March 2001, 0821hrs EST, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA. (161321ZMar01)**

"Good morning, ma'am! Your mail, ma'am." The speaker was a young Personnel Specialist Third Class, and he attracted Meg's attention by his hail, rather than by the customary rap on the doorjamb. Meg looked around at the unexpected nature of the interruption and saw that he was struggling to keep a dozen or so envelopes from sliding off the top of the cardboard box that he could only just get his arms around.

Meg jumped to her feet, and rescued the pile of envelopes, saying "Here, put the box on that chair!"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am!" the young sailor replied as he carefully balanced the container on the chair, came to attention for a second or so and then asked, "By your leave, ma'am?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Dismissed!"

Meg gazed at the box in puzzled anticipation. Although it was a fair size, a tentative prod with a finger had it rocking slightly on the chair, an indication that it wasn't all that heavy. A thorough examination of the exterior showed Meg's office address quite clearly, but no sign of a return address. Finally accepting that there was only one way of ascertaining the box's contents, Meg reached for her letter opener off her desk and carefully split the tape holding the top flaps of the box together.

Opening the flaps Meg was confronted by two heavy duty, black paper bags, each sealed at the top with a row of staples. Meg reached into the box and lifted out a bag. Carefully slitting it open she was met by the sight of a two-feet tall Teddy Bear dressed in a female Marine Sergeant's Alpha Dress uniform and wearing a neck tag proclaiming it to be the product of the local 'Build A Bear' franchise.

Meg couldn't resist a giggle and eagerly reached for the second bag which proved to contain a second bear, this one dressed as a female Naval Commander in Service Dress Blues. Although Meg giggled again, she looked once more for some clue as to the identity of the sender, but again without success. Her search wasn't fully completed however, when she was interrupted by a stern voice from her office doorway.

"You should have had that x-rayed by the security detail before you opened the box, ma'am!"

Meg turned to find Victor Galindez eying her sternly from the doorway. "Oh, Gunny, it's just a couple of bears from Build A Bear!" she protested.

"It is this time, ma'am," Gunnery Sergeant Galindez replied, "So you were lucky, this time. Next time – if there is a next time, you may not prove to be so fortunate, ma'am."

Meg smiled at the marine Staff NCO, "Gunny, we all take the same risk every time we open an envelope. Any envelope could contain a deadly virus in a dispersible form, or be a letter-bomb. We can't live our lives afraid of everything that 'might' happen, Gunny. Sometimes we just have to go ahead and take a chance."

It seemed to Meg that Victor's eyes softened and warmed for a second, as the beginnings of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

"Just so, ma'am." He agreed gravely, "Any idea who they're from, ma'am?"

"No, Gunny, not at all. No return address on the box, and no card in it, or in with the bears." A sudden thought occurred to the blonde Texan, as she considered the specific uniforms in which the bears were dressed. "I don't suppose you have any ideas along those lines, Gunnery Sergeant?"

Victor looked at her impassively, "No, ma'am. I haven't got a clue. But you remember what I said, ma'am, and you take sensible precautions, OK?"

"Still watching my back, Gunny?" Meg smiled

"You were a marine for a couple of days ma'am, and we look after our own." Victor said straight-faced and then stood still for a few seconds observing Meg's reaction before he nodded his head once and asked, "Ma'am?"

"Oh, yes, yes. Carry on Gunny!"

Victor Galindez shut the door leaving a now-blushing Meg to collapse into her chair and fan her heated face with a file folder, while she pondered on the origin of the bears and why those last few seconds with Gunnery Sergeant Galindez had her blushing like a school-girl!

**Friday 16 March 2001, 0857hrs EST, CAG's Office, USS Patrick Henry approximately three hundred and seventy miles SE off Cape Henry (161357ZMar01)**

Harm had headed straight for the aviation department wardroom on quitting the CAG's office, where, as he'd hoped he found Skates at breakfast with a coterie of her Squadron mates. Fixing himself a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee, he slid into a vacant chair at her table, and exchanged 'good mornings' with those of her companions he knew and was introduced to those he didn't.

"Sorry to interrupt your conversation, guys," he apologised, "but I have a message to deliver to the lovely Beth, here!"

A chorus of jeers brought a blush to Skates' cheeks and darting him a furious glance she gritted, "You are so going to pay for that, Hammer!"

"Hey don't shoot the messenger!" Harm objected, deliberately misunderstanding her meaning, "Especially when it's good news!"

"Good news?" Skates demanded suspiciously.

"Yeah. I have orders to ferry a fourteen B back to Andrews today…"

"Weather permitting," grinned Painter, one of Cougar Squadron's pilots.

"Weather permitting," Harm agreed, "And the CAG won't let me take it home solo…"

"I don't blame him!" Skates shot back.

"So… he's cutting you orders to be my back-seater all the way home. Hammer and Skates ride again! So you'd better go and pack a bag and be ready for a no notice launch."

Skates cast her eyes up and sighed theatrically, "Why me, O Lord?"

"Hey! It's not a punishment detail, Skates!" Harm exclaimed as the others at the table burst into laughter, "In fact, the CAG said he'd give you orders for the Monday morning COD, letting you have the weekend in DC, so you see, he detailed you as a reward for flying my quals with me!"

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Skates teased him, "And what do you get out of it?"

"Your lack of faith in my altruism is deeply wounding," Harm mourned, but with a twinkle in his eye, "But my reward is that we get the first launch as soon as the weather eases up!"

Skates was unable to keep her pretence any longer, and a broad grin creased her face, "Are you sure this was the CAG's idea?"

"Yeah… but if he'd asked, I would have requested you…"

"Yeah, I know. But I just want to make sure I thank the right guy!"

But that had been nearly an hour ago, and now, having collected the mishap file and joined up with Sturgis and Lieutenant Barlow, he stepped onto the bridge to the cry of "JAG on the bridge!" from the Marine sentry.

Captain Ingles, the CAG and the seven individuals named in Sturgis' report were all waiting for the JAG officers, and Ingles cast a jaundiced eye at the clock on the bulkhead that marked the shop's official time. He noted that the JAG officers were on time, and grunted an acknowledgement as the three came to attention and reported in.

"Carry on, Commander Rabb, let's get this over with!"

"Aye, aye, sir! By your leave?" Harm indicated the plot table, currently showing a schematic of the Patrick Henry's flight deck, and receiving Ingles' nod of permission, laid the file on it, separating out the seven specimen charge sheets that Barlow and Sturgis had prepared.

"Twenty-three fifty five, a Tomcat makes an off-centre trap. The LSO's Petty Officer writes it up as normal, and the LSO signs off on it. Now the log entry error is not the sole cause of the mishap, however. At oh one oh five, an F-18 Super Hornet radios in requesting final approach; Pri-Fly misdials the aircraft as a Hornet, not as a Super Hornet, that's a weight differential of eight thousand plus pounds, but not sufficient force, all things being equal, to damage the arresting wire to the point of breaking…"

"But it did damage the wire to the point of breaking, Commander," the Air Boss objected.

"The off-centre landing and then the heavy landing added maybe the equivalent of fifteen traps to the wire's life, still within the limit set by the Navy for normal usage. That cross-deck pennant should have been able to withstand another ten or twenty traps."

"I think we're all aware of that, Commander," Captain Ingles commented.

"If you'll bear with me, Captain?" Harm asked before continuing, "Now in the arresting gear room, Chief Kafenhaus realises they've had excessive run-out; the cross head pulley ran out to one hundred eighty four inches. SOPs recommend in-depth inspection at one hundred eighty five inches. Chief Kafenhaus was still operating within Navy guidelines, as were you all. Collectively you are all responsible for what happened on deck, but no one individual is to blame. I shall be submitting an amended report to the effect that there is insufficient evidence to support an Article Thirty-Two hearing in this case! That's it, skipper."

Tobias Ingles kept an impassive face as he digested what Harm had just said, and then mentally breathing a sigh of relief, said "You are all dismissed!"

To a chorus of "Aye, aye, sir!" the visitors to the bridge came to attention and paused before peeling off and heading for the doorway.

Harm was called back by the Captain' next utterance, "Commander Rabb, you can stay!" and turned to face the skipper.

"For whose benefit was that dog and pony show, Commander?" Ingles demanded.

"Wrong ball, skipper," Harm defended himself, "Nobody deserves to be court-martialled for what happened. That death, sir, was an accident, and certainly no officer or enlisted man need fall on his sword, neither is there any need for precipitate resignations! Will you accept these findings, skipper?"

Tobias Ingles grinned mirthlessly, "Commander, experience has taught me that arguing with an attorney is seldom a winning proposition, and I see no good grounds for me to reject that lesson now."

Harm braced to attention, "Sir!" he acknowledged the skipper's decision.

"Carry on, Commander, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Friday 16 March 2001, 0950 EST, Galley, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA. (161450ZMar01)**

Still suffering from her sleep deprived state – she had been unable to sleep even after putting herself through the ultimate boredom exercise: watching a an early 1950's black and white Ingmar Bergman adaptation of an Ibsen play, in the original Swedish and without sub-titles had failed to act as a soporific – Loren was now in desperate need of caffeine as the effects of fatigue started to kick in; she had nearly totally disgraced herself by almost nodding off as the Admiral was winding down the end of the week morning staff call.

Even so, she nearly turned back to her office when she saw that the only other occupant of the Galley was Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, but was halted as the senior office paused in the act of pouring herself a mug of coffee and raised the carafe along with her eyebrows in a mute interrogative.

Loren managed to muster a weak grin and a muttered, "Yes, thank you, ma'am, black with sweetener please."

Mac grinned through her wires and poured a fresh cup for Loren and added a sweetener to it for her. Loren raised the cup to her face and took a deep, appreciative sniff of the brew, closed her eyes in anticipation and then took an equally appreciative sip. As the hot liquid hit her taste buds her eyes flew open and her chin dropped, "God that's strong!" she gasped and then as she felt the full impact of the flavour, she smiled in enjoyment and added, "Strong, but damn' good! Thank you, ma'am!"

Mac's face was still in the rictus of her wire-limited grin but she nodded and said "M'rine grade c'ffee, Lor'n! Bea's squi'-brew ev'ry ti'e!"

Loren looked in amazement at Mac, sometimes, it was difficult to interpret the Marine's mangled speech, but this time Loren was pretty sure that Lieutenant Bitch Colonel MacKenzie had just called her by her first name. If so, it was the first time ever that she had done so.

Loren looked at the older woman, dumbstruck and trying to find her voice, at last managing a strangled, "Did… did you just call me by my first name, ma'am?"

Mac nodded.

"Why? You've never done so before…"

Mac just shrugged, stopped grinning and gave Loren a level stare, "War's over – less you wanna c'nt'nue?"

Loren nodded, "No ma'am, I don't believe I do."

Mac nodded encouragingly and again tried for a smile as she rinsed her cup, placed it to dry on the draining board and with a final "Enj'y y'r c'ffee, Lor'n," stepped past the stunned blonde officer and out of the Galley, heading for her own office.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1327hrs EST, Aviation Department Wardroom, USS Patrick Henry, approximately four hundred and thirty miles SE off Cape Henry (161837ZMar01).**

Lunch had been a sparsely attended meal as the unaccustomed and increasingly violent motion of the huge ship began to take its toll on even the most experienced and hardened stomachs, and as both Harm and Beth had discovered, it was one of the few communal areas of the ship that wasn't already tainted by the odour of nausea.

They both sat at their ease in leather covered armchairs with their sea-bags beside them, and both in breach of normal protocol that decreed that flight suits should not be worn in the wardroom, but in view of the current likelihood of limited windows to launch that rule had been relaxed.

Harm was dozing, his head back against the squabs of his chair, while Skates flicked through the pages of a months old aeronautical engineering magazine she had retrieved from a side table, until becoming bored with it – she had already read the articles that interested her at least three times each – she tossed it to one side, and looked at Harm through half-closed eyes.

"Well, what sort of a wedding is it going to be?" she asked him.

Harm blinked and opened his eyes, "Wow, where did that come from?" he asked as he hastily gathered his thoughts which were about five hundred miles away and centred on a certain petite blonde Navy Lieutenant attorney.

"Well, if you're getting married on three months, I don't have much time while I'm deployed to shop for a new wedding outfit," Skates said in reasonable tones.

Harm looked at her thoughtfully, "Do you know, that's not something I had really considered?" he asked.

Skates gave a grin, "Why am I not surprised?"

Harm smiled and shrugged, "Maybe because you know me too well?"

"Yeah, probably! But what type of wedding, Harm?"

"Oh… well, both Loren and I are Navy… and we're hoping to get married in the Episcopalian Chapel in Falls Church – that's where JAG hold most of their services for any sort of reason, Christmas carol services, christenings… you know the sort of thing. So I guess I figured it would be dress whites, with ribbons, but swords and medals for the honour guard; that is if my best man can get one organised!"

"Who is your best man, Harm? Sturgis Turner?"

Harm gave a half-amused, half-bitter snort of laughter, "After today? I don't think so. Sturgis has taken my reversal of his recommendations as a personal affront so…"

"So who…?"

"I don't honestly know…"

"Hammer! You've only got three months! You need to start moving on this!"

"Yeah, well, I was thinking maybe of Jack Keeter…"

"Keeter? Who he?"

"Another old academy and flight school buddy, but…"

"_Now hear this, now hear this: Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes to report to Cougar Squadron Ready Room ASAP. Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes to report to Cougar Squadron Ready Room, ASAP_!"

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1408hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA. (161908ZMar01)**

Carolyn regretted not booking one of the conference rooms for this meeting. With herself, Loren, Terri Coulter and Temperance Brennan – '_Doctor_ Temperance Brennan', she reminded herself the small office was, with the door necessarily closed against interruption quickly becoming over heated, although that might have been a consequence of the increase in her blood pressure as she tried to coach Temperance Brennan in the best way to give her testimony.

"Doctor Brennan," she tried again, "Let's go over it once more, and this time, try and use simple English. Baby talk if you like; don't use words like anterior or posterior, try for front and back, instead."

"Commander, it is impossible to give accurate and precise scientific evidence without using the correct terminology!" Temperance Brennan protested, "The imprecise nature of conversational English is precisely the reason that scientific community adopted precise, unambiguous words!"

"But you're not addressing a scientific body, Doctor. You'll be talking to a panel of Naval Officers who will lack the scientific background they would need to correctly interpret scientific terms. They will be men and women who use plain language as an everyday tool because in their profession clarity and brevity are all important And if they feel that you're talking over their heads, or worse that you are talking down to them, then it could weigh in the scales against us!"

"That's why they should be scientists! If they can't dispassionately regard the evidence, no matter how it's presented, then they shouldn't be the jury at a scientific trial! If they're not scientists, what are they doing sitting as a jury on a case where all the defence evidence is scientific in nature?"

"Temperance, we've been over this before," Terri contributed; she could see that Carolyn was reaching the end of her tether. "The panel are non-scientists because the accused is not a scientist, and he has the right to be judged by a jury of his peers!"

Temperance Brennan said nothing in reply, but her body language screamed her disapproving opinion of Terri's comment. Carolyn and Loren shared an alarmed look. If Doctor Brennan acted like that on the stand on Monday, then she could alienate the panel so quickly and so thoroughly that despite the weight of the scientific evidence in favour of the defence, she could end up losing them the case.

Carolyn broke up the meeting shortly thereafter, saying, "Well, I think we're done for the day. Terri, would you be so good as to walk Doctor Brennan out? Loren and I still have one or two procedural details to wrap up!"

Waiting until Terri had conducted the still vociferously protesting Temperance Brennan through the bull-pen, Carolyn sank back in her chair, "You said she was a nightmare, Loren. But I thought you were exaggerating!"

"No such luck!" Loren commented bitterly, "What the fu… what the hell are we going to do with her?"

Carolyn raised her eyebrows at Loren's near slip into profanity and then said with a sigh of resignation, "There's not much we can do Loren. We need her to testify. All we can do is keep her testimony as short as we can, and hope that Mattoni doesn't go digging too deeply. If he does, we're sunk!"

"Well, at least as far Brennan is concerned!" Loren conceded.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1412hrs EST, 'Cougar' Squadron Ready Room, USS Patrick Henry approximately four hundred and forty miles SE off Cape Henry (161912ZMar01)**

Their sea-bags in hand, Harm and Skates bustled into the ready room, where they found the CAG waiting for them, "Hammer, Skates… you took your time," he grinned at them.

"All Skates' fault, CAG." Harm explained straight faced. "I had a helluva job waking her up! Did you know she snores_ and_ drools?"

"Yeah, so I've heard!" the CAG laughed over Skates' furiously blustering denials, "OK, you two, time to sober up!" he warned them, moderating his own mirth as he did so. "Skates this is more for your benefit than Hammer's – all he has to do is drive the aircraft, but there may be a need for some tricky navigation!"

His words wiped the grins off both faces as Hammer and Skates settled down to listen attentively.

"According to the Weather Gremlins, we're heading out of the storm even as we speak, and your jet is being readied to be ranged on deck as soon as possible, within the next thirty minutes or so. The storm is still heading north west, so your flight path is going to have to be a grand curve, north east, north and then west, so Skates, you'll need to plot a course that will take you around the trailing edge of the storm and then into Andrews. You'll be taking off with a full load of fuel, but no weapons, so you should be light enough to make it to Andrews with plenty of gas left over. That was the good news.

"The bad news is that there is another storm moving in from the south, hard on the heels of this one, and maybe an hour or two behind it, which doesn't give you much leeway in turning west on the final approach to Andrews. Again, the Weather Gremlins are sure that there is a sufficient gap between the two systems to see you safely home, before the second storm hits. Them are the facts; the decision to go or wait until the second storm passes is yours."

Skates looked at the printed out weather maps the CAG had handed to her and looked up at Harm, "Hammer?"

"Can you plot us a course between Scylla and Charybdis?" he asked

"Of course!" Skates sniffed, somewhat offended by the implied suggestion that she couldn't, "Give me twenty minutes, and an updated ship's position and I'll have the solution!"

"Good enough for me, CAG; if Skates says we're good, then as far as I'm concerned, we're good to go!"

The Cag nodded, pleased with the confidence that Harm had shown in Skates' abilities, and in Skates' justified confidence in herself. "OK, I'll get things moving on the hangar deck. Once you've finished working out your course, finish kitting up and wait here for further orders!"

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1445hrs EST, Flight Deck, USS Patrick Henry approximately four hundred and fifty miles SE off Cape Henry (160242ZMar01)**

Despite his brave words in the ready room, Harm felt his mouth drying as he and Skates finished the final pre-flight in-cockpit check before launch and he looked down the length of the flight deck at the horizon which appeared to be rising way above the forward end of the flight deck one instant, and then dropping almost with the speed of a roller-coaster ride to somewhere under the bows. Praying that the launch crew had mastered the rhythm of the ship's pitching, and wouldn't launch them head on into the green seas ahead of the ship, Harm thumbed his intercom switch, "Are you with me, Skates?"

"To hell and back, Hammer! To hell and back!" came the cheerful voice of the bubbly brunette RIO and a quick check in the mirror told Harm that her grin echoed her voice. Nodding in satisfaction he opened the throttles wide until the rpm counter reached maximum and he lit the afterburners. Feeling the Jet straining against the brakes and the restraint of the catapult dolly, Harm looked down at the catapult launch officer, and fired off the traditional salute as a signal that he was ready to launch. The launch officer turned to face forward, dropping to one knee and paused, gauging the pitch of the carrier before he extended one arm pointing forward, telling both Harm and the catapult operator that the launch was a go.

Harm and Beth were both slammed back into their seats as the Tomcat accelerated from a standstill to one hundred and sixty knots in less than five seconds, dipping slightly below the level of the flight deck as it became airborne and then as the wings developed full lift, curving away to starboard and climbing through the murk until it was lost from sight of the anxious watchers on board the Patrick Henry.

On Vultures' Row, two of those onlookers breathed sighs of relief as the Tomcat climbed up through the clouds, "That's that, Lieutenant!" Sturgis Turner exclaimed in relief as he turned to the watertight door leading back into the shelter of the island.

"Yes, sir!" Barlow agreed as he turned to follow his senior, pausing only to cast a last wistful glance skywards.

Sturgis caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and gazed levelly at Barlow, "You aren't wishing you were up there with them, are you, Lieutenant?"

"Well… yes, sir. Just a bit…"

Sturgis shook his head, "You must be nearly as crazy as they are, Lieutenant! What sort of crazy person spends his days living for the moment he can be fired off the deck of a ship like some over-sized skeet target!"

"A slightly different sort of crazy person from the guys who live to spend months breathing re-cycled air, never seeing daylight and living eighteen hour days, sir?"

Sturgis gravely regarded the younger officer as he secured the watertight door, and then his face broke into a grin, "Touché, Lieutenant, touché!"

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1445hrs EST, 9,000 feet Over the Virginia Capes Operating Area approximately four hundred and fifty miles E off Cape Henry (160242ZMar01)**

The flight so far had been pretty routine, they were still in contact with, and technically under the control of the _Patrick Henry_, but Harm was expecting to hear any minute that he should switch to the frequency used by the DC Air Traffic Control and place himself under their orders. In the meantime he was watching the fast moving but also fast fading storm move away from his flight path to the north east and he was beginning to wonder how long it was going to be before Skates gave him his new heading. He had barely composed the thought when the brunette back-seater called on the intercom.

"Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"I think the Weather Gremlins have screwed the pooch, big time!"

"What's up?"

"I'm picking up the second storm cell on my scope, and it's bigger, a lot bigger than the one ahead of us, and it's moving a damn sight faster than we were told it would!"

Harm digested Skates' words, trying to visualise what she could see all too plainly on her long range 'scope, "What are the implications of that as far as we're concerned?"

Skates had been ready for the question. "If we stay on our original flight plan it's going to hit us – hard – before we make Andrews."

"OK, these birds are supposed to be all-weather aircraft, but if it's as big a storm as you reckon, that could be pretty damn uncomfortable."

"Hammer... it's not just big, it's huge! It's the great granddaddy of all storm cells, and from what I can tell on my screen, there's a lot of very unpleasant stuff happening in its heart!"

Harm thought rapidly, "What's its ceiling, can you tell?"

"Best guess is… about Angels two eight! And Hammer It's closing fast, closing the gap between the first storm and itself. The gap we're in right now!"

"OK, what's it going to do to our fuel if we go upstairs, turn south, jump over this bad boy and then head west for Andrews?"

Skates scribbled furiously for a few minutes on the notepad on her thigh and then said, "If we throttle back to three hundred once we're upstairs and drop back down the instant we're past the storm, we should make Andrews on about one point eight, maybe two point zero!"

Harm sucked his teeth, from what Skates had said, he'd be pushing his luck and leaving no margin for error. "What about heading back to the Henry?"

"Not an option Hammer! I figure she's fighting that storm right now!"

"OK then!" Harm made his decision, "Mask on, we're going up!" Pushing open the throttles, Harm pulled back on the stick and the Tomcat arrowed up.

"Hello City Desk, this is Tomcat one zero four, over!" Harm hailed as he felt the increased thrust of the engines begin to take effect.

"City Desk, go ahead one zero four, over." The reception was poor and filled with static.

One zero four… change of flight plan. That second storm cell is closing on us. I'm going to climb to Angels three two, turn south and jump over it. Once I hit its trailing edge, I'll descend to below Angels ten again and make a bolt straight for Andrews, with Pax River as an alternative, over!"

"City Desk, Roger! We're losing you… Call Washington Central as soon as you can and advise them of your amended flight plan, over!"

"One zero four, Roger, out!" Harm thumbed the selector switch back to intercom, "How's it going back there, Skates?"

"Just peachy, Hammer! Never better!"

Harm grinned at Skates' irrepressible humour, "Attagirl!" he cheered her.


	31. Chapter 31

**31**

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1430hrs, EST, Commander Meg Ryan's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (161930ZMar01)**

Meg looked up as the knock on her doorjamb interrupted her concentration and smiled as she saw her visitor, "Good afternoon, Gunnery Sergeant! What can I do for you?"

Victor Galindez returned her smile, "Well, I was figuring it was more in the line of what I could do for you, ma'am."

Meg laid down her pen and regarded the Marine Corps Staff NCO speculatively, "What did you have in mind, Gunny?" she asked, with maybe just a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Well, I was thinking of all the good work we did on your fitness before you went down to Quantico, and like I said at the time, it was pretty impressive, but your stamina could do with some work."

"And?" Meg raised an impeccably trimmed eyebrow.

"Well, tomorrow is Saturday, and I generally head up to Rock Creek Park on Saturdays, and take the ten-mile running trail…?"

"And?" Meg prompted again, although she already had an idea where the conversation was headed.

"Well, I thought you might like to keep some of the benefits of the work-out you had last week and improve on your stamina at the same time, so how would you like to join me for the run?"

Meg eyed him with a degree of concern. Despite his denials, only a very few people were privy to her masquerade as Sergeant Pierce, and that two products of Build a Bear had mysteriously and anonymously appeared at her desk was slightly worrying. Of the people who had known of her role, Harm was quite capable of buying the twin bears, but he would have made an open presentation taking as much pleasure from her reaction as she had from the bears.

No, going for a run with Gunny was a bad idea, a very bad idea, but a little part of her missed the camaraderie that had grown between them in the three days they had spent almost exclusively in each other's company, and despite a muted alarm bell ringing in the back of her mind, Meg found herself saying, "OK, Gunny, that sounds like a good idea. Where exactly and when?"

"Duke Ellington Memorial Bridge on the corner of Calvert Street North West and Beach Drive North West, at oh six thirty hours?"

Meg scribbled down the location and time, "Fine Gunny, it's a date!"

Victor looked slightly startled, but contented himself, with a regulation, "Yes, ma'am," before he drew himself up into a stiff military brace for a couple of seconds before stepping backwards out of the doorway, leaving Meg to silently ask herself what the hell had she been thinking using that particular phrase – no – what the hell had she been thinking saying 'yes' in the first place!

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1510hrs EST, 9,000 feet Over the Virginia Capes Operating Area approximately four hundred and fifty miles E off Cape Henry (162010ZMar01)**

Keeping an even pressure on the stick, Harm pulled the F-14 into a steep climbing curve to starboard until he was facing the direction of the oncoming storm cell which he could now see as a fast approaching dark band across the sky in front of him, its interior lit by blindingly bright bursts of milky white light, visible evidence of huge electrical forces, their energy diffused by the roiling storm clouds that surrounded them.

Although Harm was forced to concentrate on flying a course that would bring the Tomcat up and over the storm, Skates had a few seconds during which time she was able to pay more attention to the skies, and despite her total confidence in the skill of her pilot and her trust in the strength of the Tomcat, she felt a shiver of fear and thanked God that Harm had decided to fly over rather than risk flying through such a monster of a storm.

Harm took a second to glance into his cockpit mirror, and thought he saw signs of strain on the little of Skates' face that he could see, "Hey, you alright back there?"

Skates swallowed as she got over her momentary lapse, "Yeah, just fine Hammer! Just taking a moment to thank God we're not trying to fly through that crap!"

Harm nodded, "Amen to that, sister!" But although he too was profoundly grateful not to have to try and pilot the Tomcat through the storm, the sheer grandeur of the spectacle moved him on some indefinable way as he experienced a thrill of exultation at being so close to such a display of nature's power.

"We are going to be able to get over it, aren't we?" Skates couldn't help asking.

"Damn straight we are!" Harm replied, "There's no way I'm going to try and fly through it!"

"You have no idea how happy that makes me!" Skates declared as her grin, although hidden by her mask, bore evidence that her faith in her driver overwhelmed her uncertainties.

"We aim to please, ma'am!" Harm quipped, and then reassured that all was well with his friend, he turned his concentration once more into driving the F-14 up and over the storm. Thirty seconds later the jet broke free from the threat of being enveloped by the storm and arrowed up into a clear sky. Holding the F-14's nose up for a few more seconds, Harm then gently pushed the stick forward to return to level flight while still banking to starboard to come on to a southerly heading. "Skates, give me a course to clear the storm ASAP."

Skates checked her screen measuring the depth of the storm and its path, a couple of calculations later she replied, "Continue to turn to starboard, and come on to heading two one zero degrees."

"Roger that," Harm replied as he kept pressure on the stick to turn onto the heading given by his RIO.

"That takes us over the narrowest part of the storm, Hammer!"

"Uh-huh, how deep is she?"

"On average… I'd say one hundred twenty, maybe one hundred fifty miles… but…"

"But?"

"I'm getting just the suggestion of another storm cell behind this one… Hammer, I think we might be flying over the eye of a tropical storm…"

"OK… We definitely don't want that… We're at three hundred knots now, what happens to our fuel if we push for four hundred, just until we get clear of this bad boy?"

Skates was silent while she scribbled a couple of equations on her thigh pad, "Uh-uh! No go, Hammer. We'd be on bingo fuel before we made it to Andrews!"

"Yeah, I thought as much. OK, I'll keep it at three hundred and get back down to Angels nine as soon as I can! I really don't want to risk running out of fuel in this!"

Skates shuddered at thought the F-14's tanks running dry and the two of them being forced to either ditch the jet or eject into the angry ocean, "I'm with you on that, Hammer!" She forced a chuckle as she continued, "I don't swim all that well!"

"OK then, we'll have to keep our feet dry!" Harm responded cheerfully.

"Amen to that, brother!"

Now flying south over the top of the storm cell, and about four thousand feet higher than Skate's estimate of its highest altitude Harm and Skates could still feel the enormous energy of the storm in the shape of the turbulence that threw the F-14 up and down, the altimeter registering changes of altitude of plus and minus five hundred feet.

"OK, Skates?" Harm yelled as one particularly violent surge dropped the Tomcat nearly a thousand feet in a couple of seconds.

"Perfect!" yelled the brunette, "Just like a roller coaster!"

"Just hang on, Beth! We won't be in this much longer!"

Just short of twenty minutes later, Harm's prediction was proved correct as the Tomcat flew over the trailing edge of the storm cell. Harm's first instinct was to point the nose of the jet down and descend to a more fuel economical height, but remembering Skates' comment about possibly being in the eye of a hurricane, he asked, "Skates, what about the following storm?"

"Hang on, Hammer, I'm working on it!" Skates replied as she checked her screen and scribbled another set of calculations.

Harm waited in silence for few more seconds before Skates spoke again, "OK… looking at the screen… it doesn't seem to be a hurricane, just another huge storm cell. Descend to Angels nine and turn onto heading two seven eight. That should give us time and room to miss the next bad baby, and then once we're clear of this crap, we should be able talk to Washington Central!"

"Sounds like a plan! Thanks, Skates!" and Harm pulled the jet into a tight, steep, diving turn to starboard, taking less than thirty seconds to reach the desired altitude before levelling out and heading just north of west.

"OK, Beth, masks off!" Harm instructed, suiting his actions to his words, and checking in the mirror that his RIO was following his instructions.

A broad grin now sat on Skates' face as she caught the reflection of his gaze in the mirror. "Whooee! That was some light show! But, man, am I glad to be out of that!"

"You and me both, Beth, you and me both!" an equally relived Harm replied.

"Very well," Beth assumed a haughty drawl, "Home, James…"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!"

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1630hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA. (162130ZMar01)**

Carolyn let her pen drop onto the blotter on her desk, and looked across at Loren, "Well, that's it! We've got the questions we want to ask each of our witnesses, and we've gone over them time and again. We can't guarantee it, of course, but I'm pretty certain we haven't opened any doors for potentially embarrassing cross from trial counsel, but so much depends on the panel not being teed off by Brennan!"

Loren, who had been staring unseeingly through the at the pouring rain, the file laying with the same age open on her lap for the last five minutes, murmured an absent-minded, "Yeah, got it. Should be a cakewalk…"

Carolyn shook her head in mock despair, "Loren! I hope to God that Harm is back on time for the trial to start!"

"H'mm?"

"No, not 'h'mm…' but you've been sitting staring out of the window for the last ten minutes. I know you're missing him, but you'll just have to suck it up! What's it going to be like if he's gone for a week or ten days?"

"Oh… No, it's not that Carolyn… I confess that maybe I wasn't paying all the attention I should have done to what you were saying, but I wasn't actually thinking about Harm, not just then anyway."

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Carolyn asked with heavy irony.

"Well… yes, kinda. I was actually looking at the weather and hoping it would clear for the morning, otherwise we won't be able to fly, and then day would then be a wash-out – literally!" Loren saw the look of concerned exasperation on Carolyn's face and gave a slight shrug and a somewhat shame-faced smile, "I'm sorry Carolyn, but I promise I will have my head back in the game on Monday!"

"I sure hope so!" Carolyn's voice was a little sharper than she'd intended, and she immediately added in a softer voice, "You've done so much work on this case, Loren – good work – and it would be just too bad if we lost the case at the last minute because we let ourselves get distracted by the outside world!"

Loren's face lost its smile as she nodded in agreement with her senior, "That is not going to happen, Carolyn!"

"Good! If we're going to lose, let's do it on the merits of the case!"

Loren was startled, "Do you think that's likely to happen?"

"No… not likely… but, you know how unpredictable panels can be!"

"Yeah, I just wish…" Loren began, as her eyes took on a clouded look, "I just wish we weren't so dependent on Brennan!" adding as Carolyn, much to Loren's puzzlement suddenly broke into laughter, "What? What's so funny?"

"You've just proved that you really weren't listening to me at all! Your last comment about Brennan was almost an echo of what I said to you!"

Loren pretended to consider Carolyn's words carefully, "Well… maybe evidence," she grudgingly allowed, "but it certainly wasn't proof!"

Carolyn shook her head and smiled indulgently, "Go on Loren, get out of here – go and fly your antique!"

"Vintage!" Loren corrected her.

"Whatever! Go on, git, but make sure when you report in on Monday that you're firing on all cylinders!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am. And, Carolyn? Thanks."

Carolyn leaned back in her chair and with a half-smile on her face, murmured softly, "Ain't love grand?" as she watched Loren cross the bull-pen to her own office, from where in less than a couple of minutes, she reappeared carrying a sea-bag with an empty suit bag draped over her forearm.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1657hrs EST, Naval Air Facility, Andrews Air Force Base, MD (162157ZMar01)**

Harm powered down to taxiing speed as he tucked in behind the Humvee with its illuminated 'Follow Me' sign and rolled down the taxi-way to the apron at the Navy flight line and in response to the ground handler's cut-out signal, killed the engines, finally able to relax as the engines' whine faded to silence. Waiting for the maintenance crew to open the foothold covers on the side of the cockpit, he popped the canopy allowing both he and Skates to draw deep, appreciative breaths of the admittedly damp and chilly fresh air. With the ground crew gathered, waiting to start their assigned tasks, Harm unbuckled his seat harness and quit the cockpit, reaching the ground as Skates started her own descent.

"Nice quiet hop, sir?" The Chief Petty Officer inquired with a knowing grin.

"Not bad, Chief, not bad. Took a little longer than planned, so we're pretty much on bingo fuel. Other than that she behaved like a lady," and casting a mischievous look at his RIO, added, "and the jet was OK, too!"

Those of the maintenance crew within hearing fought to keep straight faces as Skates threw a look full of dislike at Harm, and the Chief coughed to cover his amusement. "I'll see your flight-bags get taken to the ready room, sir, ma'am. By your leave?"

"Thanks, Chief!" Harm acknowledged the offer as he set off in pursuit of Skates, who glowered at him over her shoulder as he caught up with her. "You are so going to pay for that!" she warned him, and intensified her glare as his only reply was to throw his head back and laugh.

"OK, laugh if you like… but remember what they say about pay-back!"

"Yes, ma'am!" he grinned, flipping her a mock salute, "Anyway, you're only sore because you didn't think of it first!"

Skates' sense of humour overcame her momentary annoyance, and her grin broke out across her face, "Yeah, well…"

Harm looked at her critically, "Are you OK, Beth?" he asked as he held open the door to the flight line offices.

Skates paused and looked up over her shoulder at him, "Yeah, I'm fine… a little tired maybe, and damn glad to be back on the ground after that…"

"Hey! You don't trust my driving?" Harm exclaimed, putting on a show of hurt feelings.

"Clown!" Skates grinned at him, "Of course I trust your driving, Harm; it's just that there were some pretty powerful forces at work in those storm cells, and I'm just glad that we're back on the ground without having to have tried to cope with them! So, thanks, Harm"

Harm nodded his agreement, sobering rapidly, "As I said upstairs: Amen to that, sister! And it's my thanks should go to you for some pretty damn nifty navigating on the fly!"

"Oh, hell, I live to serve!" Skates laughed nervously as she felt the atmosphere between them becoming too solemn.

"Nah, no service either way, Beth, it's just that we're a damn' good team!"

"The hell we are, Hammer. We are not a damn' good team; we are the best!"

"Damn straight we are!" Harm agreed with a laugh as he rapped on the Operations Room doorjamb.

Harm and Beth were welcomed by Lieutenant Commander Morrison, a stranger to both of them, who as he introduced himself explained that Marie Kingsley had had to take a personal day, her youngest son having had to be sent home from pre-school due to sickness.

Harm's concern – he knew the Kingsley family well – was not matched by Skates, who grinned and whispered, "See what you're letting yourself in for, Hammer? The joys of family life!"

Harm looked down at Beth, and shook his head sadly, "Do try, Lieutenant, for a shred of human compassion!"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Hammer – I have every sympathy for Commander Kingsley and her family. What's making me smile is the mental picture I've got of you in maybe five or six years down the line, trying to cope with the same thing!"

Harm considered for a moment or two, wondering whether it was worth responding to Skates' tease, and then decided that the best payback was an aloof silence, which only made Skates' eyes dance with laughter and forced her to smother a giggle, her attempt to do so being made more difficult by the offended glare Harm shot at her.

Between them he and Beth made short work of the debriefing, commenting only that an inaccurate weather forecast had forced them to amend their flight plan and had added maybe half an hour to their ETA. The formalities of handing over the F-14 were completed almost as quickly as the debriefing and within an hour of landing, Harm had changed into his old leather flight jacket over T-shirt and jeans, and with flight bag and suit carrier, the latter containing his Service Dress Blues, he quit the ready room to find a similarly-dressed Skates scowling alternately through the window at the rain and at the apparently unresponsive cell 'phone in her hand.

"Problems?" Harm asked lightly.

"No… yes… no, well… not really. Nothing drastic, I've been trying to get hold of Jason to ask him to come and pick me up, but he's not answering his office 'phone or his cell… so it looks like I'm stuck here until I can get through to him. It's not that I'd mind the wait under normal circumstances, but I hate the idea of wasting any of our 'us' time, hanging around here!"

"Where is he?" Harm asked, he readily sympathised with his RIO's feelings. Now that he was back on dry land – well, dry-ish land, he amended as he looked at the teeming rain – he was all the more impatient himself to catch up with Loren, who should by now be on the road to Charlottesville

Skates looked at her watch, "He should be out of the office by now, but with the Pentagon, you can never tell. So, it might be that he's still in traffic and that's why he isn't answering. I'll give him another half hour before I call him at home…"

"Where's home?" Harm asked.

"Uh… he's got place out at Potomac…" Beth replied.

Harm whistled, "Whew, that's a pretty high cost neighbourhood. What exactly does 'Jason' do?"

"He's a Lieutenant Commander, Surface Warfare, but he's assigned to DNO's staff, got two more years there... why do you… Oh," Beth took on a chagrined expression at her slowness, as she realised what Harm was really asking. "The house isn't his; he's part renting, part house-sitting while the owner is in Europe for a couple of years…"

"So… a pretty up-market area, hey?"

"Yeah… I guess," Skates admitted.

Harm had been making light comments while he formed a mental map of the DC area, "Is it far off the Beltway?"

"No… only a few minutes, why?"

"I know exactly how you feel about wasting precious weekend time, Beth, so throw your gear into the Lexus and I'll give you a ride."

"Harm! What about your weekend… It's not fair to you!"

Harm slung his flight bag over his shoulder and said, "Skates, even if I missed the whole weekend, I'd be back with Loren come Monday. Come Monday, you'll be headed back to the Patrick Henry, so come on will ya?"

Skates smiled gratefully at Harm, "Thanks, Hammer," she said simply, knowing that more fulsome thanks were unnecessary.

"Not a problem, Skates, getting to Potomac, is a much shorter trip than to hell and back!"

Beth grinned, and surrendered, "Thanks again, Harm, this really means a lot to me!" and fell into step beside him as they double-timed across the wet asphalt towards the Lexus.

"No thanks needed, we're a team, remember? Just let me make a quick call, and we'll be on our way!" Harm responded as he activated the key fob to unlock the SUV and holding open the passenger door for Beth before he dashed around the front of car before throwing himself into the driver's seat.

Beth waited while Harm pressed the first number on his cell 'phone's speed dial menu and waited for an answer. After repeated ring tones had failed to elicit any response, he closed the phone with a snap, shrugged and as he turned the key in the ignition, commented approvingly, "Good girl! She's probably driving, so won't answer! She might call back though, so if she does, could you answer for me, and tell her that I'm on my way to meet her at Charlottesville!"

Skates took the offered cell 'phone but grinned and asked, "Won't she wonder who I am and why I'm answering your 'phone?"

Harm considered for a couple of seconds and then he too grinned as he shook his head, "She'll ask who you are, sure, but I've told her enough about you so that she's knows you're a friend from back in the day when I was in the squadron."

"Hey!" An indignant Skates protested, "It wasn't that far back! Don't make me any older than I am!" A further thought occurred to her, "Why would you tell her about me, anyway?"

"Oh, Loren was visiting me in hospital when your card and 'photo arrived, and I explained all about you then."

"All about me? Everything?" Skates asked through a grin that was pure mischief.

Something in her tone caused Harm to risk taking his eyes off the road for a second as he shot her a suspicious glance. "Not quite everything," he admitted with a rueful grin, "I didn't tell her about that shore leave in Turkey!"

"Why not?" Skates challenged him.

"Well… it was need to know… and as we – Loren and I – weren't dating at that time, then she didn't have the need!" Harm said with satisfaction.

Skates said nothing, but unseen by Harm who was now paying full attention to the road ahead shook her head as she gave him a speculative look out of the corner of her eye, and the pair continued the journey to Potomac in companionable silence.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 1843hrs EST, North Courthouse Road, Potomac, MD (162343ZMar01)**

"Just up here on the right, thanks, Harm. Right in front of that round shrub!" Skates directed.

Harm eased the Lexus to a halt and leaned forward to turn the key to kill the engine, but was interrupted by Skates, "No, don't switch off or get out, Harm, I've delayed you way too long as is! But thanks, really!"

While she had been speaking, Skates had unbuckled her seat belt and reached behind her, snagging her flight bag off the middle seat. Then with a jaundiced glance at the rain, which although had eased off, was still coming down hard enough to make her run rather than walk from the kerbside to the front door. So with a final grin and a "See you on the flight deck!" Skates took a breath and headed for the door of the neat timber framed house.

Harm waited until the door opened and Skates stepped inside, and just as the door closed, he caught a glimpse of her being caught up in the arms of the man who had opened the door for her. Happy that his friend seemed, at last, to have found a good man, he smiled and was about to engage the drive and move of, when his cell 'phone chirped.

Picking the phone up from the passenger seat, where Skates had left it, he checked the caller ID, and found as he'd expected, it was Loren returning his call. "Hey, sweetheart…"

"_Harm, where are you?"_

"Potomac," and before Loren could ask, he added, "Skates was my RIO and she would have been stuck at Andrews without a ride…"

"_Oh… OK… I was on the I-95 when you called, and it was raining too hard to just pull over. I'm at a truck stop now on the VA-29, just outside Culpepper, so… maybe another forty five minutes to Charlottesville…"_

OK, sweetheart, I've just dropped Skates off, so I guess another two hours before I'm with you. Go on ahead and check-in, try and get us a late table and get yourself a long hot soak too, and I'll see you when I get there."

"_OK, but I'd rather wait to share that soak with you, sweetheart… Harm… I missed you_."

Harm felt his throat grow dry as Loren's words evoked a sharply defined image, and he was forced to take a rasping breath before he could respond, "I missed you too, Loren, so hold that thought about the bath!"

Loren's giggle, clearly heard over the air was distinctly naughty, "_You've just gotten yourself a date, sailor, so see you soon!_"

"Oh, yeah!" Harm growled in response, "See you real soon!" He snapped the 'phone closed, and with a grin and a shake of his head he engaged the drive and headed for the Beltway.

**Friday 16 March 2001, 2024hrs EST, Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (170124hrsZMar01)**

Harm walked into the Boars Head's lobby and crossed to the reception desk, where the young receptionist smiled as he gave his name and said, "Good evening Mister Rabb, we've been expecting you. You're in Room two fifty four again, and Miss Singer said that you are to go straight up!"

Harm slipped the key-card into the door lock, but before he had a chance to even read the green light, the door flew open and Loren launched herself at him, her arms locking around his neck as she devoured his face with kisses. Kisses which he returned just as enthusiastically, and hampered as he was by Loren's weight, he managed to shuffle sufficiently far into the room and back-heel the door closed behind him, as his right hand slipped off her hip and travelled up her body to cup her breast.

At last Loren stopped her kisses in order to be able to breathe, although she kept her hands locked together at the nape of Harm's neck, and smiled ecstatically up into his face, "God, I've missed you!" Then her smile became distinctly naughty, as releasing his neck with one hand, she laid it on his right wrist, "And it looks – and feels – like you missed me too!"

Harm's responding chuckle was distinctly throaty, "You have no idea!" he managed to rasp out, his breathing still quickened, as he manoeuvred Loren backwards towards the bed.

Feeling the bed bump the back of her legs, Loren dropped both hands to Harm's chest, fending him off. "Hold on there, Mister Sailor, the latest I could get them to hold a table for us was twenty one hundred!"

"Maybe I'm not that hungry!" Harm suggested as he nuzzled the side of Loren's neck.

"And maybe I am!" she countered, and then with a chuckle, said, "Let me go Harm. Truth to tell, I'm starving!"

With a mock groan and a much put upon expression on his face, Harm dropped his hands and took a step back. "You have no idea what you've just done to me!" he complained.

Loren's eyes were a dark smoky blue, but she swallowed hard and replied, "Just think of it as a promise for later, but right now I could eat a whale!"

Recovering his breath and his composure, Harm shook his head gently, "What a state we're in after only one day! What happens when one of us is TAD for maybe ten days or two weeks!"

"I'm not going to even think about that right now!" Loren retorted as she smoothed her hair, and checked the state of her clothes in the mirror, "But I am thinking of my dinner!" she concluded with a grin.

Harm held up his hands in surrender, and said in Rhett Butler-like tones, "Very well, ma'am. May I have the honour of escorting y'all to dinner?"

Ignoring the incongruity of her appearance in jeans and a sweater, Loren dropped a half-curtsey, and in her excruciatingly bad imitation of a Southern Belle, replied, "Why, thank you, suh, the honour may be yours, but the pleasure is mine!"

With them both still smiling with sheer pleasure, they strolled together along the hallway, Loren's shoulder brushing against Harm's upper arm as they walked.

Entering the restaurant they were met by the regular maître d'hôtel, Marie, whose own ready smile lit up in response to the expressions on Loren and Harm's faces, "Good evening, Mister Rabb, Miss Singer. Welcome back! Sandy is waiting for you at your table, and I don't think we've crossed the line by having a bottle of mineral water waiting for you on ice!"

Harm's smile widened, "No, not at all; you're getting to know us too well though!"

Marie chuckled, "Well… that is my job; to get to know our regular customers!"

With a pair of matching grins, Harm and Loren moved to their regular table, where having seated Loren Harm sat down as they exchanged greetings with Sandy. The waitress smiled and handed them both a menu, "You'll see there's a couple of extra vegetarian dishes have been added," she said in way that suggested she was recommending them.

Harm scanned the additions, "Tofurnedos Rossini?" he inquired with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yes, a seasoned, grilled slice of Tofu served on beefsteak mushrooms on toast and dressed with a Rossini sauce."

Harm exchanged a look with Loren who had pulled a face of disgust as she heard the dreaded word 'Tofu' but he merely shrugged his shoulders, and said, "OK, I'll give it a whirl, but…" he closed the menu before adding, "I'll have a Greek salad appetiser, first, if you please!"

Loren wrinkled her nose, "Well if you're having a Greek salad, I'd best have something to match the taste, so I'll have mushrooms in garlic butter with wholemeal bread appetiser, and the smoked fish pilaf, please."

"Any wine?" Sandy asked looking from one to the other.

"Yes… it had better be something with a little bite, a little tang to it. Something dry, a Muscadet, perhaps?" Harm asked looking at Loren.

"Oh, yes, that's fine, thank you." Loren smiled up at Sandy as the auburn-haired waitress held her hand out for the menus.

"Wine up in a couple of minutes, and your appetisers not far behind that. Let me know if you want anything else, please."

Sandy was as good as her word, appetisers appeared hard on the heels of the wine, which Harm carefully poured, a half-glass each, and topped up the glasses with the sparkling mineral water that had been sitting in a trough of crushed ice.

While the two ate, the dining room, sparsely populated this late, emptied, the waiters and waitresses quickly clearing the tables of debris and then disappearing into the depths of the kitchen while waiting for Harm and Loren to finish, so that they might clear own the restaurant completely.

Sandy took the opportunity to slip out to the front of house again where she helped Marie with tidying the maître d's station, "Did you notice?" she asked Marie.

"H'mm… notice what?"

"Miss Singer's wearing a ring… and I'm sure she wasn't wearing it last weekend!"

Marie wrinkled her brow, "No, I didn't see it. Are you sure?" She thought for a few moments, "I wonder if that's why they weren't here Saturday and Sunday last week…"

"H'mm… could be, could be…"

Loren had noticed that both Marie and Sandy kept shooting glances at their table, "I do believe that we are persons of interest this evening." She said demurely, waiting until Harm looked directly at her, before casting her eyes in the direction of the restaurant entrance.

Harm followed the direction of glance and smiled, "Then let's make life a little more interesting for them…"

There was a light in Harm's eye that made Loren ask warily, "Just what do you have in mind?"

"Just this…" Harm reached out his hand and taking Loren's left hand, raised it to his lips and gently kissed her fingers.

Loren blushed rosily, "Harm…" she protested half-heartedly.

"Yes?" he inquired innocently.

Making a major effort, but her emotions betrayed by her eyes and her breathing, Loren asked, "What are our plans for the weekend, as far as flying is concerned?"

"You really want to talk about flying now?" Harm asked with raised eyebrows.

"Of course I want to talk about flying. With you being away, we haven't had a chance to figure out any sort of schedule."

"Oh… OK, well… breakfast here in the morning… and then… we haven't done any ground school work at all this week… so we might as well go over the VFR certification requirements in the morning. We can do that here, if it's still raining, and then head out – Loren!" Harm's train of thought was abruptly halted.

Undetected by Harm, Loren had quietly slipped one of her moccasins off, and now with her bare foot and under cover of the table she started to caress his leg through his jeans.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" she inquired solicitously.

"Wha… wha… what do you think you're doing?" Harm croaked, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder in the direction of Sandy and Marie.

"Oh, nothing much," Loren giggled mischievously, "Just getting a little payback, and as you keep reminding me, payback's a bitch!" Then with an effort, she assumed a serious and attentive expression and said encouragingly, "Do go on, sweetheart… about tomorrow's plans, please."

Harm glared at her, his throat working convulsively and his face reddened, "If… if it's not raining in the morning, then we'll head on out to the airfield after breakfast. Do a… a few touch and go's, then come back to the hangar for the ground school and lunch. Then in the afternoon if it's still fine, we'll take Sarah up again, and we… we can have a… a bit of a play over the western manoeuvre area."

"Oh, very well done, Harm!" Loren said enthusiastically as she withdrew her foot and fiddled it back into her shoe. "Shall we go now, and let these people get on with their work?"

"Umm… no, not yet…" Harm wriggled uncomfortably in his seat as he tried unobtrusively to adjust his pants so that they were less constricting, "I think we ought to make time to have a cup of coffee before we leave…"

"Oh…" Loren pretended to smother a yawn, "It's just that I'm so tired…"

"In that case we definitely need coffee!" Harm asserted, "I've got plans for tonight that involve you staying awake for at least a couple of hours!"

"You reckon?" It was Loren's turn to raise her eyebrows in disbelief, "Bring it on, Sailor!"

Twenty minutes later, their coffee finished both Harm and Loren made a convincing show of nonchalance, although both were now in a fever of impatience, as they made their way back to their room, his arm around her waist and her head resting against his upper arm. Harm barely allowed the door to close behind them before he had swept Loren up, literally off her feet, and carried her to the bed.

It was nearly an hour later that a drowsy, perspiration-streaked, Loren grudgingly opened her eyes and nudged Harm with her elbow.

"Urgh?" he replied eloquently, "Whassamatta?"

"We're all sweaty and sticky, and I want a bath…"

"An'?"

"And if I bathe and you don't, then you'll be spending the night in the armchair," Loren grumped.

Harm groaned, rolled on to his side, and dropped a gentle kiss on Loren's lips, "You drive a hard bargain, my darling, but for the sake of my poor tortured back I surrender to your entirely unreasonable demands!"

"H'mm… I thought you might," Loren smiled dreamily.

"And to show just how happily I submit to your stipulations, I'll even go and draw the bath for you!"

"H'mmm…" Loren smiled again, and then as the full realisation of Harm's words penetrated her still half-asleep mind, she sat up in bed as he swung his feet onto the floor, "What are you up to?" she demanded.

"Oh… nothing… It's just that I was thinking, that the bath is so big, it will take a long time to fill it with water, and then I remembered that with two of us in it, there won't be a need for quite so much water…"

"Oh, I do like the way you think!" Loren exclaimed as she too swung her feet onto the floor, and snagged Harm's T-shirt, from the jumble of his 'n' hers clothing on the floor, pulling it on over her head as she followed him into the bathroom.

**Saturday 17 March 2001, 0620hrs EST, Duke Ellington Memorial Bridge, Washington DC North West, (171120ZMar01)**

Despite a series of misgivings that had nearly had Meg into calling Victor and cancelling her part in the run – and why did she still have his cell number on speed dial? she asked herself – twenty to six found her dressed in jogging bottoms, sweat shirt, T-shirt and trainers, gulping down a mug of coffee, and idly – or nervously – juggling the car keys in her hand.

Now tailing Victor's truck as he took the side road leading to the parking lot at the southern end of Rock Creek Park, she shook her head. He, she, they were making a mistake, and as the officer it was her responsibility to prevent any further mistakes from happening; still, now she had gotten out of bed so early and was here it would dumb not to go for a run, and after all, considering that she'd never run here before, Victor would only be showing her the route.

Her doubts temporarily silenced by her rationalising thoughts, she was able to greet her companion with pleasure, "Good morning, Gunny!" and then shivered in the chill, damp air as she shrugged out of her sweatshirt.

Victor Galindez grinned as he returned her greeting "'Morning ma'am, it's a bit of a damp start, shall we warm up?"

"That we will, Gunny, that we will!" Meg agreed whole-heartedly and began to follow Victor's directions as he took them through a series of warm-up and stretching exercises.

Ten minutes later saw a slightly pink and warmed up Meg, and an equally warm if not quite so pink Victor, head to the beginning of the running trail at an easy jog.

**Saturday 17 March 2001, 0712hrs EST, The Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (171212hrsZGMT)**

Harm awoke before Loren and decided to let her sleep on, so carefully and quietly he slipped out of bed, and smiled in real amusement as Loren rolled over to where she missed the warmth of his body and grumbling, draped an arm across his recently vacated pillow, drawing nearer to her so the scent of him on the still warm cotton filled her nostrils.

By the time he'd showered and shaved, Loren was beginning to stir, so Harm opened the cabinet below the television set and set about making two mugs of the high-grade instant coffee to be found there. The kettle boiling, he glanced at his watch and tuned the TV to a local station hoping to find a weather report.

Although he kept the volume low, the sound of the TV brought Loren fully awake and she sat up in bed, clutching the comforter about her. "What's all the noise?" she grumped.

"Good morning, my love," Harm said expansively, as he offered her a steaming mug of coffee.

"M'mm…" Loren sniffed appreciatively, and then took a cautious sip of the hot, black brew, "Not bad… not bad at all. But you haven't answered my question… what's the noise all about?"

Harm jerked his head in the direction of the window, drawing Loren's attention to the flat, dreary quality of the early morning light. "It's still raining pretty heavily, and I was hoping to find a local weather report…"

Loren nodded and sat in silence, cuddling her coffee mug and letting the sound of the television wash over her. Finishing her coffee, she once again picked up Harm's last night's T-shirt and yawned, "I'm heading for the shower."

"OK, try not to be too long, I can hear breakfast calling us!" Harm warned her.

"No longer than necessary, I promise!" Loren quipped in return.

Loren was as good as her word, within twenty minutes she was back in the bedroom, sitting in front of the dressing table a towel secured under her arms as she plied blow dryer and brush on her blonde hair, while a now fully clad Harm lounged on the bed and watched her appreciatively. "That never gets old," he told her with a gentle smile.

"Uh… what doesn't?" Loren asked, switching off the dryer to better hear his answer.

"Watching you drying your hair; I could watch you doing that for ever and a day."

Although she didn't know why, Loren felt the colour rise to her cheeks, and to cover her confusion, she swivelled slightly in her chair, cocked her head to get a better view of Harm, shook her head and replied, "You have got some very strange ideas in that head of yours Harmon Rabb! I'm beginning to wonder if I did the right thing in saying 'yes' up on King's Castle."

Harm sat up on the bed, and reaching out, gently tugged Loren off her seat and into his arms, where tilting her face up to his he kissed her warmly, passionately and very thoroughly. Then, with both of them almost gasping for breath he broke the kiss and smiled at her again.

"Ah…" Loren murmured, "Now I remember why I said 'yes'!"

"And why's that?" Harm asked teasingly.

"Because, you love me." Loren said smugly, and then her tone altered to something warmer, huskier and more intimate, "And because I love you, so very much!"

"So… no doubts?" Harm asked.

"No, no doubts; none at all!" Loren declared firmly, "But that won't save you from the sharp edge of my tongue if you make us miss breakfast because you kept me from getting dressed!"

Harm laughed and reluctantly released her to complete dressing, which without his further delaying of her took Loren very few minutes before she announced that she was now fit to face the rest of the world. Harm nodded both in acknowledgement and appreciation. Dressed in jeans, and a shirt, the latter worn under a crimson cashmere sweater and her hair tied back in a pony-tail, she looked, in his admittedly biased opinion, absolutely beautiful, and he was filled both with pride and a sense of wonder that she had consented to become his wife in the not too distant future.

Holding out his hand to her he inquired, "Breakfast?"

"Lay on MacDuff!" she twinkled in reply, recalling their conversation of last weekend.

Harm chuckled as the memory arose in his mind too, and so hand in hand they set off down the hallway en route to the restaurant.

It was a good forty minutes later that they rose from their table, the breakfast staff had been attentive but without the warmth of Sandy and Marie. Loren had chosen scrambled eggs with toast and Canadian bacon while Harm had settled for a bowl of muesli liberally sprinkled with dried apricots, sultanas and slices of banana, all washed down with copious drafts of fresh brewed coffee, which Harm found surprisingly good – he was very rarely pleased by the quality of coffee offered by hotels and other catering businesses. Normally he would have stoically drunk what was on offer, but this time, he was moved to murmur "Hey, this is good coffee – they must have changed the brand!" before setting down his cup, glancing through the window and saying, "Well, it looks like it's stopped raining at last!"

Loren put down her cup in turn, "So… Do we head for the airfield, or…?"

Harm stood and crossing to the window peered up at the sky and then turning back towards Loren replied, "Well, it has stopped raining, but the ceiling's lower than I'd like… I'm going to call Washington Central and get a full aviation weather report."

Loren looked at him as they crossed the hotel lobby, "Tell me," she said, "Are you being extra cautious because I'll be flying with you?"

"No… well, at least I don't think so… It's… complicated. First off, of course I don't want to put you in any danger, but I'll be there with you, so… but the low ceiling really does bother me. You are still studying for the VFR certificate, and that's a long way below the Instrument Flying certificate, and with a low cloud ceiling, that's what we would, in effect be doing. Even climbing above the cloud wouldn't help, because we wouldn't see the ground, so we'd still be flying on instruments."

Loren nodded, but still had a nagging doubt, "Would you fly today, now, if I wasn't in the 'plane?"

"If I was in a Tomcat, on a sortie, with a good RIO who really knew their business, then yes, I'd be quite happy flying. In Sarah… for pleasure… no… I'd give this morning a pass!"

Loren looked at him searching his face and eyes for any hint of duplicity, and finding none, relaxed, "OK, go make your 'phone call… where shall we study? Our room?"

Harm grinned lasciviously and Loren immediately blushed, quite able to read his mind. "On second thoughts," she hurriedly added, "maybe somewhere else, because if we go back to the room, I have a feeling that we wouldn't get much studying done!"

"Just what I was thinking," Harm agreed, "but you say it like it was a bad thing!"

"It would be right now!" Loren chuckled, "but just as hunger sharpens the appetite…"

Harm shook his head in mock resignation, "You are bad," he told her.

"Oh, you have no idea!" Loren warned him.

"No? I thought I was learning!" Harm riposted with another grin.

"Go on, git outta here! Go make your 'phone call," Loren said through her giggles, "I'll wait for you in the lounge!"

Harm reunited with Loren in the lounge a few minutes later and in answer to her raised eyebrow, said, "Bad news and good news. The ceiling now is about twelve hundred feet, far too low for safety and cloud cover extending up to over fifteen thousand feet, higher than we can fly without oxygen. So in answer to your previous question, no, I would not under any circumstances takes Sarah up in these conditions. Loren, to quote an old saying, there are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots!"

Loren's face clouded over as he relayed the applicable points of the weather report, but she was forced to laugh at his closing comment, "Says the man with two DFCs on his chest!" she murmured softly, "But you said you had good news, too?"

Harm nodded as he sat beside her on the couch, "Yeah, the weather system's moving north-west pretty quickly, and the report for this afternoon is good. Four tenths cloud cover, with a ceiling of four thousand feet, with the wind remaining moderate from the south-east. So, this afternoon is a go."

Loren's face lit up in a happy smile, "So we fly this afternoon?"

"Yep! I reckon two, maybe three hours. An hour of touch and go and then I'll teach you a new manoeuvre during playtime."

Loren nodded approvingly, "Sounds like a plan. Lunch here or at the airfield?"

"What, disappoint Pop? No, figure on leaving here at about twelve thirty, that'll give us plenty of time for a sandwich, coffee, and a thorough pre-flight, aiming for wheels up at fourteen hundred, or as soon as the weather lets us! In the meantime, sweetheart, VFR revision!"

**Saturday 17 March 2001, 0733hrs EST, Duke Ellington Memorial Bridge, Washington DC North West, (171233ZMar01)**

Victor Galindez leaned back against the side of his truck drawing deep breaths of the still cool air into his lungs as he used his towel to dry off the perspiration on his face, chest and arms before pulling a sweatshirt on over his T-shirt. At the same time he was watching Meg Austin as she stood bent forwards, her hands on her knees as she too restored the oxygen levels in her system, before straightening up and pulling her hooded sweatshirt on.

Her breath regained, she looked at Victor with a mixture of apprehension and guilt on her face, "This was a mistake, Gunny," she stated firmly.

"In what way, ma'am?" Victor asked levelly his dark eyes fixed on her face.

"In that we enjoyed it, and each other's company way too much," Meg replied.

Victor nodded, "There's some truth in what you say, ma'am. I won't deny that I enjoy being with you, and I figure you like being around me too…"

Meg agreed, "Yeah, that's the problem… I do, maybe too much…"

"Uh-huh… but we need to maintain our fitness and running with a partner is better… more motivating than running solo…I don't see that we've done anything wrong in training together."

Meg was forced to agree, "But here's the thing Gunny, we're both professional military, we're well aware of rules and regulations. We do enjoy running together, but we can't, we mustn't do it again."

"Why not?"

"Because, Gunny that's just the first step on the road to throwing the rule book out of the window. Much as I'd like to… We just can't. I'm an officer, you're enlisted…"

"True, but we won't always be military…" Victor suggested.

Meg shrugged, "I don't know about you, Gunnery Sergeant, but I'm in for the long haul!"

"Yes, ma'am, I'd planned that too, but sometimes, circumstances force a change of plans!"

"What do you mean by that, Gunny?" Meg asked her brow wrinkling.

"Well, I ain't exactly sure right now, ma'am. I reckon I've got some thinking to do; so, by your leave ma'am?"

"Yes, yes, of course!" Meg watched Victor climb into his truck, and then silently cursed him as he peeled out of the parking lot, his wheels throwing up a dust cloud that settled over her, the dust getting into her eyes so that she had to blink furiously to prevent them from watering. At least that's what she tried to convince herself had just happened.

**Saturday 17 March 2001, 1257hrs EST, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, VA, (171757ZMar01)**

Harm parked the Lexus alongside Pop Walchowski's old Dodge Station Wagon and he and Loren dismounted, grabbing their flight leathers and helmets as they did so. Loren grumbling asked, "How long before this helmet gets to be as soft and comfortable as yours, anyhow?"

Harm grinned apologetically, "A few years, I reckon, but keep rubbing the outside with dubbin or saddle soap should help."

Loren snorted in response and gave him a disgusted look even as he held open the side door to the hangar for her. Despite her temporary annoyance Loren nodded her head in thanks and flashed a brief smile as she stepped through the doorway, and then as she entered the darkness of the hangar she suddenly burst into a giggle.

"What so funny?" Harm asked. He hadn't missed the look she'd given him as he opened the door.

"Just thinking how much you've corrupted me from my ideals!" Loren smiled as she turned to face him and looped her arms around his neck and raising herself on her toes to be able to kiss him. Harm obligingly lowered his face to hers making her task that much easier.

"So… how does me corrupting you – from your ideals," he hastily added, "suddenly strike you as being so funny?"

"Well… it's kinda hard to explain… but… only a couple of months ago, I used to get as mad as hell when you opened a door for me, or slid my chair under me when I sat down, or… oh, so many things that I'd always done myself and that I thought were chauvinistic and patronising…"

"So, now you've gotten used to them you're letting me slide, and that's corrupted your ideals?"

"No, even when I was mad at you for treating me like a defenceless female, I still couldn't help kinda liking, and appreciating what you were doing, that's when the corruption started. I'm just glad that you didn't start to order for me when we ate out…"

She was interrupted by Harm's sharp bark of laughter, "Oh yeah, I can just see that going down real well with you!"

They looked at each other and both burst into full-throated laughter, bringing a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich chewing Pop Walchowski from the depths of his office, "What's so goldarn funny?" he demanded through a mouthful of tinned fish and bread.

Harm shook his head gently, "Just the thought of me telling Loren what to eat!"

Pop shot a dark look at the still broadly grinning blonde woman, "Hell, I wouldn't try to tell that gal what not to eat!" He paused for effect, "'Twouldn't work nohow, once she sets her sights on somewhat, then afore you know it – wham! – it's gone."

"Oh, Pop, you're still not upset about that packet of sandwiches are you?" Loren asked in her sweetest, most innocent voice.

"Upset? Me? Hell, no!" Pop denied, his eyes twinkling with humour below his bushy eyebrows. "I s'pose you've come to get that antique in the air again?"

"Oh yeah!" Harm agreed, "We have that! Gotta take advantage of the weather while we can."

Pop grunted, "Well, don't stay up too long, it looks pretty clear right now, but I reck'n it's gonna git worse afore it gets better!"

Harm looked sceptically at the older man, "Weather service forecasts that it's going to clear," he objected.

"Well, mebbe all their fancy instruments ain't as accurate as my left knee!" Pop retorted, "'Tain't never let me down nor led me astray yet. So, iffen you want to get some hours in, you'd best get started!"

Fifteen minutes later, the walk round pre-flight check completed, Loren and Harm strapped themselves into their seat harnesses and Harm talked Loren through the start-up sequence. The engine coughed and snorted, plumes of smoke emitting from the exhausts, before the engine caught and settled down to a steady, comforting purr. "OK, Loren, call in for taxi!" Harm instructed once he was satisfied that all was running smoothly.

Loren did as she was bid, and receiving clearance swung the Stearman onto the taxi way and cautiously weaved her way to the runway threshold. Calling for and receiving take off clearance and the assurance that they had a clear sky, Loren pushed the throttle to the gate and the ancient bi-plane rolled down the runway at ever increasing speed until Loren felt the tail lift, a few seconds more and a gentle pressure on the stick saw the yellow trainer almost fly itself off the runway.

"Climb to Angels three and take her into a left-hand circuit, Loren, and once you're back at the starting point, let down to Angels one five and call final approach!"

"Roger!"

So began an hour of hard work for Loren as she completed eight landings and take-offs, 'touch and go' as Harm called them, "Although I kinda like the Brit expression," he told her over the intercom.

"What's that?" asked Loren, although her attention was firmly fixed on a red-roofed barn which served as a turning point on her circle about the airfield.

"Circuits and bumps!" Harm grinned

Loren couldn't completely stifle her giggle, "Was that a dig at my last attempt at landing?" she asked.

"No… it wasn't… Not consciously, anyway," Harm replied, "But now that you come to mention it!"

"Don't go there, Sailor!" Loren warned him, acutely aware that her last landing had been harder than was desirable; certainly hard enough to jolt the two of them and to make Loren grateful that she hadn't had her tongue between her teeth as the wheels hit the asphalt.

Almost as if profiting from that experience, Loren's next landing was almost text-book perfect, the main undercarriage kissing the runway surface with only the slightest hint of a bump and then as Loren cut the engine revolutions, so the tail wheel sank as the Stearman lost speed. Then to Loren's surprise, Harm called out, "Take her up again, Loren to Angels six and steer two seven zero degrees!"

"Angels six and two seven zero, aye!"

Once in the designated manoeuvre area, "Harm nodded his approval of Loren's flying and then said, "I am taking over control!"

Fort a second Loren forgot that Harm had promised to teach her a new manoeuvre and felt a flash of irritation, suspecting that somehow she had screwed the pooch, and that Harm was displeased with her. Nevertheless the training and discipline to which he had subjected her held good, and she raised both hands above her head to indicate that she relinquished control of both stick and throttle, hearing as she did so Harm's voice in her earphones telling her, "I have control!" Her suspicions and resentment were washed away by his next words.

"OK Loren, keep your eye on the stick and on the rudder pedals. I'm going to teach you to side-slip. To do that, point the nose slightly down, drop a wing and apply opposite rudder, the plane will keep flying forward and side-slip in the direction of the dropped wing. It's a useful move for when you want to lose height quickly, but don't want to dive too steeply or make too much forward progress. OK?"

"OK!"

Harm let the nose drop and then dropped the starboard wing, applying port rudder as he did so and the little yellow bi-plane slid smoothly away and down to starboard, bringing a whoop of pleasure and excitement as Loren felt at the sensation. Losing about two thousand feet of altitude, Harm called, "I'm reversing the slip!"

The Stearman regained level flight for a second or two before the port wing dropped and the starboard rudder came into effect. Now down to about two thousand feet, Harm edged the throttle forward and pulled back on the stick sending them soaring up again, and as they regained altitude he asked, "Do you want me to do that again, or are you happy to have a try?"

"I think I've got it, Harm!" Loren replied eagerly.

"OK, just remember, opposite stick and rudder and drop the nose! A nice gentle shallow descent for your first try. Ready to take over?"

"Ready, aye!" Loren responded and Harm felt the resistance on the stick as Loren resumed control of the aircraft.

"You have control!" Harm told her.

"I have control!" Loren confirmed.

A few deep breaths later Loren dropped the wing, put the Stearman into a shallow dive and applied the rudder. Harm felt the tension gripping her as she edged into the new move, and as always in these circumstances his hand hovered over the stick, ready to take control in an instant if it should become necessary.

Harm's intervention was not needed. Loren pulled out of the side-slip after some fifteen hundred feet of lost altitude, and after a few seconds to regain level flight applied the opposite stick and rudder movements, a little more confidently and smoothly this time and side-slipped down to three thousand feet before she levelled off again.

"Bravo Zulu!" Harm yelled, delighted with the progress Loren was making. "Want to try again?"

"Hell, yes!" was the enthusiastic response from the front seat, almost instantly accompanied by an increase in the engine noise's volume as Loren nudged the throttle forward while at the same time she pulled back on the stick. Once again the Stearman climbed to six thousand feet and then levelled off while Loren repeated the procedure.

Twice more Loren caused the Stearman to side-slip, on the final attempt taking her up to eight thousand feet, on Harm's instructions, and getting in a three stage slide-sip, port, starboard, port. Pleased as Harm was with Loren's performance after this successful attempt, he nevertheless called time on the practice, drawing Loren's attention to an ominous dark band that stretch clear across the southern horizon.

"Head for home Loren!" was all the instruction Harm need to give her. Turning onto a heading of zero nine five degrees to allow for any northward drift Loren steered the little trainer back towards Charlottesville, breathing a silent sigh of relief as she began to recognise landmarks. At length the airfield came in sight and Loren called in as she turned onto the downwind leg of her final approach. Cleared for landing, Loren turned upwind and once more settled the Stearman on the asphalt with hardly an impact, in Harm's mind more than making up for the previous hard landing.

On arrival back at the hangar, they deplaned according to what had become their established ritual, Harm getting his feet on firm ground first and then catching Loren as she stepped onto the ground and then sweeping her up for a thorough kiss, accompanied by the now also ritual whistles and cheers from Pop's 'boys'.

Pop eyed them with grim satisfaction as the first drops of rain thudded onto the hangar roof and his 'boys' scurried out on to the apron to wheel the Stearman under cover.

"It's gonna stay clear, huh?" he asked with heavy irony.

Harm and Loren stood grinning at him, each with an arm around each other's waist, "Hell, Pop, it was clear enough for long enough for us to do what we'd planned!" Harm grinned.

"Huh!" Pop sniffed in disgust as he turned and limped towards his office, "Damn navy, ain't got the God-given sense to get in out of the wet!"


	32. Chapter 32

**32**

**Saturday 17 March 2001, 1722hrs EST, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (172222ZMar01)**

The Lexus with Harm and Loren inside circled the Boars Head parking lot looking for a bay near enough to the entrance so that they wouldn't get saturated by the rain that was now teeming down so hard that the windscreen wipers, even at full speed, could barely cope.

After their third circuit of the lot Harm pulled into a vacant parking bay some fifty yards from the building doors. Switching off the ignition, he pulled a face, and turned to Loren, "Looks like this is as near as we're going to get."

Loren nodded glumly, "It looks like we're going to get wet too!"

Harm grinned wickedly, "Hey, it could be worse – it could be raining!"

Loren's mouth dropped open in surprise and then she turned to glare at Harm to upbraid him for the stupidity of his remark, but then she caught sight of his expression, "Idiot!" she scolded him through bursts of laughter.

"Hell, like you said, we're gonna get wet, no matter what so we might as well…"

"There is no way I am going to reprise 'singing in the rain'!" Loren warned him.

"Hey, it seemed like a good idea, but if you don't want to, then you don't want to!" Harm cracked his door open, his eyes dancing with his own inner laughter, "Ready? On three: one – two – three!"

Loren shouted "You're mad!" and then muttered to herself, "What the hell?" and jumped out of the car, running at full pelt towards the porte cochère, and easily catching up with Harm who had turned around and was slowly jogging backwards as he waited for her to reach him.

Then hand in hand they raced, heads down, towards the shelter of the doors, Loren shrieking with dismayed laughter as she planted a foot into a puddle that was deep enough to flood her shoe.

Reaching the refuge of the hotel doors, soaked to the skin and with their hair and clothes plastered to their bodies, Loren gave another shriek, this time of surprise, as Harm swooped on her, lifting her off her feet and kissed her thoroughly.

As he released her Loren caught a sight of her reflection in the glass doors, stood back and took a glance at Harm. "God, look at us, what a disreputable pair!"

Harm looked at her, his eyes still alight with amusement, "Yes, look at you, the way those jeans look on you right now is positively indecent! We need to get you out of them ASAP – before anyone gets the wrong idea of your character!"

"Oh… I do like the sound of that!" Loren agreed enthusiastically.

"What? People getting the wrong idea of your character?" Harm teased her.

"No, stoopid," Loren reached up and kissed Harm very gently and then whispered against his mouth, "The idea of us getting me out of these jeans ASAP!"

**Saturday 17 Mar 2001, 1847hrs EST, Commander Meg Austin's Room, Female VOQ, Anacostia, Washington DC (172347ZMar01)**

Meg threw her chopsticks down in disgust, what had once been a plate of steaming pork mu-shu was now a congealing gelatinous mess on her plate with an unpleasant oily looking film glazing its surface. It was her own damn fault, she decided moodily, she had been too preoccupied to eat, instead, she had been concentrating on what she could, and what she should do about the mess she had walked into.

She was honest enough to admit that when she had first seen Victor Galindez she had liked what she had seen, but he was an NCO, so apart from a little rush of endorphins that was that. Case closed. Next victim please! Then had come that, in retrospect disastrous, training weekend that had thrown them together in a potentially stressful situation, and despite the rigorous programme he had devised for her, she had seen the essential kindness and thoughtfulness of the man beneath the uniform, and then when she had bent the rules and taken them both for pizza she had thought she'd seen a warmth in his eyes that made her breath catch in her throat, her heart to skip a beat, and her stomach to do flip-flops. It was a wonder she'd been able to choke down the pizza, but she had done so, although without even tasting the fiery chili that she had wanted so badly. Then on the Monday night, when they'd met for her daily de-briefing he'd been so concerned for her safety, and she was so sure it was more than just the concern of working partners.

That had triggered alarm bells and she had managed to stay aloof for the working week, although she sadly missed the working camaraderie they had developed so quickly. But somehow, and even if they weren't from Victor, the two bears had undermined her defences, as had his once again expressed concern for her safety, and then when he had suggested that they run together, instead of tactfully declining, she had let her heart rule her head for once and had agreed to the idea.

By the time she'd finished the run she had been in a state of almost total collapse, not that it had been a physical thing, she noted, more of a psychological thing. And then she had mishandled the situation, badly mishandled it, and Victor had stormed off leaving her with prickling eyes, which she reminded herself with brutal honesty, had nothing to do with the dust he left hanging in his wake.

OK, that was the problem identified; she was physically and emotionally attracted to Victor Galindez. But that was all there was; that was all there could ever be. There could be nothing more unless they were both prepared to sacrifice their careers and if the worst came to the worst spend a long spell behind bars. Now all she had to do was to consider what could be done to protect them both.

Meg's first instinct was to go to the Admiral, explain what had happened and ask for a change of billet, but a few moments of sober reflection decided her against that course of action. The exact same course of action she'd taken all those years ago when her attraction to Harmon Rabb had risen to uncomfortable levels, but another confession of the same sort of situation to the same superior officer was unthinkable. It would show her as contemptibly weak. But she wasn't weak! She'd served for five years in far more seductive surroundings and in the company of fit, bronzed young men, without succumbing to temptation. Dammit! Why was it only in DC that she'd let her emotions run riot? What the hell was wrong with the place? What the hell was wrong with her?

Meg shook her head, OK, so a talk with the Admiral was out of the question, but she needed to talk with somebody! Could she talk with Harm? On first seeing him again after those years, she had felt a familiar surge of attraction and had fought it down and although she had felt a surprising pang of jealousy when he'd introduced Loren as the woman he loved she'd also felt a much more intense feeling of relief.

If she could talk to Harm, what exactly could she say? Then it came to her. She didn't need to talk to Harm, she needed to talk with Victor, and talk honestly. It couldn't be done at JAG; there were far too many potential witnesses with potentially loose tongues. But a meeting away from JAG was fraught with dangers… unless… unless… unless there were safeguards, and what better safeguard than a trusted chaperon? Which raised the question of whom to ask. A mental review of those with whom she had spoken at JAG flashed across her mind: Harriet Sims was a definite no-no. It seemed that the woman's indiscretion knew no bounds! Carolyn Imes seemed friendly enough, but their contact had been minimal and she had the feeling that the woman was slightly hostile. Loren was a possibility, but although Meg might think that Loren owed her a favour for running interference on Alison Krennick, there was no guarantee that the blonde lieutenant felt the same way.

Sturgis Turner she knew from their days together at Pearl, but she always had the feeling that the tall African-American officer resented her for some reason, which made him an unlikely confidant. With a sigh, she realised that the only person at JAG in whom she felt she could safely confide was Harm!

**Saturday 17 March 2001, 1848hrs EST, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (180348ZMar01)**

Loren slowly opened her eyes to a room that was rapidly growing dark as the daylight faded, she was in what had become her favourite sleep position, lying on her side with her head on Harm's chest, one hand beneath his head while the other lay across his chest and her upper leg thrown over his, effectively pinning him to the bed. She gave a silent sigh of contentment and stretched sensuously, a smile forming on her lips. She had been right; getting themselves out of their wet clothing had been a good idea, and once they were out of them they had realised how chilled they had become.

A cuddle, for mutual warmth, under the comforter had been an equally good idea, and had satisfactorily led to other even more pleasurable activities. So… now, after what seemed to have been a successful, if tiring, afternoon and early evening, why had she just woken up?

A growing discomfort in her lower abdomen answered that question, and with a groan she rolled out of bed and snagged a bathrobe from the hangers on the door before heading for the bathroom. Mission completed, she returned to the bedroom just as Harm started to stir and slipping out of the bathrobe she slid back under the covers, laid her heads on his chest, while her hand idly twirled patterns in the hair on his chest.

"M'mmm gi' you eigh' 'ours to stoppit!" Harm mumbled.

"No… don' wanna stoppit!" Loren replied.

"Oh, you don't, hey?" a suddenly wide-awake Harm demanded as he suddenly flipped Loren over onto her back, trapping her between his body and the mattress as he loomed over her.

"No, I don'…" Loren's words were cut off by the pressure of Harm's mouth on hers. "And I definitely have no objections to you continuing that sort of behaviour…" she smiled once they had broken the kiss, "but… later!" she grinned as she squirmed out from under his loose grasp.

"Now, lie down again, and be a good a boy! I want to talk to you for a bit!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Harm subsided onto his back, and smiled happily as Loren once again used his chest as a pillow. "Now, what did you want to talk about?" he asked after a couple of minutes of silence.

Loren tilted her head back and looked up at him "Tell me about Skates," she asked.

"Skates?" Harm echoed, his voice and eyebrows registering his surprise. Then after a second or two he continued, "There's nothing really to tell; she's a damn good RIO, one of the best, if not the best, and she's a better partner. She's got her head on really straight, and she's got about the most common sense of any person I've ever met. She's brave, conscientious, loyal to her friends and as straight as an arrow. I trust her with my life every time we fly together, the same as she trusts me."

"No… that's not what I meant… Tell me about the woman, not the officer."

"Ah… the woman… That's Beth. She's funny, witty, she can give and take a ribbing and keep her temper, although she will and does flare up in defence of her friends. Her mother's side of the family is Turkish mixed in with God knows what, and her father claims Native American descent; he says that the first member of his family to adopt the white man's ways took the English name Hawkes because it was close to the meaning of his old name. I don't know how many siblings she's got, but she told me once that she came from a large family. She keeps in shape, and she's kinda attractive in a sort of off-beat way – hell, you've seen her photo – and she's got the most outrageous grin and a helluva sense of humour. She's one of those people who loves life and tries to get everything she can out of every minute!"

"You think a lot of her, don't you?"

"Hell, yes! She's one of the best people I know!"

"Good! I'm glad that when you're out there I know that there's someone you like and trust to watch your back."

"Are you jealous?" Harm asked with a smile.

"Nope, "Loren grinned up at him, "Don't have a reason to be!"

"That's true…" Harm replied calmly, although he would have been less than human if he hadn't felt a flush of pleasure at Loren's words. "So… why all the questions?"

"Well… I'm pretty sure that you'd like her to be at our wedding… and I just wanted you to know that I'd be OK with that."

"Ah… yeah…" Harm hesitated.

"Come on, sailor, spit it out!" Loren encouraged him

"Well, here's the thing… I… uh… kinda… well already invited her…" Harm faltered, not quite meeting Loren's eye.

"You did huh?" Loren asked gravely

"Yeah, maybe I should have…"

Loren propped herself on her elbows, "Good, that's that settled!" she smiled. "Now I think we ought to get up and get dressed – that's if we want to eat this evening!"

"Good idea! I don't know about you!" Harm declared as he swung his legs out of bed, "But I'm damned hungry! Trying to get airborne and miss the weather, meant that we missed lunch too – or had you forgotten!"

"Not a hope in hell of me forgetting that, sailor!" Loren replied as she reached for her recently discarded bathrobe.

**Saturday 17 March 2001, 2238hrs EST, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (180338ZMar01)**

Loren chuckled quietly as she and Harm made their leisurely way back from the restaurant to their room. They had been so wrapped up in themselves and their flying that they hadn't realised that today was Saint Patrick's Day until they had entered the restaurant and had been seated by Marie. It was only then when Sandy produced the special menu that they realised that today was, for some people, a special day.

After a somewhat lengthier than usual perusal of the menu both decided on potato cakes topped with smoked Irish salmon to be followed by smoked haddock with colcannon. As Harm had said, with a shrug, "I wouldn't normally have two fish dishes, but Irish cooking is traditionally weighted in favour of meats… so…"

Not that they need to have worried, both dishes were well up to the Boars Head's usual high standards and the dry Spanish Albariño wine, a suggestion made by Sandy, was a perfect accompaniment to the seafood.

But the excellent dinner hadn't been the source of Loren's amusement, she had early in the meal detected both Marie's and Sandy's not so clandestine attempts at getting a clear view of her left hand and she had then taken a childish pleasure in subtly keeping it from their direct line of sight, until finally Sandy had broken down.

"Miss Singer! Please stop teasing us! We sooo want to know!"

Loren didn't even pretend not to understand, and with a radiant smile she brought her left hand into plain view, and then quirked a resigned eyebrow at Harm as Marie and Sandy both exclaimed over the ring and bombarded them, or more precisely Loren, with congratulations, only Marie turning to Harm and saying, "You're a lucky guy, Mister Rabb!"

Harm grinned easily in return, "Yeah, I'd already figured that one out for myself!"

Now as they neared their room, he smiled down at Loren, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, laughing so much at those poor girls' frustration!"

"Oh, I know, I know," Loren grinned unrepentantly, "but that's not all I'm laughing at!"

"No?" Ham asked as he swiped the key-card in the lock.

"Not… I was laughing at my own reactions to their reaction," Loren explained, and in reply to Harm's unspoken question, she continued, "Back at Falls Church when everyone, most of whom don't like me, nor me them, were oohing and aahing over the ring, I got a little annoyed, if you remember?" Harm nodded again.

"Well," Loren paused as she eased her favourite light blue cashmere sweater over her head, "with the girls downstairs, there was no hypocrisy, no assumed friendliness, no figuring if that they were nice to me, then I might feel that I owed them something. They were just genuinely happy for us!"

"Well, it did earn them an extra tip this evening," Harm pointed out reasonably as he sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes.

"Cynic!" Loren laughingly scolded him, "but even that doesn't count. It was me and the ring that were the focus of their pleasure, so your reactions don't count!"

Harm swivelled around on the bed and scooted over to the other side, where he snaked out a long arm and drew an unresisting Loren on to his knee, where he tilted her face to his and said, "Goose!"

Loren frowned at the name, "Why goose? Have I said something dumb?"

"Yep! You sure have!" Harm told her emphatically just before he kissed her.

**Sunday 18 March 2001, 0655hrs EST, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (181155ZMar01)**

Loren had lain awake for a while, lying on her side and watching Harm sleep. He was on his front, his head turned to one side, facing her, one arm curled, almost protectively Loren thought, above his head and the other hanging loosely over the side of the bed. The sheet had slid down his naked back during the night, revealing the scars he had garnered both from his ramp strike and the corrective surgery that followed.

Loren let her fingertip trace the pattern of the scarring, careful not to make contact with Harm's skin, and although she had seen the scars before, her eyes, as they did every time, became awash with tears as she tried to imagine the pain and the agony that the wounds had inflicted.

Harm's eyes slowly opened and as they focussed on his surroundings he smiled, he was looking straight into Loren's blue eyes, but there was something wrong, her eyes seemed to be filled with tears.

Her reached out and cupped her face in his hand, his thumb caressing her cheekbone.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong, what's got you so upset?"

Loren managed a weak smile, "Oh, I'm just being a bit foolish…"

Harm twisted towards her and propped himself on his elbow, his face showing his concern, "No… that kite won't fly! C'mon, something's got you upset, or…" a sudden jolt of worry shot through him, "is it something I've done?"

"No! Well… yes, sort of…. But I'm just being…"

"Foolish?" Harm prompted her.

"Yes! No! Yes… I mean…" Loren broke off and glared at Harm, who breathed a silent sigh of relief as Loren's threatened tears dissipated and her annoyance rose to the surface.

"Oh, wow, that's better!" he grinned and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Oh! Damn you, Harmon Rabb!" Loren half yelled and half-laughed.

"Yep, that's much better!" Harm said smugly, reaching out an arm to snag Loren's shoulder, and then rolling onto his back, bringing her with him so that her head fell naturally into the hollow of his shoulder.

"So… what did I do that brought on all this? You did say it was me, didn't you?"

Loren refused to look at him and her face pressed against his shoulder mumbled, "Yeah I did, but I really was being foolish…"

"Go on, tell me," Harm said softly.

Loren shrugged in resignation, Harm had that quality in his voice that she had so often heard him direct at reluctant witnesses. He wouldn't stop pressing her until he had an answer. On one level she found this immensely irritating, yet on another level, she knew that it was a facet if his concern for her, and that he really wanted to find out what had troubled her. And, knowing him he already had half-formed the resolve to fix it. But this was one thing he couldn't fix.

She tilted her head to look at him and said, "It… it was… your back…"

"My back?" Harm exclaimed in surprise.

"Yeah… you were lying on your front, and the sheet had slipped down, and I could see all those scars, and I knew how much all that must have hurt you…" Loren realised that she had started to ramble and left the end of her sentence unfinished as she once more hid her face in the hollow of Harm's shoulder.

Harm's surprise gave way to amusement mingled with tenderness, his quiet chuckle deep in his chest, but clearly audible to Loren with her head in his shoulder, roused her to a flash of anger. "Damn it, Harm! It's not funny!" she said emphatically as at last she turned her head to look at him again.

Harm just smiled, "Funny…? No, perhaps not, not in the normal sense of the word. But it is just a little bit, and in a strange sort of way, you know?"

"No! I don't know!" Loren snapped, pulling free of his arm and sitting up, the sheet pulled up under her arms and her knees pulled up almost to her chin.

Harm eyed her warily, her posture was strongly defensive, and a wrong word or move from him now could have disastrous effects on the day. Not that he worried for himself, but Loren was due a ground-school grilling and a check ride with Mike Hills, and she needed to be composed, cool, calm and collected.

"Well, it's a little difficult to explain… I don't see those scars, and I don't feel them, so mostly I forget that they're there. It's like they've been with me so long that I even forget I've got them. They're just not important to me, it was a long time ago, and yes, I have my regrets over that whole affair, but in the end they are no more to me than your own scars are to you. In fact," he added shrewdly, "probably a damn sight less. So I guess I found it touching when you let yourself get so upset over them, and just that you did get so upset over something that happened to me years before I met you was endearing, moving and just slightly absurd, all at the same time. But it also made me realise how lucky I was to have you to worry about me, to love me, and for me to love you, and all that made me so happy that I had to laugh… just a little bit?" he ended with a plea for understanding in his tone.

Loren continued to glare at him for as few moments longer and then her shoulders drooped as the tension went out of her posture. "OK, but the next time I worry about you, no laughing – understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. Understood. Now…" and his grin was back in place, "Come over here so that I can kiss you properly just to let you know that I forgive you!"

That was too much for Loren, "Harmon Rabb, you are impossible!" she gasped.

"Maybe, maybe," he agreed, "But do I get my kiss?"

"Certainly not!" Loren said primly, leaning away from him as she picked her bathrobe up from the floor, "It's getting late and we've wasted too much daylight already. I'm going for a shower and then I shall be getting ready for breakfast. I am not going flying on an empty stomach today!"

"No, ma'am!" Harm agreed straight-faced. And then as if an afterthought had struck him, "Uh… do you want someone to wash… uh… to watch your back?"

Loren was betrayed into laughter, "Like I said, impossible!"

**Sunday 18 March 2001, 0910hrs EST, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (181410ZMar01)**

Harm's first concern as they crossed the parking lot to the Lexus had been the weather, but a look at the sky had partially reassured him, even so, as soon as he and Loren had fastened their seat belts he had turned on the radio and searched for a local station hoping to hear a weather report. Listening carefully to the station the on-duty concierge had recommended, his doubts cleared.

"It might still be a little bumpy up there this morning Loren, but from the sounds of it that last of the bad weather should have gone by lunchtime. I'll check with the tower once we get there, though."

The short drive passed in silence, Loren carrying out a frantic mental run through of the sorts of questions likely to be asked by Mike, while Harm allowed his thoughts to wander far away from flying and ground schools.

"When we move into a bigger place, we are definitely going to have to get one of those showers – one big enough for the two of us together!" Harm said enthusiastically as he parked the Lexus alongside Pap Walchowski's hangar.

Loren blushed furiously, "Harm!" she protested faintly.

"You can't say that you didn't enj…"

"If you complete that sentence, Harmon Rabb, I shall never speak to you again!" Loren exclaimed, blushing even more furiously as she remembered what Harm's version of washing her back had entailed this particular morning.

Harm grinned, taking an unholy delight in her discomfiture, and Loren seeing his grin gave him what he had come to think of as her 'angry kitten' glare and said, "You will pay for this! As God is my witness you will pay! Maybe not today, but someday soon!"

"As long as you still love me, I'll pay willingly!"

Loren's glare changed to a look of speculation, "Will you? H'mm I wonder…" she murmured as she opened the door and slipped out of her seat.

"Now what do you mean by that?" Harm demanded as he walked around the front of the Lexus to slip an arm around her waist.

"You'll just have to wait and see!" Loren told him triumphantly as she smiled up into his face.

Loren still had the remains of her smile showing when they walked into the hangar, and this sign of her good humour was eagerly seized upon by Mike Hills, "'Morning Snoopy! All ready to battle the Red Baron?" he called cheerfully.

"Oops!" Harm muttered, casting a wary sideways glance at Loren, "I'd forgotten about that!"

"Only if you're the one flying the Fokker!" Loren retorted sweetly with a bright and what Harm at least recognised as a totally artificial smile.

Mike Hills had been married for several years, however, and also recognised the danger signals. He shook his head with a good natured grin as he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Nope, not today, Loren! So I figure we'll just get on with the test and then the check ride, OK?"

Loren nodded, happy with her victory, "That's fine by me," she asserted, "Shall we?"

Mike nodded, "Yeah, we're all set up in Pop's office; the paper should take about an hour and a half. It's a bit more complex than the multi-choice paper you did last time around. Oh, yeah, and I'll need your log book – to enter the date of the test," he added as he saw the question on Loren's face.

Loren handed over her precious log-book and frowned slightly as she saw Mike scan the last few week's flight activity, only to break into a pleased smile when his eyebrow rose and he whistled just before he asked, "You flew point to point last week? From here to Mifflin, Pennsylvania, and then back?"

"Yeah, but Harm figured out the course…"

Harm interrupted Loren's remarks, certain that she was going to be self-deprecating, and he wanted her to know how proud he was of her achievement, "Only because it was a secret destination. You could have worked it out if I'd told you where we were going, and it was you that did the flying. From take-off to landing!" He added firmly for Mike's benefit.

Mike nodded in acknowledgement, "Good work, Loren. We'll have a look at those later!"

Loren smiled, but suddenly looked a bit apprehensive, "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Oh definitely a promise." Mike waited until Loren seated herself at Pop's unusually clear desk and then turned to Harm, "Uh… maybe it would be better if you… uh…"

"Yeah, I'm going. I want to check out conditions with the tower, and then I'll juice up the Stearman. And besides, I want a word or two with Pop!" Harm smiled at Loren, "I won't wish you luck; you don't need it, you know the answers to these questions. So I'll see you in about an hour, an hour and a half?"

He cocked his head at Mike, making his last few words a question.

"Yeah, that ought to do it," Mike agreed as he pointedly held the door open to allow Harm to leave.

Harm sauntered back to the office a few minutes after the hour and a half had passed, having finished what he wanted to do, to find Mike and Loren chatting companionably while they took sips from mugs of Pop's purple-stewed coffee. Mike stood as Harm entered and crossed to the file cabinet which was the permanent home of the coffee-maker, "Harm?" he invited with a nod of the head at the carafe.

Harm shuddered theatrically, "Go on, I'd better. I can't have Loren getting bragging rights over a cup of Pop's purple poison!"

Harm took the offered cup and dumped what he hoped was enough sugar in it to make it potable and perched on the corner of the desk, "How did it go?" he asked Loren.

Loren looked a little doubtful and then pulled a face, "OK… I think…"

Mike intervened, "I haven't marked the test yet, not properly, but Loren finished up about fifteen minutes early, so I've had a quick look through her paper. It looks good to me!"

Loren half-smiled, not wanting to tempt the fates by an over enthusiastic reaction to Mike's assessment, and quickly changed the subject, "What about you Harm? Did you get everything cleared up?"

Harm winced as he took a sip of the still bitter brew, "Yep, weather's looking good, some scattered altocumulus from about six to ten thousand feet, but only about fifteen to twenty per cent coverage. No problem's there."

Loren had tensed a little, she still wasn't quite certain on identifying cloud types and the likely altitudes at which they were to be found, but the sight of Mike placidly nodding his head allowed her to breathe out and relax.

"Well, if you've finished with the poison, Pop's posted the 'Ladie's Room' for you, so if you want to get into your flight gear?" Mike suggested to Loren, "then we can get this bird in the air!"

"Yep, can't wait!" Loren replied in a show of bravado to try and disguise the fact that there were at least a million butterflies carrying out their own check-flights in her stomach.

Mike and Harm watched her go and once she was safely out of earshot, Mike turned to Harm, "Just, exactly, how far is she along the road to going solo?"

"Well, she is a natural… but she's still got a ways to go. I've shown her how to side-slip, but we haven't covered stalls or spins yet, and she needs a good few more hours yet…"

"Uh-huh… Are you sure you're the best judge of that, Harm? Sure that you're not being over-protective?"

Harm considered for a moment or two, there was, he inwardly conceded, an element of truth in Mike's suggestion, but…"Protective? Hell, yeah, I'm protective! But over-protective? Honestly, Mike, I don't think so."

Mike nodded, "OK, I'll give you my opinion of that when we get back down. The other thing that's bugging me is that all her hours are in that antique tail-dragger of yours. She's going to need hours in a modern tricycle-cart too."

Harm frowned, "Are you certain, Mike? I mean she can qualify in the Stearman, right?"

"She can, but it's going to take a little longer; first off it is a tail dragger, and that's an extra endorsement on the PPL, and then she's got the later, more powerful engine, that's another endorsement."

"But she can qualify for PPL on the Stearman, right?"

"Yeah, but that'll be the only type she'll be rated for."

"That's all she needs… it's the only airplane we got between us! And anyway, once she's got her PPL she can get rated on other types, right?"

"Yeah, she can," Mike admitted.

"OK, let's not confuse the issue, and concentrate on getting her qualified on the Stearman!"

Whatever other objections Mike might have had were cut short by Loren's return, suited and booted for flying with her still painfully new flying helmet in her hand, "Ready Mike?" she inquired.

"Whenever you are!" Mike exclaimed grabbing his own jacket and helmet from the chai across which he had thrown them, and standing back he opened the door to allow Loren to precede him out into the hangar and then onto the apron where Harm had parked Sarah ready in all respects for flight.

Harm stood back at the hangar's main entrance, where the doors were slid wide open to allow easy access and egress, to allow Loren to complete her pre-flight walk round and where he was shortly joined by Pop Walchowski, the hangar's owner and brewer of almost undrinkable coffee.

Pop wiped his oily hands almost clean on a hank of cotton waste which he then stuffed into one of his overall pockets. Harm couldn't resist a sly dig in retaliation for last evening's _sotto voce_ comment, which he knew had been said just loudly enough for him to have heard, but quietly enough for Pop to insist he'd misheard if he'd taken offence.

"Getting your hands dirty, at your age Pop?" he asked in assumed innocence, which didn't fool the older man for an instant.

Pop snorted and grinned up at Harm from under his bushy eyebrows, "Yep, got a new customer with a new toy," he jerked a grimy thumb over his shoulder, "Wanna take a stroll an' have a look-see?"

Harm craned his head around to look over his right shoulder, and could just about see, hidden as it was by a Cessna and a Piper Cherokee, a flash of yellow, "Another Stearman?" he asked.

"Nah, come an' see fer yer own-self," Pop grinned.

"Yeah, I will… just let me see Loren safely airborne!"

Pop nodded, "Well, you just come on back whenever you're ready. That is if you can navigate that far all on your ownsome!"

Harm chuckled as with that parting shot the old man ambled off back to the job he was doing.

Harm stayed by the hangar entrance and watched the Stearman weave its way along the taxi way and then hold at the runway threshold, where, in the rear cockpit, Mike Hills, thumbed the intercom switch, and said. "It's all yours Loren, proceed when ready!"

"Proceed when ready, aye!" Loren responded and Mike heard the click in his earphones as Loren switched to broadcast, "Charlottesville tower, this Stearman November six, holding on runway zero-one-five and requesting take-off and clearance to transit to western manoeuvre area."

"Roger Stearman November Six, you are cleared for take-off and transit. Be advised there is one other airplane over the manoeuvre area."

"Roger, November Six, out". Loren pushed the throttle forward to the stop and her nerves vanishing with the increasing rumble of the wheels on the pavement and the roar of the engine, she settled down to enjoy the flight.

Harm nodded approvingly as the tail of the Stearman came up and then it seemed only moments later the 220 horsepower Continental R-670-5 engine lifted the chunky bi-plane clear of the runway and smoothly into the sky.

Harm turned towards the rear of the hangar and wound his way between the Cessna and the Piper to find himself looking at a trainer-yellow painted airplane, the basic colour scheme similar to that of Sarah. But there the comparison stopped. The aircraft he was looking at had a tail wheel undercarriage, true, but it was a much smaller airplane than the Stearman and rather than a bi-plane it was a low-wing monoplane with a greenhouse-like canopy enclosing the cockpit. Today however, the engine cowlings were off and Pop and Frankie his chief mechanic each stood on a set of steps, one either side of the airplane's nose, head down and butt up as they worked on the engine.

Harm dragged up a trestle and perched, somewhat uncomfortably, on while he waited for Pop to surface. It took about ten minutes before the old man straightened from his task, and turning to watch his feet as he climbed down the few steps to the hangar floor, he grinned at Harm, "So, she got off alright?"

"Yeah, don't worry Pop; Mike's perfectly safe with Loren at the controls!" Harm said straight faced.

"Hell! Ain't worried about him! It's that damn Stearman, we spent too many hours a-looking after her to be happy if she bends it!"

"She won't do that Pop, she's a natural," Harm said in a slightly wounded voice, half-rising from his seated position, resenting even implied criticism of Loren and her abilities.

"H'mm... OK, keep your hair on!" Pop recommended with his gap-toothed grin, "You're right. I've seen a heap of makee-learnee pilots come through here, son. And yeah, she's way better than average!"

Harm settled down again on his trestle, feeling very much like rooster settling its ruffled feathers and gave a rueful grin, "Damn it, Pop, don't do that!"

"Don't fuss about it, it's only natural, son, that you'd be defensive. Hell it's normal for you to worry about her, even iffen she weren't your fee-an-cee! Hell, yeah, I seen that pretty little rock on her finger!""

Harm acknowledged the truth behind Pop's observation with a shrug and a helpless grin and was rescued when the older man said, "Anyhow, you didn't come back here to talk about that young lady, although I 'spect you'd talk about her until the cows come home!" He indicated the little yellow plane he's been working on, "So, what do you think?"

Harm took a second more searching look at the airplane. Yes it was Trainer Yellow like the Stearman, but its livery was that of the post-Second World War British Royal Air Force, and Harm grinned at the Squadron and aircraft identification code that was painted on the fuselage of the little airplane, the two letter squadron code separated from the individual aircraft letter by the RAF roundel, 'US – A'. The owner obviously had a sense of patriotism blended with humour. Harm cast about in his memory trying to run through his knowledge of Primary, or as the British said, Basic, Trainers. And it was 'Basic Trainer' that triggered the appropriate mental connections, "De Haviland Chipmunk!" he declared with a triumphant grin, "But… that's a Canadian design, shouldn't it be in RCAF livery?"

Pop grinned, "Shoulda bin ain't allus is!" he declared in his deliberately thickened accent. "Fact is, Mister Smarty Pants, that the Chipmunk was designed in Canada by De Haviland of Canada, but this little lady, along with mebbe a thousand others, was built in England by the De Haviland parent company!"

Harm nodded his understanding, the complexity of mergers, takeovers and acquisitions of various aircraft manufacturing companies was a whirlpool into which he didn't even wish to dip his toes, let alone dive in.

"Yep," Pop went on blithely, "She came in last week; belongs to a transfer in from Camp Pendleton to Quantico, got a place jest north of Fredericksburg."

Harm took in the significance of the place names and raised his eyebrows, "A Marine, huh?"

"Yep, a real young 'un," Pop said indulgently.

"Pop, everyone's a young 'un according to you!" Harm objected.

"Nope, this one's really young, even younger than you!" Pop grinned, "And a darned sight prettier!"

"You mean it's a she?" Harm asked in surprise.

"Yeah, a Lieutenant, name of MacKenzie!"

Harm's mouth dropped wide open, "MacKenzie?" he asked.

"Yeah," Pop peered at him anxiously, "You know her? Hey, are you OK? You've gone as white as a ghost!"

"No… I'm fine… it's just a name I didn't expect to hear at Charlottesville again." He took a deep breath, "Do you remember about… oh… four, mebbe five years ago, I took a woman flying with me, we were out overnight, and we got back the next day, we had to get an ambulance for her?"

Pop thought for a minute or so, sucking on his teeth, "Yeah… I reckon I do… dark haired gal. Pretty enough, but a bit hard-faced I reckoned. Got herself shot by poachers, didn't she?"

"Yeah… well, she's a Marine and her name is MacKenzie, too." Harm mustered up a weak grin, "I don't why I should have been surprised; it's not that uncommon a name!"

Pop looked at him with a hint of wariness in his eyes, "I dunno Harm, she flies an ex-military trainer, her name's MacKenzie, and she's a Marine. Don't that strike you as just a bit more than coincidence?"

Harm forced a laugh, "Ah, come on Pop, you'll be telling me you believe in pots of gold at the end of the rainbow next!"

"Well, mebbe I do, and mebbe I don't. But that's three strikes – an' that's two too many fer my liking!" the old man said obstinately. "Anyhow, I got to get back to work if we're to finish this engine change afore it gets too dark. But you keep in mind what I said!"

Harm left the two men to their work and strolled back to the front of the hangar where he grabbed a folding chair and sat outside in the gentle warmth of the spring sun while he waited for Loren and Mike to return from their check-ride.

xxxii-xxxii-xxxii-xxxii-xxxii

Mike had put Loren through all the manoeuvres that Harm had taught her, ending with a series of sideslips to port and starboard for which, judging by the airplane's response to the controls, the Stearman seemed to have been expressly designed, and then had her fly a dead-reckoning triangle of twenty minutes a side, grinning in satisfaction when at the end of the third leg he reckoned they were no more than three miles from their starting point, a distinctive finger of forest that jutted east from the forests that clothed the ridges of the Shenandoah National Park.

He looked at his watch, and making a quick note on his thigh pad, he thumbed the intercom switch, "OK Loren, take us home!"

Loren put the Stearman into a spiralling climb until she was pretty sure of her bearings, and then setting a course almost due south, she levelled off at five thousand feet, heading in a straight line, she hoped, for Charlottesville.

Mike had taken note of her actions and again, unseen by Loren of course, he gave another approving grin and sat back to enjoy what was left of the ride. And the ride didn't last that long, with a slight feeling of relief Loren saw the now familiar outline of the airport in the angle between the Stearman's nose and the port wing.

"Charlottesville tower, this is Stearman November Six. Requesting Landing instructions please."

"November Six, you are third in line, descend to three thousand five hundred and feet in a left hand circuit, descend five hundred feet each circuit for a landing on runway zero one five and call when on finals."

"Roger, Charlottesville, November Six out."

Loren made her four necessary circuits and called the tower again, "Charlottesville tower, this is Stearman November Six on downwind leg at one thousand eight hundred feet, turning crosswind for final approach at one thousand five hundred over threshold for landing on runway zero one five."

"Roger November Six, you are cleared for landing!"

xxxi-xxxii-xxxii-xxxii-xxxii

Harm had both seen and heard the Stearman as Loren made the necessary circuits while waiting for her turn to land and as the veteran bi-plane sank lower over the threshold Harm stood to watch, grinning approvingly as Loren brought the Stearman in for a perfect three-point landing, causing him not only to grin but to silently whistle, all Loren's previous landings had been of the two-point and let the tail sink as the 'plane lost speed variety.

Harm waited until the Stearman had weaved its path along the taxi-way and reached the apron outside the hangar, where Loren blipped the engine to clear the cylinders and then thumbed the kill switch. The airscrew slowed its rotations before coming to a stop, and waiting until Mike had climbed out of the rear cockpit, Harm strode forward to reach the side of the plane just as Loren's feet hit the pavement. Heedless of Mike's presence and of any of Pop's 'boys' that might be rubber-necking, Harm swept Loren up in his arms and kissed her soundly, a kiss which Loren, her arms now wrapped around Harm's neck, returned enthusiastically.

Mike who had taken a few steps away, stopped, turned and then with a shake of his head grinned, "I don't about you Loren, but it was a bit chilly up there, and I could do with being outside of a cup of coffee and getting warmed up."

Loren, still with her arms around Harm's neck and her eyes locked on his, replied, "No, I'm doing just fine, Mike. I'm getting warmed up nicely, right where I am now!"

Harm chuckled and then in a low husky voice, he asked with a smile, "Have you no shame woman?"

Loren pretended to give his answer careful consideration, taking her bottom lip between her teeth in the manner she did unconsciously when she was concentrating hard, and something of which she had been unaware until Harm teased her about on one occasion. Then her pretended frown of concentration faded and she smiled sunnily up at him, "No… I don't think I've got any of that left, not since…" she used her grip on Harm's neck to raise herself on tip-toe to whisper in his ear.

Mike would have given a million dollars right there and then to hear what she had said, as Harm went bright crimson, right to the tip of his ears and protested with an explosive wail of "Loren!" which left the young woman in helpless giggles.

"You are bad!" Harm told her as a reluctant smile spread across his face.

"Yeah," Loren chuckled, "Paybacks… are hell!"

"Payback? Payback? What for?" Harm demanded as with an arm around Loren's waist he steered her, warmed up or not, towards the hangar and a lunch of Pop's tuna and mayo sandwiches and a cup or two of purple poison.

"Oh… for any number of things," Loren smirked, "Like for that crack earlier about the super-sized shower you wanted."

"How did that deserve payback?" Harm demanded.

"Oh it wasn't the comment about the shower as such; it was what lay behind the comment – especially after you 'washed my back' this morning!"

"I had no such thoughts in mind!" Harm proclaimed virtuously, if somewhat mendaciously.

"Yeah, riiight!" Loren said, as he opened the office door for her

Harm hooked a foot around a chair leg and dragged it to the desk where Loren was in the process of seating herself, while Mike, a mug of coffee in front of him and a sandwich in one hand was reading through the answers Loren had given to her written test.

Harm poured coffee for himself and Loren before sitting and grabbing a sandwich from the double-sized packet Pop had left on the desk. He indicated the package with a nod of his head and Loren following the direction of his glance looked blankly at the packet for a few second and then as realisation of his meaning dawned, she broke into a huge grin, and grabbed a sandwich for herself.

For a while they chewed on their sandwiches and drank their coffee in silence, until Pop stuck his around the door, grinned as he saw them and said, "Waal, I'm off to home for a proper lunch! Y'all enjoy your sandwiches, d'you hear?" and then ducked out of the room before any of them could make a reply.

Harm looked at his half-eaten sandwich in sudden disgust, "I swear he only did that to rub our noses in it!"

"Oh, yeah," Mike replied, "What you need to remember is that despite everything else, Pop is still an old-school enlisted man at heart, and he just loves sticking it to officers!"

Harm and Loren looked at Mike and then at each other and burst out laughing. Once they had regained control of themselves, Loren picked up her coffee and with a sly grin offered a toast, "Here's to the enlisted, without whom we would undoubtedly develop super-inflated egos!"

"Damn straight!" Harm declared, while Mike contented himself with a grin and with raising his mug in acknowledgement.

As they settled down again, Mike put away Loren's paper and speaking to them both he said in a more serious tone, "Harm, you spoke earlier about spin and stall recovery training. Well, believe it or not, they are not required by the FAA to qualify for a PPL. However, I think that's a mistake. Granted modern airplanes are not as prone to fall into a spin, but it does happen sometimes if the pilot gets it wrong, and in some cases, as you know, Harm, the corrective action is counter intuitive. So… if a plane goes into a spin, and the pilot who hasn't had spin recovery training, reacts instinctively, there may not be enough height AGL for him or her to correct it. So I say yeah, go ahead, teach Loren stall and spin recovery. After all, you've got one of the best airplanes ever made for teaching those skills."

Harm nodded, although he was surprised – startled even – that PPL qualification no longer included those, to his mind, vital skills, he had already made up his mind to do so, and as Mike had said, the Stearman was a very forgiving airplane when it came to those situations, so grabbing a note pad from the desk, he quickly made a couple of sketches before he shoved the note pad in Loren's direction.

"Contrary to popular opinion, Loren, a stall doesn't happen because the pilot is flying too slowly. A stall happens when the wings of an airplane lose lift as their angle of attack to the air goes beyond the airplane's design limitation, the airflow over the wings is disrupted, and the wings lose lift. Slow speed through the air can be a contributory factor, but a stall can happen at any time, at any speed. The answer is to put the nose down and decrease the wings' angle of attack and the airplane will develop lift again as the airflow is restored. In the Stearman a stall is usually quite a gentle event and recovery is easy. Other airplanes, as Mike carefully isn't saying aren't always so easy to handle.

"A spin can occur when one wing, usually the lower wing during a turn, stalls before the other wing, dropping the airplane in a spiral. The prime consideration in this case is to convert that spin into a straight forward, nose down descent, build up lift again and return to straight and level flight. Again the Stearman's spin is comparatively gentle. So, this afternoon, we'll run through what Mike did with you this morning, and we'll gain as much height as we can, and then we'll alternate sideslips, and carry out what is known as a 'falling leaf', he rocked his level hand from side to side, bringing it down towards the table as he did so in a manner that did indeed remind Loren of a leaf falling from a tree.

With the afternoon's programme in mind, Harm and Loren made a quick finish to their lunch, and receiving a promise form Mike that he would call this evening as soon as he'd finished checking Loren's paper, they said their goodbyes to the former Air Force Officer, and donning flight jackets and helmets, they headed for Sarah, where Harm gave her a thorough pre-flight walk around, before assisting Loren into the front cockpit and then climbing into the rear seat.

Loren talked him through the pre-start up procedure, and as she finished, she thumbed the starter button and the engine sputtered, coughed twice and caught, settling down to a steady, comparatively quiet grumble.

"OK Loren, call it in!" he instructed and listened for the click in his headphones.

"Hello Charlottesville tower, this is Stearman November Six requesting taxi clearance from General Aviation dispersal to runway for take-off."

"November Six this is Charlottesville tower, you are cleared for taxi to runway zero one five. Be advised there is one general aviation airplane ahead of you."

"Roger, Charlottesville, thank you!"

Loren released the brakes and nudged the throttle forward and the Stearman began its weaving way towards the runway. During one turn to Starboard, Harm looked ahead, and just before the Stearman's nose with the massive radial engine blocked his view, he caught his breath as the airplane in front became visible for a moment or two, "Oh my," he breathed, just loud enough for Loren to hear.

"What's up, Harm?" she called through the intercom, and he could hear just the slightest tinge of worry in her voice.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong. I just caught sight of the guy in front of us, he's a P-51!"

"A P-51?" Loren asked.

"Yeah, I'll tell you all about it when we get down. Until then, forget I said anything, and just concentrate on flying!"

'Forget I said anything – concentrate on flying' Loren grumbled to herself as the Stearman rolled to a halt at the runway threshold. "Charlottesville tower, this Stearman November Six, I am holding on runway zero-one-five and requesting take-off and clearance to transit to western manoeuvre area." 'Easy for him to say, when he's just a damned passenger'.

"Roger Stearman November Six, you are cleared for take-off and transit. You have a clear sky!"

"Roger, November Six, out". Loren pushed the throttle forward to the stop and the bi-plane gathered speed as it rumbled down the stretch of asphalt, 'What the hell is a P-51, anyhow?' Loren was still mentally grumbling to herself as she felt the tail ride and without looking at her ASI felt the Stearman want to leave the ground, and with a gentle, almost automatic nudge on the stick the airplane rose, for the second time that day, smoothly into the sky, Loren turning onto a heading of two nine zero degrees without either being told or asking; her actions bringing an unseen nod of approval from Harm.

A few minutes flying time brought them to the designated manoeuvre area and Ham switched on his intercom, "I am taking control!" he told Loren.

"You have control!" she confirmed as she raised her hands to show they were clear of stick and throttle.

"I have control!" Harm agreed. He flew straight and level for a few moments before he continued. "I'm going to reduce air speed to the minimum and then I'm going to pull the nose up, when the wings' angle of attack reaches the critical stage, there will no longer be sufficient air passing over them to maintain lift, and the nose, although held by the elevators will drop, and the airplane will go into a dive. After a few seconds the flow of air over the wings will resume sufficiently to generate lift again and we'll be back in normal flight. The only danger this type of stall presents is if it takes place too close to the ground to allow for resumption of normal flight. OK?"

Loren licked her suddenly dry lips, "O… OK, Harm!"

"Relax, sweetheart, this is a basic manoeuvre and we're way too high for it to be a problem. Trust me!"

"I do!"

"OK, here goes!" Harm eased back on the throttle until it seemed to Loren that they were hardly moving, until Harm pulled back on the stick and the Stearman started to climb. Hardly had it begun to do so when for a fantastic second it seemed to Loren that the airplane had stopped in mid-air, before the nose sank down past the horizontal and headed groundwards. After a few seconds, Harm nudged the throttle forward and the engine's beat picked as the Stearman perceptibly increased its air speed and the sense of forward motion was regained.

"See, simple, no?" Harm called out.

"I… I think so…" Loren said.

"Do you want a try or do you want me to do it again?"

"Just one more time Harm, and then I think I'll be ready!"

"OK, but it's not that hard…" a flash of inspiration struck Harm, "That last landing you did, Mike had you flare out just before you touched down, right?"

"Yeah."

"OK, this is basically the same manoeuvre, but a bit slower, and there's no pavement under your wheels, OK?"

"OK… but still…"

"Yeah, one more time then!"

Harm repeated his manoeuvre a second time, and this time Loren watched the controls' movements like a hawk, her hands and feet shadowing Harm's moves. Once the Stearman had regained level flight Harm spoke again, "OK now, Loren?"

"Yeah, I think so!" Loren's voice came through his headset and he grinned, the note of uncertainty had gone from her voice, and her customary enthusiasm was back. "OK, go for it!" he said.

"Roger!" Harm felt the resistance of Loren's hand on the stick simultaneously as she called, "I have control!"

Releasing the stick Harm sat back, it was his turn to shadow Loren's moves on stick and throttle, and his hands hovered over those controls ready to take command of the airplane in an instant should it become necessary. He need not have worried, although Loren's recovery from her initial stall wasn't as smooth as his had been, she managed it competently enough to boost her confidence and she willingly tried again and again until she and Harm felt she had mastered recovery from a basic, gentle stall.

Now with each practice, Harm had her increase their air speed and increase the angle of attack, and in each case the Stearman responded identically, seemingly hesitating in mid-air for an instant before docilely dropping her nose in a gentle dive and allowing Loren plenty of time to regain control.

At last, as the sun started to sink, Harm, who had been keeping an eagle eye on the fuel gauge once more called Loren on the intercom, "That's it for today sweetheart, take us down to Angels three and set a course for home!"

Once again Loren flew a long, slow spiral as she checked for landmarks, and then find a ground feature she recognised, she descended to three thousand feet, set a course just south of east and flew straight and level until just as she had anticipated the familiar shape of the airport appeared in front of her port wing.

If the final landing of the day wasn't quite as smooth as Loren had hoped for, it drew no remarks from Harm, who his heart almost bursting with pride in Loren's accomplishments was out of the cockpit, waiting for her as she slid down to the trailing edge of the lower wing and caught her before her feet had even touched the ground.

Her senses heightened by the thrill of flying and adding a new accomplishment to her repertoire, Loren threw herself enthusiastically into Harm's embrace, her mouth seeking his and when lips found lips, she kissed him with at least as much urgency as he kissed her.

She broke from their kiss, her eyes a dark, smoky blue, "Oh God, Harm… take me home!"

"Already on it!" Harm responded, almost dragging her towards the Lexus, and almost bundling her into the passenger as he threw a hurried "See you next weekend, Pop," over his shoulder as he almost scurried around to the driver's side and climbed into the vehicle.

Pop grinned as the Lexus almost peeled out of the parking lot and headed for the airport gate, "Young love!" he grinned sardonically and turned to his henchman, "Ain't it grand!"

xxxi-xxxii-xxxii-xxxii-xxxii

**Sunday 18 March 2001, 1711hrs EST, US-29N, About 20 Miles N of Charlottesville, VA, (182211ZMar01)**

Harm was silent as he pushed the Lexus north on the US-29, only just below the posted speed limits in a fever of impatience to get Loren home, his mind already speeding ahead in anticipation of their homecoming, when his pleasurable thoughts were broken by a groan coming from the passenger seat.

He risked turning his head for a second or two to see Loren with her eyes tightly shut and her fists clench on top of her jean-clad thighs. "Loren! What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Harm… I'm sorry… but we've got to turn back!"

"What? Why?"

"My uniform; it's still in Charlottesville!"

"You left your uniform in the hotel?" he asked in disbelief, "I thought we double checked that room!"

"We did! It's not in the hotel room!" Loren defended herself.

"Well, where the hell is it?" Harm's frustration was beginning to show in his voice.

"In the trunk of my car!" Loren admitted, and then as the farcical nature of the situation dawned on her she broke into uncontrollable laughter.


	33. Chapter 33

**33**

**Monday 19 March 2001, 0711hrs EST, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (191211ZMar01)**

Loren anxiously checked her appearance in the mirror, but still not completely satisfied that she was perfectly turned out, turned to Harm and asked, "Well?"

Harm, still in his shirt sleeves, put the last of the just washed and dried breakfast dishes away and turned to face her. After their return from Charlottesville they had both spent a considerable amount of effort in ensuring that Loren's best Blue Service Dress, won only for special occasions, was in immaculate condition for this morning. He eyed her critically, applying the standards of an upper class man inspecting a plebe and expecting to find fault. In this case however, there was no fault to be found. "You're looking good, Loren… very good… in fact, outstanding. Emergency kit packed and ready to go?"

"Yeah, I've got everything: sewing kit, spare buttons for both jacket and skirt, two brand new pairs of panty-hose, even a spare pair of pumps just in case I break a heel!"

Harm drew a deep breath, "OK, if you're ready, let's get this show on the road!"

**Monday 19 March 2001, 0845hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191345ZMar01)**

"Anything else, people?" Admiral Chegwidden asked gruffly, looking down the length of the table at his assembled attorneys, and received a mumbled chorus of "No, sir".

"Good!" The Admiral grunted, "Commander Rabb, report to me in my office as soon as we're done here!"

Harm raised an eyebrow but replied as he was bound to do, "Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden looked around the table a final time before rising, and said, "To those of you going to trial this morning, that is Commanders Imes and Mattoni and Lieutenant Singer, good luck!" and pushed his chair back.

His officers rose with him accompanied by the usual scrape and clatter of chairs on the polished floor and of briefcases being snapped shut, but all coming to attention as the Admiral turned to leave the conference room.

Harm made to follow his chief, but was momentarily delayed by a small hand grasping his arm, "What does the Admiral want with you Harm?" Although Loren needed to get up to Judge Morris' courtroom, she felt compelled to delay for a moment and check that Harm wasn't in deep water.

"I don't know, Loren…" Harm began, but then noted that Lieutenant Barlow looked rather shamefaced and when Harm glanced at him, he found that the younger officer turned his head so that wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "On the other hand… I might just be getting a suspicion of what's going on!" He forced a smile, "If it's what I'm beginning to suspect, then it's nothing to worry about! You get on to Court; it won't make Judge Morris a very happy camper if half of the defence team is adrift! I'll get up there later and see how you're doing!"

An obviously still troubled Loren bit her lower lip but managed a half-smile, "OK, I'll see you up there!"

**Monday 19 March 2001, 0849hrs EST, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191345ZMar01)**

Harm stopped at Tiner's desk, "Is he…"

"Go right on in, sir… he's waiting for you."

Harm winced inwardly, that did not sound good, and with a wry grin at the Yeoman he turned and knocked on the Admiral's doorjamb, to be rewarded with the customary gruff, "Enter!"

Harm marched across the expanse of carpet, halting between the two visitors chairs in front of the polished expanse of the walnut desk, "Commander Rabb, reporting as ordered, sir!"

Chegwidden looked across his desk at Harm, his face expressionless, "At ease, Commander!"

Harm assumed the Parade Rest position and waited for the Admiral to speak. He did not have to wait for long. "Rabb, I have a report from Commander Turner in which he states that you deliberately undermined his authority and caused him to lose the respect not only of Lieutenant Barlow, but also the Captain and crew of the Patrick Henry."

"I knew that Commander Turner had stated his intention to submit such a report, sir!"

"So… are there grounds for such a report, Rabb?"

"Commander Turner evidently believes there is, sir."

"Dammit Rabb! At the moment I don't give a good Goddamn what Turner evidently believes or disbelieves, I want to know your opinion!"

"Commander Turner is mistaken in his belief, sir!"

"Explain, Rabb!"

"Sir, you sent me out to the Patrick Henry to conduct a review of the investigation into the flight deck mishap. I believe that Lieutenant Barlow, due to inexperience, initially mishandled certain aspects of his investigation and painted himself into a corner. When Commander Turner arrived on board, his natural inclination to follow rules and regulations to the letter led him not to resolve Barlow's… uh… miscalculations, but rather to reinforce them."

"Oh? And just how did he manage to do all that, Rabb?"

"Sir, Commander Turner's methods are probably too much by the book to be able to be effectively and impartially applied to an investigation on board a carrier, or perhaps I should say within the aviation community."

"That's just a little bit on the cryptic side, Rabb. Would you care to make it any plainer?"

"Sir, Commander Turner is a very efficient officer, but his strict adherence to the letter, rather than the spirit of the regulations led him into making some miss-steps during his investigation. He went into the investigation with one indisputable fact in his mind, and that was that a man had been killed and others had been injured. Therefore, because there were SOPs laid down to prevent that type of mishap, one or more people must have contravened those SOPs and therefore must be held culpable and be punished. Unfortunately his attitude communicated itself to the people on board the Patrick Henry, and then when he commenced all his interviews with reading the interviewee his or her article thirty one rights, he complained that he was being faced by a wall of silence, and that must equal guilt. In fact all the interviewees were doing was exercising their rights under article thirty one to non-self-incrimination, and not answering any questions without legal representations. As one senior enlisted man told me, he succeeded in turning potential witnesses into suspects. It took me, an insider, a hell of a lot of persuasion to get the seven men he wanted charged to even speak to me, and a common complaint from them was that because Commander was a Submariner, he seemed incapable of understanding that SOPs or no SOPs, sometimes something goes wrong on the flight deck, which is after all, rated the most dangerous place in the Navy!"

"So… you sided with aviators rather than with your fellow attorney?"

"No sir. It wasn't a matter of taking sides. It was a matter of trying to discover the truth, a difficult enough question, made even harder by Commander Turner muddying the water, sir! Sir, I agree that there were transgressions, but none of them were severe enough individually to warrant a court martial, and one in particular, the Chief in the arrester gear room should never have been charged. He adhered to the SOPs governing the running of his department. Of the others, all of them could have been and should have been dealt with by an article fifteen hearing. As I said in my report, ultimate blame must lie with Congress who refused to allocate funds for an airplane to replace the F/A-18, forcing the DoN to obfuscate by pretending that the Super Hornet was just a development of the Hornet. The confusion between the names is what initiated the string of events that culminated in the mishap. If the F/A-18 'upgrade' had been called the 'wasp' or the 'mosquito' there would have been no confusion in tired minds at night when the exact type of airplane could not be ascertained from the deck or tower. Sir, I explained all this to Commander Turner, but he refused to accept my findings and recommendations, and in the event I was forced to play the 'Senior Investigator' card and inform him that I was revising and rewriting his conclusions and recommendations."

Chegwidden stared at his senior investigator, his face expressionless. Then he drew in a deep breath and held it for a few moments before he spoke, "Alright, Commander. I for one agree with you that Barlow, through inexperience, blew this matter up out of all proportion, but Turner is an experienced attorney…"

"He is, sir. But with respect, I believe his investigative experience is not as extensive as his experience in the court room."

"You mean I shouldn't send him on investigations?" Chegwidden asked in amazement.

"No, sir. But he should be partnered with somebody at least his equivalent in rank, and preferably somebody with seniority over him and who can demonstrate how to apply a more open and even-minded approach to a case."

"Yourself, for example?" Chegwidden asked sarcastically.

"Good God, no sir! Sturgis – Commander Turner – will probably not be able to bring himself to speak with me for a while."

"You mean he'll sulk?" the admiral asked incredulously.

"Commander Turner is a very proud man and stubborn man. His pride has been hurt in this case. He doesn't like being wrong sir, so it takes him a while to acknowledge that he might have made a mistake. This isn't the first falling-out we've had along the way, and it probably won't be the last. But his stubbornness, if properly directed, has the potential to turn him into a top-class investigator, sir."

"Very well, Commander. I accept your findings, and the reasoning behind them. I find there is no basis behind Commander Turner's report and will so inform him." Chegwidden paused to give his subordinate a penetrating and ironic glare. "I will also mention your concerns over airplane nomenclature to COMNAVAIR. Dismissed!"

Harm snapped to attention, "Aye, aye, sir!"

**Monday 19 March 2001, 0907hrs EST, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191407ZMar01)**

Harm took a sip of his coffee while he went over the details of his conversation with the admiral. He really hadn't thought that Sturgis would actually make a complaint over Harm's handling of the Patrick Henry mishap; he must have really been smarting, but even so, it was a pretty low trick to play. His musings were however cut short by a rap on his door jamb and looking up he saw Legalman Two Harris, escorting a Captain USMC.

"Yes, Harris?"

"Sir, a Captain Maxwell to see you, sir!"

Harm rose to his feet, "Thank you, Harris, dismissed." The young Petty Officer braced momentarily and then turned and left as Harm greeted his visitor, "Captain Maxwell? Good, I'm Commander Rabb, come in and take a seat, please."

Maxwell responded with a crisp, "Good morning, sir!" and did as he bid.

Harm sat down again and looked searchingly at the officer seated the other side of his desk, and at first sight he liked what he saw. Maxwell appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, he was well turned-out, Harm would have been surprised if he had been otherwise, and amongst the fruit salad over his left breast pocket Harm could see the ribbon of the Silver Star, although a gallantry award was no guarantee of a person being of good character, it strongly suggested that he was. Battle had a way of exposing character flaws and weaknesses. Maxwell had a frank, open expression on his face appeared to have no difficulty in looking Harm in the eyes.

Harm took the file folder from his in-try and opened it on his desk blotter, "OK… I have here a statement of the charges preferred against you by Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, and together they add up to a possible lengthy stay in Leavenworth and a dishonourable discharge. What we have to do is try and make these charges go away, either through a Court Martial, or by getting Colonel Dawson to withdraw them."

Maxwell looked across the desk at Harm, "I don't think that's very likely!"

Harm leaned back against his chair, his hands resting on the desk in front of him, "No? Would you care to explain that remark?"

"I've not long been assigned to Eighth and I, but Colonel Dawson made it quite clear that he did not approve of me from the moment I reported for duty." Maxwell coughed lightly, "I am not, apparently, his idea of a proper Marine."

Harm raised his eyebrows at that, "I haven't had a chance to look over your SRB yet, it appears to have been delayed in making its way from Eighth and I to Falls Church, but you look pretty young to be a Captain. How long have you held the rank?"

"Fourteen months, sir!"

Harm blinked, "And exactly how old are you, Captain?"

"I was thirty just six weeks ago, sir. But why is that important?" a mystified Marine Officer asked.

"Well, it goes to demonstrate that somebody, somewhere along the line thought you must be a proper Marine, to have promoted to you to Captain at age twenty eight. What's your MOS?"

"Infantry Officer, sir!" Maxwell replied proudly.

"OK… I thought it might have been," Harm smiled, "That was pretty much a give-away!" He indicated the fruit salad on the younger man's chest, and let his smile slip into a grin as the Marine stayed silent.

"OK, Maxwell, how about giving me some idea of what led you into committing this list of heinous offences?"

"Uh… on the date specified, Colonel Dawson sent for me and when I arrived at his office, he asked me some questions about my living arrangements, which pretty much surprised me as I couldn't see that it was any of his never-mind. So I told him that I lived in an apartment off-base, as it showed in my SRB. He then asked why my SRB didn't reflect that I was married. I told him I wasn't married, and then he asked me if I wasn't married who was the 'Lieutenant Maxwell' with whom I shared the apartment. I still couldn't see how it was any of his business, and I told him that. He started to lose his temper and threatened to have me brought up on charges of making a false statement, by pretending to be married when I wasn't. I asked what statement had I ever made that would lead anyone to suppose that I was married and he replied that some of my neighbours thought I was, and that therefore I must have told them that. I then explained to him that the Lieutenant Maxwell with whom I shared the apartment was my sister, and he went sort of quiet, and looked at me as if I had crawled from under a stone, and then he said 'Captain you need to change your living arrangements, now.'

"I asked him why, and he said, 'because I say so, you shouldn't need me to say anything more.' I told him that I wouldn't do so without some sort of reasonable grounds, and then he ordered me to move out of my apartment. I refused on the grounds that he had no lawful reason to issue that order, and that made the order unlawful and that as a consequence I was not obliged to obey it.

"Then… well… he said that a man of my age living with his sister was… unhealthy… and that even the appearance…"

"Yeah, I get it, the appearance of impropriety!" Harm spat.

Maxwell nodded, "Then a thought occurred to me… he'd said that some of my neighbours thought that my sister and I were a married couple, so I demanded to know how he knew that, and he had the nerve to tell me that he'd been having me investigated as I wasn't drawing BAH and that made him suspicious. I'm afraid I lost my temper with him at that point, sir, and I accused him of being an impotent pervert who got his kicks through voyeurism. He then asked me in the most offensive terms whether or not I was having an incestuous affair with my sister. I denied the charge. Colonel Dawson then said he didn't believe me, and that my refusal to move was motivated by a desire to continue an illegal relationship with my sister – again in the most offensive language – and he then ordered me again to move out of my apartment and again I refused. He then told me he was charging me with DDO, sir. The next thing I knew is that the charges had bred overnight on the insistence of General Lucas, the convening officer."

Harm had been making notes all the while Maxwell had been speaking, and had underlined those he felt most pertinent. "So, the trigger for his investigation of your domestic arrangements was that you weren't drawing BAH?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, sir."

"OK… given that DC is an expensive place to live, why aren't you drawing BAH?"

Maxwell shrugged, "We don't need it, sir. Our mom and dad bought a hundred year lease on the apartment before we were born. It's our home, where we've lived all our lives until we enlisted; our parents left it jointly to my sister and I when they died, and between the academy and overseas postings and deployment it's where we come 'home' on leave, and now that we're both stationed in the DC area, it's logical that we live where we always have. The place was paid for a long time ago, so for either of us to apply for BAH which we don't need, would be fraud, and we would deserve to be court martialled or that."

"H'mm, can you prove that's your long-term home?"

"It should be my address of record on my enlistment papers, sir, and on all the correspondence from the academy up until I went for my plebe summer, and my sister is on record as my emergency contact now, but prior to my parents' death they were my emergency contact at that address… but I don't if any record of that is still available. Other than that of course the original lease documents and a notarised receipt of final payment made out in my parents' names…"

Harm nodded thoughtfully. "OK, Captain Maxwell, this is a deposition form. What I want you to do now is fill in the blanks, and then write down in your own words what you have just told me, except where you claim Lieutenant Colonel Dawson used offensive language, you need to write down exactly what he said. Don't worry if he used obscenities; I'll handle that when, or rather if, I need to! If you need any help… just ask, OK?."

"Yes, sir!" Maxwell replied and started to write as Harm drew out a fresh legal pad and made his strategy notes.

It was almost half an hour later that Maxwell said, "Done, sir."

Harm took the written statement, three pages long, and quickly skim read through it, until he was satisfied that nothing pertinent to his case had been missed. He then stood, prompting Maxwell to do the same, "Thank you, Captain Maxwell. You can expect to hear from me by secure on Friday!"

"Thank you, sir!" Maxwell stiffened into a brace and then wheeled and marched out of the office.

Harm looked through the statement again, and his third iteration of the facts as presented by Captain Maxwell left him shaking his head unbelievingly. Picking up his 'phone he dialled for an outside line and then he dialled the number for the Marine Barracks at Eighth and I.

"_Marine Corps Barracks, Washington DC. How may I help you, sir?"_

"Yes, this Commander Rabb, JAG Corps, put me through to Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, please."

Harm drummed his fingers on his desk top as he waited, the 'phone pressed to his ear until after what seemed an age, but was probably no more than a few seconds he heard the ring tone at the other end of the line, which after three repetitions was cut off.

"_Dawson_."

"Colonel Dawson, this Commander Rabb JAG Corps. I'd like to make an appointment to come and speak with you about the Maxwell case."

"_Well it's about time JAG got off its shiny REMF ass and did something about that pervert_!"

Harm was slightly taken aback, he had expected some hostility towards Maxwell, that was understandable, but an assault, verbal though it may be, on the JAG Corps was entirely unexpected.

"Uh… Colonel, you seem to have misunderstood the situation, I'm defending Captain Maxwell against the charges you are bringing against him."

"_The hell you say! In that case, Commander, we have nothing to say to each other_!"

"I really think you…" Harm broke off what he had been about to say as the 'phone line went dead as Colonel Dawson slammed the 'phone down.

'Well… that hasn't helped his case, any…' Harm thought as he gathered his papers together, and standing, he was about to head for Alan Mattoni's office to discuss the Colonel's behaviour with Trial Counsel, when he recalled that Mattoni was also Trial Counsel in the Coulter case being heard in Courtroom three at that very moment.

**Monday 19 March 2001, 1027hrs EST, Courtroom 3, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191527ZMar01)**

Harm opened the door a crack and silently slipped into the courtroom, taking a vacant seat just inside the doors, drawing a disapproving frown from the judge, Rear Admiral Morris. The panel had been selected and six Captains of varying branches and a Rear Admiral (Lower Half) sat in a single row to the side of the courtroom listening intently to Alan Mattoni's opening statement, as was the defence team of Carolyn Imes and Loren Singer, between who sat Captain Coulter, the accused. Harm studied as much of him as was possible, he seemed at one time to have been of an imposing stature but it looked like ten years of prison life had diminished, but not broken him, as he sat erect his head turned to the front.

"… so the defence would have you believe that the evidence that convicted Captain Coulter was flawed and that the conviction is therefore unsafe and should be overturned. They will claim that recent, more technologically advanced, methods of forensic science refute the forensic evidence presented at the original trial, they may even claim that public revulsion at the brutal death of Ellen Coulter at the hands of her husband…"

Carolyn Imes was on her feet in flash "Objection! Counsellor is not only speculating, your honour, his words are prejudicial, and amount to testimony!"

"Explain please Commander Imes?"

"Your honour, trial counsel is speculating as to what defence strategy 'may' be, and to describe the death as a 'brutal murder' when that is yet to be established is highly prejudicial

"Upheld in part, Counsellor!" Judge Morris replied, "I find that Trial Counsel's words are prejudicial and speculative, but I do not consider them to be testimony! Be careful, Commander – both of you!"

Mattoni and Imes replied almost in chorus, "Yes, your honour!"

Mattoni referred to his notes and continued his opening statement, "Defence will try and prove that Captain Coulter is innocent of the charge against him, and should therefore have the original conviction overturned. The people will show that no matter what degree of hindsight is applied, the original conviction is safe, proper and correct, and that it is based on the facts of the case. Fact: Captain Coulter has a documented history of drunkenness. Fact: Captain Coulter had a history of abusing his wife. Fact: The week before her death Ellen Coulter kicked her husband out of the house because he had assaulted her. Fact: Captain Coulter, on the day of Ellen Coulter's death, returned to that same house and in a fit of drunken rage assaulted and killed his wife. Fact: An eyewitness saw Captain Coulter leave his house just one hour before Ellen Coulter was found dead of massive head trauma. Captain Coulter was and continues to be guilty of the murder in the second degree of Ellen Coulter, his wife!"

As he sat Carolyn Imes rose to her feet, "The conviction of Captain Coulter was based entirely of circumstantial evidence. On the testimony of an officer who had had past differences with him and a post mortem report that is seriously flawed. You have just heard the prosecution allege that Captain Coulter beat his wife to death in a drunken rage. We will not dispute that the marriage had deteriorated prior to Ellen Coulter's demise, nor will we deny that Captain Coulter was, at that time, drinking heavily. Neither of these circumstances, no matter how distasteful you find them, contribute a shred of evidence to prove that Captain Coulter is guilty. There is no physical evidence linking Captain Coulter to his wife's death, there are no witnesses that even saw them together in the hours immediately preceding her death, and there is no forensic evidence that indicates that Captain Coulter was in anyway responsible for that death. We will produce forensic evidence that casts serious doubt on the original report and we will examine an allegation of bad blood between the witness and the accused, and further examine the witness testimony to show that certain facts included in the initial investigation by the then Naval Investigation Service were not brought to light, as they should have been under the laws compelling the prosecution to present all exculpatory evidence, during the original trial." Carolyn paused for breath, "We will also produce written evidence that on its own would raise reasonable doubt as to the cause of Ellen Coulter's death, but taken together with the other evidence will prove that Captain Coulter's conviction was fatally flawed and that he should not have been found guilty of the charge nor should he have served a single day of confinement in respect of the charge on which he was arraigned." Carolyn paused for effect, "That being the case you will have no alternative other than to correct a terrible miscarriage of justice and acquit!"

Carolyn resumed her seat and Judge Morris turned to Alan Mattoni, "Prosecution may call its first witness."

Mattoni stood, "The people call Captain Michael French, United States Navy."

Captain French entered the courtroom. And eyes fixed carefully ahead stood next to the witness stand while he took the oath, and then being instructed he took his seat, his cover placed precisely on the corner of the witness box, its badge and peak facing the court. His answers in a broad Texas accent were clear as he confirmed his identity and present duty station. Alan Mattoni then asked him, "At the time of Ellen Coulter's death, where did you live?"

"41 Saratoga Drive, base housing at Norfolk Naval Station, opposite side of the street from the Coulters' house."

"So, that would be how far?"

"About fifty, maybe sixty feet, give or take. I don't recall as we ever measured it."

"Thank you. In your original testimony you stated that on the day of Ellen Coulter's death you heard an argument between the accused and his wife?"

"Yes, I did."

"Do you have any reason to amend that testimony?"

"No, but…"

"Thank you, Captain French, confine your answers to the question asked, please. Now for the benefit of this court, please relate what you saw and or heard."

"Well… there was a general ruckus, him yelling, her yelling back. I heard nothing for a minute or two and then I saw the Captain exit the house."

"At approximately what time, sir?" Mattoni asked.

"It was approximately fifteen forty five."

"What condition was he in, Captain?"

"He was drunk."

Mattoni clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his toes, "Did he say anything at this point, sir?" he asked.

French glanced over at Captain Coulter, "Yes… he yelled 'You happy now?' and then he got in his car and drove off."

"And what did you assume he meant by that?"

Carolyn was on her feet on the instant, "Objection! Calls for speculation!"

Judge Morris nodded once, "Sustained!"

Mattoni inclined his head in acknowledgement, "I'll rephrase." He looked upward as if seeking inspiration and then asked, "What would you say was his tone at the time he yelled this remark?"

"Angry; self-satisfied."

"Like, he'd made his point, sir?"

"Yes!" Captain French replied firmly, nodding his head once in emphasis.

Mattoni smiled in satisfaction and turned towards the prosecution table, throwing a careless, "Your witness," over his shoulder towards Carolyn Imes.

Carolyn smiled briefly and rose from her seat and approached the witness stand, "Sir, how close were you to Captain Coulter when he left his house?"

"Uh.. I was about fifty feet or so." French replied.

"Could you smell his breath?"

French looked slightly surprised by the question and he hesitated a fraction of a second before replying, "Of course not."

"Then how did you know he was drunk, Captain?"

"Well… he usually was."

Carolyn looked up at Judge Morris, "Move to strike, your honour!"

Morris didn't hesitate, "The members will ignore the witness' last comment!"

Carolyn continued, "You stated that Captain Coulter seemed angry and self-satisfied when he yelled 'Are you happy now?'"

"That's right."

"Well, sir, couldn't he have been indicating in a passionate way that in accordance with his wife's wishes, he would stop bothering her and be out of her life?"

"I don't know. I suppose…"

"What did you do once Captain Coulter had got into his car and driven off?"

"Well, I was building a train set in the den." French gave a half shrug, "I went in and got on with that."

"So… you saw and heard nothing from this point on?"

"That is correct."

"Captain, did you, the day before, witness an argument between Ellen Coulter and her son-in-law Rory Chadwick?"

"Yes."

"Did you know what that argument was about, sir?"

"Well, I was pulling up in my car at the time, and I didn't hear what was being said, but they were upset at each other."

"How would you describe the son-in-law's attitude, sir?"

French looked for a second as if he couldn't believe he'd been asked such a simple question when the answer was so obvious, but after a pause he nodded his head again and said simply, "Angry."

"Hostile?"

"Very."

"Did you mention witnessing this altercation at the original trial, sir?"

"I did not."

"Why not?"

"Well, I told the Naval Investigative Service officers, but they didn't seem to take much interest and neither prosecuting nor defence attorneys asked me at the trial."

Mattoni looked startled at this disclosure, and hastily thumbed through his file as Carolyn closed her cross examination, "No further questions, your honour."

"The witness may stand down," Judge Morris instructed Captain French and then looked at Mattoni as the Captain walked up the aisle towards the double doors. "You may call your next witness, Commander Mattoni."

"Yes, your honour, the prosecution calls Commander Theresa Coulter."

Terri sat in the witness chair her face calm and set in a stoical expression as Alan Mattoni neared her. "Commander Coulter, are you in any way related to the victim and the accused in this case?"

"Yes. Ellen Coulter was my mother, and the accused, Captain Coulter is my father."

Mattoni looked grave and concerned as he asked gently, "Would you tell us about your mother's relationship with your father?"

"My father started drinking when I was in Junior High School," Terri replied, "At first he would just come home and you know… crash… but by the time I turned eighteen he was berating my mother on a daily basis. The day I graduated from college he spent the whole day insulting her. That night she told him to shut up."

For the first time during the trial Terri looked at her father, her scorn and anger evident in her expression as she continued, "He pointed his finger in her face and said that if she ever said that to him again, he would kill her."

Mattoni asked Terri, still in a gentle, even compassionate, tone, "What happened the week before your mother died?"

Terri drew a deep, steadying breath before answering, "She called me to tell me that my father had assaulted her and that she had kicked him out of the house."

"Were you afraid for her?"

The memory of that fear clouded Terri's eyes for a moment as she responded to the question, "Yes, I was. I went to see her every day after that to check on her."

"Is that why you were there, the day you found her body?" Mattoni asked quietly.

The memory of that discovery, even though over ten years had elapsed, was almost too much for Terri, and it was with downcast, almost closed eyes that she whispered a barely audible "Yes."

Alan Mattoni, inclined his head once again, and said "Thank you, no more questions."

In the silence that followed Alan Mattoni's withdrawal to the prosecution table, and to Harm's pleased and proud surprise, Loren, in an obviously pre-arranged agreement with Carolyn stood and walked the few steps to the witness stand.

"Commander Coulter, you were married to Rory Chadwick at the time of your mother's death?"

"Yes."

"And prior to that, did you tell her that Rory Chadwick had accepted a job in Nevada, and that you'd be leaving town?"

Terri stayed silent and Loren looked at her sympathetically before prompting, "Commander?"

Terri closed her eyes for a second before replying, "Yes."

"How would you characterise the relationship between your mother and your husband at that time?"

Terri exhaled a puff of air and gave a slight shake of her head, "They didn't get along."

Loren smiled sympathetically and said, "Thank you. No further questions."

Judge Morris looked at his watch, "We will take a break now until fourteen hundred, this court is in recess!" and banged his gavel as the bailiff's cry of "All rise!" was nearly drowned in the shuffle of feet and the scrape of chair legs.

Loren stood next to Captain Coulter as his escort came forward from the rear of the courtroom and Carolyn turned towards the prosecution table, "Alan, we need to talk," she said in an urgent undertone.

**Monday 19 March 2001, 1203hrs EST, Small Meeting Room, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191703ZMar01)**

Alan Mattoni leaned back against the squabs of the leather upholstered chair, "Desperate theories being aired in there Carolyn," he commented.

"It's the real thing, Alan," Carolyn objected.

"It's mis-direction, ladies."

"May I remind you, Commander, that an unidentified hair was found on Ellen Coulter's body?"

"The operative word being 'unidentified'," Alan smirked.

Loren opened the file she held under her arm and extracting a sheet of paper offered it to Alan, "The hair is a direct DNA match to hair we found on Rory Chadwick's jacket."

Alan stared at the report as if it was a poisonous snake and Carolyn and Loren had the satisfaction of seeing the smirk fade from his face.

"Drop the charges, Alan," Carolyn urged him, "they won't stick!"

Mattoni slid the report across the table, back towards Carolyn, "Rory Chadwick's hair on Ellen Coulter's body, proves nothing!" he fought back,

"It does if we assume Ellen Coulter took a shower that morning; it means that Rory Chadwick was at the house that day!

"Only if he'd never been there before," Mattoni objected, "He was their son-in-law. There was a bathroom near the bedroom; I'm sure he used it more than once, that hair could have been there for days or even weeks on a cushion or on a towel."

"Sir, you have to admit that we have as much circumstantial evidence, if not more, to support our theory than you do." Loren interjected.

Mattoni looked challengingly at each in turn as he spoke, "If you're that confident, prove it in court."

**Monday 19 March 2001, 1210hrs EST, Commissary Outside Eating Area, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191703ZMar01)**

Alan Mattoni stood at the commissary doorway as he scanned the tables scattered under the trees and breathed a silent prayer of thanks as he spotted Theresa Coulter nursing a cup of coffee at a table sheltered by a sweet chestnut tree and started across the grass towards her.

"May I join you?" he asked, indicating the empty chairs.

"Feel free," Terri said, eyeing him curiously.

Alan sat quietly for a moment, his fingers idly tracing the pattern of a whorl in the wood grain of the table top. "Could your husband have killed your mother?" he asked at length.

Terri sighed, "You people just don't get it. Rory doesn't solve his problems by confronting them, he runs away from them!"

"Still… it sounds as if he might have stood up to them this time. We do have Captain French's testimony that he was having an angry argument with your mother."

Terri sighed and rummaged in her purse, bringing out her cell 'phone and impatiently jabbed at the buttons and then held it to her ear. "We're in luck, his old number's still in service," she said wryly and passed the phone to Alan, who held it to his ear just in time to hear the answer at the other end of the line.

"_Hello?"_

"Mister Rory Chadwick?" Alan asked politely.

"_Yeah, who's this_?" even over the 'phone Alan could hear the suspicion in Rory's voice.

"I'm Commander Alan Mattoni from the Navy JAG Corps; I'm prosecuting at your father-in-law's new trial…"

"_I can't talk to you_," Rory Chadwick interrupted him.

"Just for a few minutes?" Alan asked.

"_I have an attorney now, these are his instructions_," Chadwick said.

"It's in both our interests; you can help overturn the defence theory." Alan protested.

"_No! You're a prosecutor; you could end up prosecuting me!"_

"It's a military trial, Mister Chadwick!"

"_What's to stop a civilian trial? It's in all the papers!"_ Chadwick replied in agitated fashion.

"The District Attorney's Office would have to get involved; I haven't heard a peep from them," Alan pointed out.

"_Sorry!"_ And even over the distance that separated DC from Virginia Beach Alan could almost see the shrug of Chadwick's shoulders.

Alan Mattoni grimaced, "Well, if you can't talk to me, will you talk to someone else?" and he quickly passed the 'phone back to Terri.

"Hello, Rory?" she said quickly, before he could hang up.

"_Terri_?" he asked incredulously.

"Take as much time as you need," Alan whispered to Terri, who nodded in acknowledgement of his instructions.

"_How are you, Terri_?" Chadwick asked from Virginia Beach**.**

"Did you kill my mother?" Terri asked.

"_No, Theresa_!"

"Then why are you acting like you did?" she demanded.

"_I'm just trying to protect myself; things are getting out of hand,"_ Chadwick complained.

"I remember that job meant a lot to you!" Terri said

"_Enough to kill someone?"_ Rory responded on a rising note.

"I know you didn't like her, Rory."

"_Because she didn't like me!"_ Rory replied, and Terri could hear a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

Terri breathed in deeply before speaking again, "All I know is once she was gone, so were you!"

"_Hey! Who's been talking to you? Your dad killed your mother, you know it, and I know it, and God willing, the jury will know it!_"

"When did you discover God?" Terri asked cynically.

"_Right after I discovered I was a suspect_!" Rory shot back at her.

Terri barely restrained a smile. Rory's dry sense of humour had been one of his qualities that had attracted her to him in the first place, and when she spoke again, her voice had changed, becoming softer, more caring, "You sound tired…"

"_So do you_," Rory told her.

"Sounds familiar, huh?" Terri commented dryly

Rory smiled, but his smile was full of regret for what they'd once had, and what they might still have had if things had only gone his way just once, and his voice was soft as he said, "_Take care, Terri._"

"I will. You too. 'Bye Rory." And Terri gently closed the 'phone, ending the conversation, before she turned to Alan, "He won't testify."

"You didn't ask." Alan pointed out in a severe tone.

"No point, I could tell. He's too scared of ending up being accused himself!"

**Monday 19 March 2001, 1212hrs EST, JAG Ops Bull Pen, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191712ZMar01)**

Carolyn and Loren walked down the stairs from the third floor, disappointed but not really surprised by Alan Mattoni's determination to fight the case in court all the way through to the end, when they were accosted by Gunny Galindez.

"Commander, Lieutenant, I still haven't been able to get anything new on Petty Officer Ramon Argente. All we have is he was detailed to work on the Coulter house on September twenty fifth, nineteen eighty nine. Problem is, he was discharged in nineteen ninety four. I do however have a fax copy of the work order for him on that day."

Carolyn shook her head, "We need the man, not the paper, Gunny."

"We have three addresses for him since then. The latest was Fairbanks, Alaska, in nineteen ninety eight; his landlord said he was heading north."

Carolyn bit her lip in vexation, and then indicated the fax lying on Gunny's desk, "Let me see that."

"Yes, ma'am," Galindez said as he passed the report to her.

"This work order is for him to replace a faulty propane heating unit," Carolyn said.

"I don't suppose there's a note there saying he witnessed an argument?" Loren suggested only half seriously.

Carolyn's answering snort was made up of fifty per cent wry amusement and fifty per cent impatience, but before she could say anything her attention was claimed by Tiner, who locked his eyes on hers across the bull pen and mimed holding a telephone to his ear, while pumping his other fist to indicate urgency.

With a muttered, "Excuse me," to Galindez she headed for her office with a curious Loren hot on her heels.

The 'phone call lasted less than a minute before Carolyn and Loren left her office, both pairs of eyes searching the room for Alan Mattoni, and it was only a few seconds before Loren touched Carolyn's arm and with a nod of her head indicated where Alan had just entered the bull-pen and was headed for his office. Walking briskly across the centre of the bull pen Carolyn intercepted him at his office door, "Alan…"

Mattoni held up a hand to stop her, "If this is about Commander Coulter…"

"It's about Rory Chadwick," Carolyn said.

Alan shrugged, "I don't want to discuss it. He's your suspect, not mine," and moved to step around the blonde officer.

"He's everybody's suspect now!" Carolyn's voice caused Alan to hesitate and look back over his shoulder, but her next words made him turn and face her fully, "He's everybody's suspect now. That was his attorney; Rory Chadwick just skipped town!"

"Damn it!" Alan's words caused heads to turn. He was known to swear only very rarely and very mildly. His eyes swept the bull pen, "Gunny! Can you get downstairs to the Commissary and present my compliments to Commander Coulter and ask her to meet me in my office ASAP!"

**Monday 19 March 2001, 1228hrs EST, Commander Alan Mattoni's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191728ZMar01)**

"I know Rory, Commander!" Terri protested once she had been brought up to date, "It's the way he operates. It's not that he's guilty, it's just that he doesn't know how to handle the pressure."

"I have to be honest, it's not looking good." Alan said.

"Then we'll just have to find evidence that rules him out!" Terri insisted.

"Even if it means finding more evidence against your father?" Alan inquired lifting a doubting eyebrow,

"If the evidence is there, we have to find it and follow it!" Terri said firmly.

**Monday 19 March 2001, 1411hrs EST, Courtroom 3, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191911ZMar01)**

Judge Morris having entered the courtroom and the bailiff having called the court to order, there was the usual few seconds of noise as panel, participants and spectators alike settled themselves. Allowing the clatter to die down, Judge Morris turned to the prosecution side, "You may call your next witness, Commander."

"Your honour, at this time the people wish to enter as People's Exhibit A, the autopsy report in respect of Ellen Coulter, which was carried out within forty eight hours of her death." He handed a slim file to the Judge, who glanced at it and asked, "The defence has seen this?"

"We have your honour," Carolyn said, "and we are happy to stipulate to its existence and authenticity."

"Very well, let it so be entered!" Judge Morris ruled. "And your next witness, Commander?"

"The People call Doctor Edward Strong," Alan said.

The doors at the rear of the courtroom opened and a frisson of surprise ran through the courtroom as a man wearing the green Class A uniform of a Major in the Army's Medical Corps entered the courtroom and walked briskly down the aisle, where he was met by the bailiff and sworn in as a witness.

"Major Strong, would you please state for the record your name, rank, duty station and occupation, please?"

"Major Edward Strong, Army Medical Corps, presently stationed at the Walter Reed Hospital, where I am a pathologist."

"Thank you, Major. As a pathologist, you have in the course of your duties carried out post mortem examinations?"

"I have, sir. Too many."

"Thank you. So, having carried out post mortem examinations, you have compiled autopsy reports?"

"I have."

"And given your experience, would you claim to be an expert in your field?"

"Expert? No… experienced, yes."

"I see," Mattoni bit his tongue to fight back an exclamation of dismay, this was not the answer he had wanted or expected, but it was too late to try and change horses now, so he forged on ahead, "Are you familiar with the autopsy report on Ellen Coulter? I have a copy here if you wish to refresh your memory."

"Thank you." Strong took the offered file and opened it, quickly glancing through it to remind himself of its salient points. "Yes, I am familiar with this report; it is one I studied recently at the prosecution's request."

"Does the report ascribe the cause of Ellen Coulter's death to any specific cause?"

"Yes, of course. It would hardly be an autopsy report if it didn't!" String replied forcefully.

"Thank you, Major. Would you be so good as to read out that portion of the report?"

"'The cause of death was an epidural haematoma suffered as a consequence to blunt force trauma that fractured the parietal bone of the skull."

"And an epidural haematoma is what, exactly, please Major?"

"It is bleeding in the brain."

"And is this a fatal condition, Major?"

"If it is an acute bleed, almost invariably. However, if it is a chronic bleed or minor bleed then it may not necessarily be so."

"From your study of the report, would you classify the epidural haematoma that killed Ellen Coulter as an acute bleed?"

"In the absence of any evidence to the contrary that might indicate an alternative cause of death, then I would be forced to the conclusion that yes, it was an acute bleed, sufficient to have caused death in this case."

"Thank you, Major," Mattoni released an inward sigh of relief, after a rocky start, Strong had come through. "No more questions."

It was Carolyn's turn for cross examination, "Good afternoon, Major," she said pleasantly.

"Good afternoon, ma'am."

"Major Strong, you very modestly disclaimed the label of expert in your field, but you say you have experience. How much experience. Exactly?"

"I qualified as a pathologist eight years and five months ago."

"And how many autopsies have you carried out in that time?"

"Well over a hundred, ma'am. It's hard to say exactly without my record book."

"Well over a hundred? A hundred and twenty? A hundred and fifty? Nearly two hundred?"

Alan shot to his feet, "Objection! Counsel is badgering the witness!"

"Sustained!" Judge Morris rapped out. "You must give the witness time to answer your first question, Commander!" he warned Carolyn.

"I apologise to the court your honour. I was merely trying to ascertain the extent of Major Strong's experience; I shall endeavour to slow down the pace of my questions!"

"See that you do!" Judge Morris said severely

Carolyn bowed her head to hide the veriest hint of a smile, "So, Major Strong, are you able to place a more precise figure on the number of autopsies you have performed?"

Strong eyed her with the beginnings of dislike, "Yes, ma'am, as near as I can remember somewhere between one hundred and forty and one hundred and fifty autopsies."

"Thank you, Major. That wasn't so hard was it? So with one hundred and fifty autopsies to your credit, you must, by common reckoning be held to be experienced. So, tell me Major Strong, have you, in your past experience ever seen an autopsy report that was so… insubstantial?"

"No, ma'am."

"In what way does this report fall short of your expectations?"

"Well ma'am, there are only two poor resolution X-rays plates, and apart from the proforma there's not much in the way of the ME's notes."

"Not much in the way of the ME's notes," Carolyn repeated in a musing tone, "So… not just insubstantial, but incomplete?"

"I… I wouldn't go so far as to say that, ma'am!" Strong protested.

"Would you not?" Carolyn asked raising her eyebrows in surprise and handed the Major a second copy of the report. "Would you please compare the highlighted section of this copy of the report to the copy handed to you by Trial Counsel a few minutes ago?"

Strong was silent while he swiftly compared the two copies of the report, "They are identical," he said at last.

"Thank you, Major." This time Carolyn smiled warmly as she continued, "Would you please read the highlighted passage in the copy of the report I handed to you. Out loud, please?"

Strong cleared his throat, "The body showed a much higher than normal level of Carbon monoxide."

"Thank you, Major. And according to the toxicology report, just how high was this concentration of Carbon monoxide?"

Strong thumbed through the slim file, and then raises his head, looking at Carolyn in consternation, "There is no toxicology report," he admitted in a numb voice.

"But surely, a complete autopsy report, especially where it is remarked that there was a high level of Carbon monoxide in the body, should have a toxicology report so that the exact amount of CO can be verified, and show whether or not the level was high enough to cause death?" Carolyn persisted.

"Uh… yes… If I had noted a high level of CO, then I would in the normal course of things order a full blood work up to ascertain exactly that."

"So… the autopsy report is not only flawed, but also incomplete? Thank you, Major. No further questions."

Judge Morris cocked an inquiring eye at Alan Mattoni, "Redirect, counsellor?"

Alan was desperate to regain some of the ground he had just lost, but if his life had depended on it, he couldn't see a way out of the hole he was in. "No, thank you your honour. Not at this time, but I reserve the right to recall the witness at a later stage."

"Very well, the witness may step down. This court is adjourned until oh nine hundred hours tomorrow morning!"

Harm came forward to congratulate Carolyn and Loren while Alan glumly packed up his briefcase. Before speaking to either of the women, Harm stopped at the prosecution table, "Are you planning to head out, immediately Alan?"

Alan grinned ruefully, "Not me! Carolyn's just torpedoed half of my case! Where the hell did she get so knowledgeable about autopsy reports, anyway? No, I'll be burning the midnight oil on this one, Harm!"

Harm grinned in sympathy, he like every other JAG attorney had been caught flat footed at one time or another and had suddenly discovered an urgent need to rescue their case from the bone pile. But… "You're not going to like what I've got to tell you either… but you do need to know about this ASAP!"

Alan groaned, "Harm…"

"Sorry old pal, but this one can't wait either!"

Alan just looked at him hopelessly, and picking up his briefcase and cover, made his way out of the courtroom.

Harm turned to look at Carolyn and Loren who were regarding him quizzically, "Offering aid and comfort to the enemy, sir?" Loren asked him sternly, but the glint of hidden laughter in her eyes gave her away.

"No… quite the contrary, I've just been adding to his woes. Poor Alan, you got to feel some sympathy for him, he's been landed with two almost guaranteed unwinnable cases in a row!"

"Guaranteed unwinnable?" Carolyn asked indignantly. "Harmon Rabb, are you insinuating that we were handed a slam-dunk!"

"Not at all," Harm replied, "the only reason this case is unwinnable is that you have made it so for him! Starting with Loren's initial review and all the way up until this minute, it's been your hard work that has made it so!"

"Nicely handled, sailor!" Carolyn complimented him as she gathered up her briefcase.

"Home?" Loren asked him hopefully.

"Not yet, Loren. I do need to go and make sure that Alan's cup of woe is full to overflowing."

"Harm," Loren asked slowly as they made their way to the staircase down to the bull pen, "Is it fair, ethical, I mean, for you to add a distraction to Alan's load, when he's already facing me – and Carolyn of course – in court. I mean, now we're engaged, couldn't whatever it is you're about to lay on him be seen as a way to make him lose concentration on his current case?"

"No… I would say not," Harm replied, "We're all used to juggling our cases, and this one concerns the Maxwell case." And seeing Loren's blank expression, "The brother and sister the brother's CO more or less accused of committing incest," he added in explanation.

Loren wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought, "Eeewww! Has he got any proof of the allegation?"

"None that I can tell," Harm shrugged, "but it's hard to say. The CO isn't speaking to me! Just hang on a couple of minutes, while I pass on that titbit of news to Alan!"

**Monday 19 March 2001, 1841hrs EST, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (192341ZMar01)**

Freshly showered, and dressed in his bathrobe over a fresh t-shirt and boxers, Harm emerged from the bathroom to join Loren who was stood at the stove, fetchingly arrayed in her Winnie the Pooh pyjamas and an apron with a towel wrapped around her head, while she stirred a green pesto sauce.

"The pasta should be ready in a couple of minutes, and there's a bottle of Muscadet in the fridge, by the time you open that, I'll be ready to serve!"

Harm sniffed appreciatively, "Umm… pine seeds as well!" he said in approval as he peered over Loren's shoulder, a spoon poised to take a quick scoop of the sauce.

Loren gave him a kitten-like glare and slapped the back of his hand with the spatula. "Ow, that's hot!" Harm complained.

"Serves you right!" Loren grinned unrepentantly, "Have you opened that wine, yet?"

"On it, ma'am!" Harm replied, snapping to attention and tossing her a parody of a salute.

Loren laughed, these days she never seemed to be able to stay mad at Harm for long, and she was sure that she had laughed more in the last couple of months than she had done in the past ten years, and for that alone, she was willing to let him slide on a lot more than any of her previous lovers.

"Well, if the wine is opened and poured by the time I've finished serving, and if you show the proper amount of contrition, and eat all your dinner, I might just let you have a dessert!" Loren offered.

Harm's ears pricked up. He didn't have an overly sweet tooth, but Loren's desserts were never too heavy and in an expression he'd picked up from somewhere or other, they were to die for.

"And what sort of dessert might that be?" he asked hopefully.

"You'll just have to wait and see, sailor!" Loren chided him

Dinner eaten and the dishes washed by Harm, they settled down on the couch for dessert and coffee, which to Harm's delight turned out to be the last quart of Loren's home-made pickled cherry ice cream.

Harm made a show of trying to scrape the very last vestige from the bottom of his dish, prompting Loren to remark, "The pattern won't come off, you know."

"I know, I know," Harm defended himself, "but I was just trying to show you how much I enjoyed the treat!"

"Oh, I know a better way to demonstrate that!" Loren declared with a gurgle of laughter.

"Really?" Harm asked, his mouth suddenly dry and his voice husky,

"No! Not that!" Loren denied blushing furiously, "I meant a foot rub!"

"Oh… well… why didn't you say so?" Harm asked getting to his feet and heading for the bathroom to collect the carrier and essential oils.

"I thought I did," Loren protested, her cheeks still faintly pink, "But your ideas has its merits too… for later!" she added with a chuckle.

Twenty minutes later however saw Loren totally relaxed and moaning in ecstasy as Harm's fingers worked out all the tension knots and tightened muscles in her feet, which now smelt faintly and pleasantly of Lavender.

"Feel better, sweetheart?" Harm asked with a slow smile.

"M'mm…" Loren replied sleepily, "How is it that sitting on my ass all day makes my feet hurt!"

"It's those dumb shoes you wear," Harm pointed out mischievously.

Loren just smiled lazily, refusing to rise to the bait, "Navy pattern, so blame whoever designed the uniform!" she responded.

"I'd rather blame whoever decided on white as a suitable summer uniform," Harm grumbled. "It makes us look like ice-cream sellers!"

"Yeah, I s'pose so," Loren murmured just loud enough to be heard, "But us girls look forward to summer uniforms."

"Why's that?" Harm asked, pausing in his work on Loren's left foot.

"Oh… don't stop," Loren protested in a near whine, "It's just that without jackets and in those tight fitting white pants, some of you men have got butts fit to set a girl to drooling!"

"Just as long as you only drool over my butt, then we don't have a problem!" Harm declared.

"Not even if I allow you to drool over Seaman Hawkins' bust?" Loren asked archly.

"Oh… well… in that case… drool over any butt you want!" Harm crowed.

"Harmon Rabb!" Loren exclaimed, but whatever she had been about to add was drowned out by the shrill of Harm's navy issue cell 'phone.

With a groan he picked up the 'phone, "Rabb."

"_Harm, hi, it's Meg. Listen, I'm sorry to call you so late, but I've been looking for you all day. Harm, I need your help._"

"Why, what is it? Where are you? I'm on my way!"

"_No, no! Cool your jets, or whatever it is you pilots do. No, it's not physical trouble and I don't need your help this very instant, but can we meet tomorrow sometime? I really could do with your help and advice_."

"Of course we can! How about first thing in my office? I'll make sure I'm free then."

"_Great, thanks, Harm. Say hi and 'bye to Loren for me_."

"Will do." Harm waited until the line went dead, "That was Meg Austin," he told Loren, "she needs my advice…"

"H'mm… Do you know what I think?" Loren asked.

"No… what?" Harm asked suspiciously, not deceived for one second by the 'chocolate wouldn't melt in my mouth' expression on Loren's face.

"I think it's a shame that Marines don't wear summer whites," Loren said dreamily, "Can you imagine what a treat it would be for us girls if Gunny Galindez was to turn in to work in those tight white pants!"

"Loren!" Harm cried out in protest.

"Yeah," Loren grinned wickedly, "Payback's a bitch, ain't it!"


	34. Chapter 34

**34**

**Tuesday 20 March 2011, 0807hrs EST, Commander Harm Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (201307ZMar01)**

Harm, taking advantage of an otherwise empty elevator, had dropped a swift kiss on Loren's lips, bringing a rush of blood to her cheeks and startling her into exclaiming, "Hey! Not fair! Keep it out of the office, remember!"

"Oh, I remember alright! But I've wanted to kiss you in the elevator ever since our first weekend with Sarah, and this was just too good an opportunity to miss!" and then as the doors slid open stood back to allow his blushing fiancée to exit the car first, but deliberately delaying stepping out into the corridor until Loren turned, a puzzled frown on her forehead, "Are you going somewhere?" she challenged.

"Nope! Just drooling over your butt!" he grinned.

Loren glared at him, and with a hint of a pout, she whisked away to the sanctuary of her own office where, despite the smile on her face, she could cool her burning cheeks before having to face the rest of the world...

Harm chuckled, highly satisfied with his coup, 'Yeah, payback's a bitch, ain't it, Loren?' he mused as he unlocked his office door, dropped his briefcase on his desk, hung his cover on the peg by the side of the door and turned to head for the galley to make a cup of coffee, only to be stopped by the physical barrier comprising Meg Austin and two mugs of steaming coffee.

"'Morning, Meg, you're bright and early," Harm greeted her as he stepped back to allow her into the office, "Come on in and take a seat. Here, let me get those," he continued taking the mugs from her hands and carefully but quickly placing them on the desk, and then waving his fingers rapidly a couple of times to take the sting of the heat out of them.

Meg sat as she was bid, saying, "Still drinking it black, Harm?"

"As ever," he agreed, taking his own seat, and picking up his mug took a cautious sip of the steaming brew, "Now… what can I do for you, Meg?"

Meg fidgeted uneasily, picking up her mug and then putting it down without tasting the contents, and seemed to have difficulty in meeting Harm's eyes, "It… it's a bit… no, it's not a bit… it's a lot… embarrassing…"

Harm bit back his first instinct to tease her; either they were long over that element of their friendship, or the quiet but serious tone in which she spoke was enough for him to stifle the urge.

"Well, I'm not exactly a stranger to the concept or the experience of being embarrassed, Meg, so why not just trot it out and see if I can't read the brand?"

Meg did manage a weak smile at Harm's picking up on what had been one of her habitual, ranch-learned expressions, and was ever so slightly flattered that he should have remembered it over the years since he and she had been partners. "I've been a fool, Harm," she stated bluntly.

"I'm glad to hear it!" Harm replied enthusiastically, and then as Meg's eyebrows started to rise and a thundercloud expression started to gather on her face, he added blithely, "'cos that means, I haven't, after all, got the monopoly on that particular state of being!"

Despite herself, Meg couldn't suppress a snort of amusement, "Harm, I am trying to be serious here!" she protested.

"I know, Meg, and I'm sorry, but you're so tense, you look like you might explode at any given moment, and without the benefit of a warning."

Meg sighed, "In some ways I hate asking this but… well… to cut a long story short, you remember I spent some time with Gunny while he was hardening me up for the Quantico assignment?"

"Yes, go on," Harm said grimly. He had a feeling that he knew where this was heading – somewhere where he didn't want to go.

"It's this way Harm, I started feeling attracted to him, and I'm pretty sure he feels the same attraction towards me and…"

"Meg!" Harm interrupted sharply, "You haven't been and gone and done anything stupid? Please tell me you haven't!"

Meg coloured, "No! We haven't! And I'm surprised at you Harm, after all you and Loren…"

Harm eased back on his indignation and added more gently, "No, it's not quite the same thing, Meg. Loren and I are both officers and we went about things openly and above board, we informed the Admiral when we started dating, and again when we became engaged. And on both occasions he read us the riot act. But he can't really do that if it comes to you and Gunny. Look, I respect your judgement, and even in some ways approve… I know, the Admiral knows, that Gunny is a good, fine man. But regs don't make allowances. As far as the Navy is concerned, an improper relationship between an enlisted man or woman and an officer always constitutes Conduct to the Prejudice of Good Order and Discipline."

"I know, Harm, I know. Look, the only thing that might be open to being misconstrued, is that Gunny and I went for a run together on Saturday. It was after that run that I realised we couldn't share anything more. So… What I'm asking is, will you accompany me to lunch today? I've asked Gunny to meet me at Cathy's Cookie Corner for a sandwich, and I intend to make it clear to him that while I do respect and admire him, we cannot have a relationship that goes beyond the professional."

"And you want me to sit gooseberry?" Harm asked incredulously.

"No… not exactly. I'd like you to be there, but at a different table, out of earshot, but with a line of sight, so that if he and I are seen you could witness that no untoward behaviour took place. Please?"

Harm hesitated, this had the potential to turn into a whole pile of crap, and Meg picked up on his indecision, "Harm, please? You did say you'd help…"

"Yeah, I did… but what I had in mind was rescuing you from kidnappers, or dashing into a burning building… but this… Meg, this could turn out really bad for everyone concerned."

"I know it's a big ask, Harm, but I really need an assist on this one."

Meg's words struck a chord with Harm and although he still had his misgivings, he nodded. "OK, Meg, I'll be there for you, but I can't today. It'll have to be tomorrow, and Meg, this has got to be a clean break between you and the Gunny. I'm not unsympathetic, but…"

Meg nodded, her eyes suspiciously damp, "Yeah, but…" she said bitterly.

**Tuesday 20 March 2011, 0848hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (201348ZMar01)**

"That just about wraps it up for the day!" A J Chegwidden glared challengingly at the two rows of officers ranged along the length of the conference table. "It appears," he added with heavy handed humour, "that we have an exceptionally well behaved Navy and Marine Corps on our hands, for a change! Unless, of course, anyone knows better?"

A hasty murmur of disclaimers caused the former Seal's face to crack into a rare grin before he spoke again, "Commander Rabb, you seem to have nothing major on your plate, the Blair case is completed. Well done on that, and to you too Mister Roberts, that was some remarkably effective research! So, Commander Rabb, as you appear to only have the Maxwell case to resolve, you seem to be a man of leisure, at least temporarily, and considering the excellent job you did on last year's budget, next week, you can draft this year's budget proposals as well. You can use my office for that… From secure on Friday, I shall be on leave, going fishing in New Mexico, and you Rabb will be acting JAG for the week. So it's just as well I've found you something to keep you out of mischief!"

Chegwidden grinned openly at Rabb's confusion as he gathered his papers and got to his feet, pausing to allow his officers to follow suit before he left the room.

As they left the room Harm was the target of a knowing elbow nudge by what seemed to be a grinning Mac and a whispered "That's what you get for so good with numbers!" from Loren.

Harm shook his head, "Nope, a piece of cake, I've still got the notes Renee left me when we drafted last year's budget together!" he said unthinkingly. And then as a stunned Loren stopped and glared at him he added, "What?"

"Harmon Rabb," she hissed furiously, "I didn't think that even you could be so… so… stupid!" and then spun on her heel and stalked off in the direction of the elevators.

"Wha… what did I do?" A totally baffled Harm asked, and almost jumped when Bud Roberts laid a daring hand on his shoulder.

Bud shook his head sorrowfully, "Rule two, sir: Never, ever, mention the name of your previous girlfriends, especially in a favourable light, or a light that could even be construed to be favourable!"

"Yeah… thanks, Bud, thanks a lot!" Harm replied with heavy irony, "Are there any more rules I ought to know about, perhaps?"

"Scores of them, sir; possibly hundreds!" Bud grinned, "And I'm discovering more every day!"

"How long have you been married, now, Bud?" Harm asked in amazement.

"Long enough to know that no matter how many rules I discover, there's another one, lurking just around the next corner! "

"Gee, thanks, Bud!"

"My pleasure, sir, and if you'll excuse me, Harriett wants to speak with me!"

Harm looked around for the blonde Lieutenant but failed to see her, "How…?"

"Rule thirteen, sir!" an unrepentant Bud grinned and quickly made his way along the hall to the bullpen.

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 0922hrs EST, Courtroom 3, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191422ZMar01)**

Harm waited outside the courtroom, waiting for the next witness to be called so that he could slip into court without attracting Judge Morris' ire. He had seen the disapproving look the judge had sent his way yesterday, and bearing in mind their shared past history he decided that it was probably best not to provoke Morris' temper.

He didn't have too long to wait before the MP NCO responsible for marshalling witnesses answered a summons from the court and turning to the assembled witnesses called, "Captain French!"

The surprised Captain grabbed his cover, and with a muttered, "I'd thought they'd done with me!" passed through the doors into the court room, while Harm slipped through the doors before they closed and for the second day in a row slipped into a vacant chair at the back of the court room where he could still get a decent view of the proceedings, just in time to hear Judge Morris caution Captain French, "I remind you Captain that you are still under oath."

French braced, "Yes, sir! Understood!"

"Very well, Captain, be seated. Commander Imes?"

Carolyn approached the witness stand, "Good morning Captain,"

"Good morning."

"I'm sorry to have called you back here, Captain, but there are one or two points that we have yet to cover. I'd like to ask you Captain, what were your relations with Captain Coulter and his family?"

"I disliked, and I still dislike, Captain Coulter. I very rarely saw his wife… she… uh… didn't leave the house much, and I saw his daughter, the present Commander Coulter, even less. When we moved in to base housing, she had just graduated from the academy, had recently married and was beginning her medical studies, or so I understood."

"Thank you, Captain. You state that you very rarely saw Ellen Coulter… but surely you must have seen her around, tending the front yard perhaps, or taking out the trash?"

"No, Commander… Come to think of it, I don't believe I _ever_ saw her in the front yard… it was always Captain Coulter who tended it."

"Thank you, Captain. Now, you have just told the court that you disliked Captain Coulter, why did you, and in your own words, still dislike him?"

"In 1982 Captain Coulter and I both served as Lieutenants on the destroyer _John Q Adams, _on patrol in the South China Sea. On one occasion I was Officer of the Watch on the bridge when a lookout spotted an object in the water off the starboard bow. I ordered the collision warning to be sounded, full port helm and a decrease in revolutions. Captain Coulter, who had arrived on the bridge as a result of the collision warning, countermanded my orders telling the helmsman to ease the helm to forty five degrees. ordering stop engines and ordering a party of seamen to stand by to starboard amidships, ready to fend off whatever the object was."

"And what was the object, Captain?"

French looked uncomfortable, and hesitated, giving Alan Mattoni an opportunity, "Objection! What possible relevance can the nature of the object in the South China Sea almost twenty years ago possibly have?"

Carolyn shot a look of caution at Alan before addressing the court, "Your honour, if you will allow me a little latitude, I am sure the court will see not only where I'm going with this, but also why I'm going there."

Judge Morris considered her for a moment, "I'll grant you some latitude, Commander, but you'd better get where you're going pretty quick! Objection overruled!"

"Thank you, your honour," Carolyn replied and turned her attention back to Captain French, "So… what was the nature of the object, Captain?"

French looked embarrassed, but swallowed once and said, "It was a sampan – that's a small boat – with Vietnamese refugees on board."

"Thank you. What would have been the effect on those refugees if Captain Coulter had not countermanded your helm orders?"

"We would have broadsided into them, and probably have ridden right over them."

"So, the _John Q Adams_ would have, in effect, steam rollered right over the top of them? Sinking the … sampan, and drowning its occupants?"

"Yes, probably."

"And what was the effect of Captain Coulter's orders?"

"Our bow wave pushed the sampan away and washed it down alongside our starboard beam, where it was grappled by the party standing by amidships and we were able to take the refugees on board."

"So… Captain Coulter's change to your orders saved the lives of… how many, Vietnamese refugees?"

"Nine" French said through clenched teeth.

"And you have resented him for twenty years for making a better decision than the one you had made?"

"No Commander, I did not resent him for that reason!" French replies heavily

"I am sorry, Captain, I'm a just a little confused here," Carolyn said spreading her hands in a supplicating gesture, "And I'm sure the court is eager to hear your reasons?"

"It was a combination of factors, Commander!" French said hotly, "Firstly, yes he did make me look like a fool in front of the bridge crew. Secondly, he cost me a year's pay and seniority, the Captain of the _John Q Adams _held over my recommendation for promotion for a further year." French paused for breath, "I could live with all that. OK, I admit I wasn't happy, but I had made a bad decision and would have to live with the fallout. But it was his smug and patronising attitude after the event that made me dislike him, and then after we moved to Saratoga, his attitude towards his wife made me despise him!"

"So your past antipathy received a boost when you found yourself again in close proximity?"

French nodded, "Yeah, that would be about right!"

"Thank you, your witness!" Carolyn turned away from the witness stand towards Mattoni as she spoke.

Alan Mattoni got to his feet briskly enough but despite his outward confidence he knew that Carolyn had just discredited Captain French's testimony. 'Dammit! This was the second time he'd been blindsided in this trial. Why the hell hadn't French told him of the old enmity between him and Coulter?'

"Captain French, you are a graduate of the US Navy Academy, Annapolis, are you not?"

"I am," French replied.

"So… you are inculcated with the honour code that prevails at that institution?"

"I am." French repeated.

"So… on your honour, you would endeavour not to permit your personal distaste for Captain Coulter colour the manner in which you gave your testimony?"

"No, Commander, I would not!" French said emphatically.

"Thank you, Captain French; no more questions."

Alan Mattoni withdrew to the prosecution table, well aware that his questions had been nothing more than an exercise in damage control; he could only hope that it had had some effect on the panel.

Judge Morris looked at Carolyn, "Redirect, Counsellor?" he asked.

"No thank you, your honour; this witness cannot contribute anything further that would impact this case."

"Very well, Counsellor, call your next witness."

"The defence calls Doctor Temperance Brennan."

Even from where he was sitting Harm could see the tension that emanated from Carolyn and Loren, and his forehead creased, obviously there was something about this witness that had them concerned. He leaned forward his elbows on his knees as he focussed intently on her.

She seemed fairly normal, an attractive brunette in her thirties, he hair worn loose to touch her shoulders, conservatively dressed in a navy blue suit and white open-necked blouse. The only sign that she might be not quite so conformist as a first glance might lead an observer to expect was the large, ornate pendant she wore around her neck.

Brennan elected to take a solemn affirmation to tell the truth, rather than the oath, explaining coolly that she didn't believe in the Christian myth and to her the oath was nothing but a meaningless formula. Judge Morris raised his eyebrows but allowed the substitution. Her statement made, Brennan seated herself in the witness stand, seemingly unfazed by the experience, and waited patiently until the bailiffs, in accordance with Carolyn's signal had wheeled a large, lightweight easel to stand at angle where it could be seen by the witness, the judge and the panel. Once that had been done, Carolyn approached the witness stand.

"Please state your full name, qualifications and current occupation for the record please."

"I am Doctor Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist, employed by the Jeffersonian Institute and consultant in forensic science to the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Thank you, Doctor Brennan. Please tell the court how you came to be involved in this case."

"I was approached by Doctor Coulter, who requested my expertise in examining a set of human remains."

"I see, and which remains were they?"

"They were remains that had been exhumed after a twelve year interval from a grave designated as being that of Ellen Coulter."

"Doctor, Commander Coulter," Carolyn placed just the slightest emphasis on Terri's naval rank, "Is an accomplished and experienced forensic pathologist. Why would she approach you for assistance?"

"Because while she is an accomplished and experienced forensic pathologist, but to put it quite simply, I am the best forensic anthropologist in the western world, and there were questions to be asked about the victim's manner of death that I was uniquely suited to answer."

It was Carolyn's turn to bite back an exclamation of dismay, she had carefully prepared Brennan so that the woman wouldn't present an overly confident, brash appearance to the panel, but a glance at the panel was enough to show that at least four of the members were now looking at the witness with marked disapproval, her claim to be the best in her field in half the world had not gone down well with naval officers who were accustomed to carrying out their own duties with the minimum of fuss and the total lack of bombast.

"And did you answer those questions, Doctor Brennan?" Carolyn ploughed on.

"I did."

"And what were your findings?" Carolyn moved to the easel and turned back the cover that had been concealing what lay beneath, revealing an annotated diagram of the human skull in profile.

"Once the remains of the flesh had been removed from the skull I examined the parietal bone, where the autopsy x-rays and MRI scan had suggested that there was a fracture. The original medical examiner claimed that fracture to have caused a subdural haemorrhage which in turn was the cause of death. However, when I examined the site I found that the fracture showed minor indications of callus formation indicating that the fracture was not caused at the time of death."

Carolyn asked, "Please indicate to the court, the location of the parietal bone."

"The parietal bone is the large bone at the upper posterior portion of the skull bounded by the coronal suture at its anterior edge and the lambdoid suture at its posterior edge, and on lateral edges by the squamosal suture."

"So…" Carolyn was able to follow Brennan's directions by the aid of the notes on the diagram, and her pointer came to rest on the specific portion of the diagram, "this rather large piece of bone at the top and back of the skull."

Brennan visibly winced at Carolyn's explanation in plain English, bringing more frowns of disapproval to the faces of the panel. "That is what I just said," she stated.

"And do we understand that the fracture was caused some time before the date of death?"

"Yes."

"And you could tell this by the formation of new bone growth at the edges of the fracture?"

"Yes. There was slight but significant callus formation at the fracture site, indicating that it was at the very least several days old."

"Thank you, Doctor, but even if the fracture was several days old, could it not have caused a slow bleeding haemorrhage that took those several days to kill the victim?"

"That is a possibility, and in order to either confirm the diagnosis, or to exclude it as a cause of death, I opened the skull and excised the parietal bone to examine its anterior aspect for signs of significant blood loss."

"You looked at the inside of the bone?"

"I did."

"And did you find any such signs of major blood loss?"

"I did not."

"Thank you; please tell the court what you did find."

Brennan allowed herself a small smile, "There was slight discolouration, a typical indication of a minor bleed."

"And would such a bleed be, in itself, sufficient to cause death?"

"No, it would have caused a slight headache in the victim, but no, it was not sufficiently heavy or prolonged enough to cause death."

Mattoni was back on his feet, "Objection! The witness is supposing!"

Carolyn interjected, "Your honour, the witness is more than just expert in her field, and such a conclusion is well within her sphere of competence."

Judge Morris turned to Alan Mattoni, "Defence counsel is correct, I'll allow the question and answer. Objection overruled."

"And did you come to a conclusion as to what caused the death of Ellen Coulter?" The forensic testimony was in danger of obscuring the fact that there was a victim in this case, and the reiteration of her name, Carolyn felt, should remind the panel that this was a case with a victim.

"I did not. A thorough examination of the skeletal remains revealed nothing that could possibly be cited as the cause of death."

"Thank you, Doctor Brennan. No further questions, your honour."

Judge Morris nodded as Carolyn re-took her seat, "Commander Mattoni?"

"Thank you, your honour. Doctor Brennan, you claim to be the foremost… uh… Forensic Anthropologist in the western hemisphere. Don't you think that claim is perhaps just a little exaggerated?" he finished with a tone that could only be described as patronising.

"No I do not. It is a simple statement of fact."

Mattoni allowed himself a flicker of a smile. If he could stoke this woman's arrogance, she would probably alienate the panel against her testimony – if Carolyn Imes would let him get away with it.

"Surely that is rather a matter of opinion?"

"No, it is a fact."

Carolyn was on her feet, "Objection! Asked and answered! Prosecution is badgering the witness!"

"Agreed! Objection sustained!" and then to Alan Mattoni, "Be careful, counsellor!"

"Yes, your honour. Doctor, despite your claim that you are the best in half the world at what you do, you could find no other injury that might have been the cause of death?"

"No. I could find no other _bone_ injury that might have led to the victim's death."

"So… the skull fracture could have been the cause of death… After all, isn't judging the amount and the duration of bleeding by the stain the blood leaves behind an… uh… inexact science… isn't it in fact, no more than a wild guess?"

"No, it is not. It is a deductive process based on extensive data gathered over an extensive period of time by a large number of forensic scientists from all sub-branches of the discipline. The evidence is physically examined and the results of that examination compared to information that has been gathered and verified. And on that basis my conclusion is accurate."

"But that conclusion is still somewhat subjective, is it not Doctor, the evidence is still open to interpretation, even?"

"No more than in the decision of a jury!" Brennan shot back.

Carolyn winced and looked at the hastily scribbled note that Loren had shoved towards her '_Damn_!' and nodded gloomily. For a second Carolyn thought about objecting, but a glance at the panel's faces changed her mind. They were looking both affronted and hostile, and Carolyn decided that this was a topic best left alone in the hope that that Mattoni having made his point would move on.

"But Doctor, in the face of the lack of evidence of any other injury, surely the skull fracture and the resulting bleed must have been the cause of death."

"No, that is not possible. Neither did I say that there were no further injuries. I merely said that there were no further bone injuries, a soft tissue injury can also cause death."

"Ah… and did you find any soft tissue injuries?"

"No… I did not… I…"

"Thank you Doctor. Just answer the question I asked, please!"

Brennan glared at Mattoni, but held her tongue, for which Carolyn gave heartfelt but silent thanks, as Mattoni addressed the judge, "No further questions, your honour."

Morris nodded, as was his habit, and looked at Carolyn. "Redirect?" he asked.

"Yes, your honour; Doctor Brennan, why did you not find any soft tissue injuries that might have led to the victim's death."

"Because I didn't look for them. My expertise is in bones, not soft tissue. I leave the examination of fleshy remains to others whose interest and expertise lies in that area."

Carolyn nodded, she had made the points she had wanted, now it was time to get Brennan off the stand before she annoyed the panel any further. "No more questions, your honour!"

"Thank you, Doctor Brennan, you may stand down."

There was the usual shuffling, subdued coughs and whispers as Doctor Brennan stalked up the centre aisle to the court room doors as the court waited for the judge's next words.

"Call your next witness, Counsellor," he told Carolyn.

"The defence recalls Commander Theresa Coulter."

Terri returned to the witness stand, and as he had for Captain French, Judge Morris reminded her that her testimony was still under oath.

Carolyn smiled warmly, "Commander Coulter, thank you for staying within recall range. You have already given testimony as the daughter of Captain and Ellen Coulter, and it is a matter of record that it was you who found your mother's body, is that not so?"

"That is correct," Terri answered calmly.

"Can you describe for the court exactly what you found when you entered your parents' home that summer afternoon?"

"Uh… I entered through the front door. In the hallway the door to the kitchen at the far end was open, but the door to the lounge was closed."

"What did you do then, Commander?"

"I looked for my mother in all three first floor rooms; I didn't find her, so I then went upstairs."

"And upstairs, what did you find?"

"There were three doors off the hall. The door to the bathroom and the second bedroom were open, but my parents' bedroom door was closed."

"I see, please tell the court what you did next."

"I knocked on my parents' bedroom door, but I got no answer, so I opened the door and called out to my mother. I could see her on the bed, but she didn't make any reply. I went over to the bed and shook her shoulder but she didn't respond. She was warm, so I felt for a pulse, but I couldn't find one. She was dead…" Terri's voice choked as she relived the feelings she had gone through twelve years ago.

"Thank you, Commander," Carolyn's voice was low and sympathetic, "I realise that this is hard for you. But we do need to get to the bottom of this matter."

"I'm alright, Commander, thank you." Terri's voice regained some of its former strength, "Please, carry on."

"Once you had decided that your mother was dead…"

"Objection! Counsel is postulating an occurrence that the witness was not at that time competent to judge!"

"He has a point, Commander Imes," Judge Morris observed.

"Your honour, Commander Coulter is an Annapolis graduate," Carolyn protested. "She will have received first aid training at that place and would know how to take a pulse. She was also in her second year of medical school, and although not qualified to give a legal opinion as to whether or not her mother was dead, I put it to the court that the training she had received and common sense would enable her to draw the correct conclusion."

Morris thought for a couple of seconds, his eyes never leaving Carolyn's face, "Very well, I'll allow it. Overruled! But Commander, tread carefully!"

"Yes, your honour; thank you." Carolyn hid her smile of triumph and turned back to Terri.

"What did you do next, Commander?"

"I… I opened the window and then used the telephone on the nightstand and called nine one one."

"Why did you open the window, Commander?"

"It was just so hot and stuffy that I couldn't breathe."

"Did you wonder why your mother had the door and window closed on what was one of the hottest days of the year?"

"Objection, your honour!" Mattoni was on his feet again, "Counsel is assuming facts not in evidence!"

"Your honour, it was July… even with our somewhat uncertain weather; July is still a hot month."

"Prosecution counsel is right, Commander, without any evidence to back you up, I have to sustain his objection! The panel will disregard defence counsel's last question."

"I'll re-phrase," Carolyn said and turned back to Terri, "Given that it was July, did you find it surprising that your mother had closed both the door and window before lying down on the bed?"

"Yes,"

"It wasn't a cold enough day for her to have needed to close windows and doors?"

"No… it was hot enough that on the drive to my parents' home that I'd wound down both windows of my car, and so I was very surprised that the heating was on 'high' in the house."

"The heating was on?" Carolyn asked.

"Yes… I couldn't face being in the room with my mother's body, so I went downstairs to the kitchen to wait for the MPs and the ambulance, and when I got there I saw that the heater was switched on. So I turned it off."

"Thank, you Commander. I'd like you now to become the scientist, rather than the daughter. Are you able to do that?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Go ahead."

"Thank you. You stated in your earlier testimony that with the original autopsy report, because it was flawed and incomplete, you would not have considered it to be reliable evidence."

"That is true, and I hold by that opinion."

"Thank you. Having reached that opinion, what did you do?"

"I authorised the exhumation of my mother's remains and then I carried out a second post-mortem exam."

"I see, that can't have been an easy decision to make, nor can it have been an easy examination to conduct." Carolyn said gently.

"No, neither the decision nor the examination was easy." Terri responded bitterly. Carolyn and Loren exchanged looks, it was almost painfully clear to them that Terri hadn't yet forgiven them for persuading her to take those steps.

"What were the findings of your examination, Commander?"

"I examined the remains of the soft tissue, taking specimens of the deceased's lungs and brain, and in the light of the original autopsy's unquantified finding of 'elevated levels of CO,' subjected them to tests designed to ascertain the presence of Carbon Monoxide in the form of Oxyhaemoglobin."

"After twelve years, Commander?" Carolyn asked.

"Yes. I was able to calculate the presence of a large proportion of CO in the surviving tissue sample, and by applying calculations using the known half-life of Carbon Monoxide was able to reach the conclusion that at the time of death the deceased had a Carbon Monoxide tissue level that was in excess of six and a half thousand parts per million."

"That sounds high, Commander."

"It is a lethal level, death would have occurred between twenty and thirty minutes after CO saturation had reached that density."

"Thank you, Commander. Did the amount of Carbon Monoxide present lead you to a different conclusion regarding the cause of death, from the original autopsy's finding of death by reason of a subdural haemorrhage?"

"Yes. I concluded that the cause of death was asphyxiation due to the inhalation of Carbon Monoxide. My findings and conclusion are in my report." Terri added helpfully.

"Thank you, Commander. Your witness." Carolyn concluded and faced Alan Mattoni.

He got to his feet and with a puzzled frown on his face approached the witness stand, "Commander, I'm slightly confused here… you testified yesterday as a prosecution witness, yet today you appear as a defence witness. Would you care to explain to the court what seems to be an apparent change of heart?"

"There is no change of heart Commander. I am merely following the evidence. When this case was opened for re-trial, the only evidence I had was the original autopsy report and Captain French's… incomplete testimony. That was sufficient to convict my father of my mother's murder, and I was content to believe that evidence and in that verdict, and for the last twelve years I have hated my father for what he was alleged to have done. However, this time around defence counsel asked questions that hadn't, to my knowledge, been asked before. Those questions required a fresh look at the evidence, and I must admit, in the hope of proving conclusively that my father was guilty, I re-examined, or had re-examined the physical evidence in the case. While the daughter was hoping for a verdict that would confirm the original verdict and sentence, the scientist was looking for the facts as revealed by the evidence."

Mattoni blinked, "Can you do that, Commander?" he asked in a show of surprise.

"Of course. It's really no different than the lawyers' adage of 'what happens in the courtroom stays in the courtroom'."

"I see. Now Commander, you have been very convincing in relating your findings and conclusion, but tell the court, please, how is it possible to calculate the amount of Carbon Monoxide in tissue after a period of twelve years."

"It is not a difficult calculation. The half-life of Carbon Monoxide is a known factor, and in this case the initial dosage was so high that enough remained in the tissue to be identified and a simple extrapolation based on the half life was sufficient to give the initial level of Carbon Monoxide in the victim."

"We have heard you today make much of the fact that the bedroom door and window in your moth's room were closed. Did that discovery lead you, at that time, to suspect anything other than blunt trauma as bringing about your mother's death?"

"At that time, no. I hadn't seen the autopsy report with its mention of elevated levels of CO in the tissue, neither was I yet experienced enough to correctly identify the colour of my mother's skin as being indicative of CO poisoning."

"So, until the defence team put the idea into your head to challenge the original autopsy report, you were content to abide by the original verdict?"

"That's not how it worked…"

"Just answer the question, please Commander!"

"No."

"No, what? No you weren't content to abide by the original verdict?"

"No, once I had seen the initial report, I was no longer content to abide by its findings!" Terri shot back.

"And why was that, Commander Coulter?"

"Because once I had seen the report I realised that it was flawed and incomplete." Terri paused, "Just as I told you yesterday!"

"I see, thank you Commander." Mattoni had been at a disadvantage throughout the cross examination, he had hoped to shake Terri from her previous testimony, but she, backed up by science had proved obdurate, and he lacking any scientific evidence to contradict her testimony, silently but bitterly cursed the slipshod defence and the flawed autopsy report at the first trial that had put him in a no-win situation.

"I have no further questions for this witness," he said heavily.

Judge Morris again nodded and turned to Terri, "You may step down, Commander. Commander Imes, do you have any further witnesses?"

"Yes, your honour, I would like to call Captain Thomas Coulter to the stand."

Judger Morris checked his watch, "Very well, but we'll recess for lunch first. This court will reconvene at thirteen thirty hours!" The crack of his gavel gave emphasis to Morris's' words and the courtroom was already half on its feet when the bailiff's cry of 'all rise!" was uttered.

Harm waited while Carolyn and Loren gathered their papers from the table in front of them and Captain Coulter was led away by his escort. For the first time Harm noticed that drawn expression on his face had lessened as had his air of being diminished. Harm could not help but agree with the optimism that Coulter showed. Mattoni's bolt was shot, and he wouldn't be surprised if Carolyn moved to dismiss the charges when the court reconvened. In the meantime, it was time to eat, and Harm stood and moved towards Loren, "Carolyn," he acknowledged the senior of the two defence attorneys, "Ready for lunch?" he asked Loren.

Loren stared at him for long seconds, and Harm began to feel uneasy, "I am ready for lunch," she said at last, "but not with you. You are still in the dog-house, mister! Are you ready ma'am?" her last remark was addressed to Carolyn.

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 1243hrs EST, Commissary, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191422ZMar01)**

Harm moodily pushed the commissary's idea of vegetable chow mein around his plate, trying his hardest not to stare at the table in the far corner of the room where Carolyn and Loren were giving every appearance of enjoying a convivial lunch and also tried to ignore the sympathetic comments and looks that Bud, his own lunch companion, kept sending across the table at him. At first remorseful, and then miserable, Harm was beginning to get angry at what he was coming to see as Loren's intransigence.

Hell, it wasn't as if he'd been unfaithful or forgotten Loren's birthday, all he'd done was to say that the job the Admiral had dumped on him wasn't going to be as bad as the old man had thought, because Renee had helped him to figure it out last year! 'What was so damn' wrong with that?' he asked himself.

His mood wasn't helped by the approach of a tray-laden Harriet accompanied by Mac, who were headed for the table with the obvious intent of sharing their lunch time with Bud. Harriet placed her loaded tray on the table and smiling brightly said, "Hi, sweetie," to Bud and a slightly less bright smile as she acknowledged Harm's presence, "Hello, sir. You don't mind if we sit, do you sir?"

Much as he would have liked to snarl something surly Harm was compelled by civility and good manners to mutter, "Harriett, Mac, no, go ahead…" before he sunk back into bitterly frustrated reflections. Consequently it took three or four attempt by Harriet to attract his attention when she asked him how did he think the Coulter court-martial was going, and his somewhat distracted "Oh, fine, I guess…" did nothing to satisfy her curiosity, but did draw a keen look from Mac, who saw beneath his distraction to his mixed emotions of misery and anger.

She lightly touched his forearm and when he looked up she was scribbling on her now ever-present note pad, and tearing off the top page passed it to him, '_Don't know what's wrong, but something is, think before you act!_'

Harm read the note and with a muffled "For fuck's sake!" screwed it into a ball and without another word pushed his chair back from the table and practically stormed out of the commissary.

Harriet sat open-mouthed while Bud and Mac with matching expressions of concern watched him leave. "Wha… what was that all about," the blonde Lieutenant asked.

Bud sighed heavily, "Harm and Singer are having a dumb fight…" and then in response to the inquisitive expressions on both women's faces he explained, "It seems that when the Admiral gave Harm the job of writing up this year's budget request, he made a comment saying that it wouldn't be so bad because thanks to Renee's help last year, he had a handle on the business. And, well, Singer took it to heart and she's giving him a hard time over it."

"Well," Harriet remarked smugly, "she might just find out that Harmon Rabb isn't the man she can play those sorts of games with…. I wonder if, with a little nudge…" she said speculatively and then gave a yelp, "Ow! Bud! Did you just kick me?" she demanded indignantly.

Bud looked at Harriet with something very like scornful anger in his expression, a look she had never seen directed at herself before, as he said, "No, I didn't, but maybe I should have!"

Harriet looked in turn at Mac and Bud, "Ma'am, did you…?"

Mac nodded her head emphatically, "Yep. Did!"

"But… Bud, ma'am… all I meant was that we might be able to make the Commander see where he's gone wrong! I mean, look at him today, I've never seen him look so miserable, and then the way he swore when he left like that…"

Bud closed his eyes for an instant, "Ma'am, will you excuse us please!" he said as he rose to his feet and taking a firm hold on Harriet's forearm hissed, "With me Harriet! We need to talk!"

"Bud Roberts!" Harriet exclaimed in surprise, "What are you doing?"

"Get on your feet and come with me quietly Harriet, or by the living God I _will_ drag you out of here in front of everybody!"

Harriet looked up at her husband her jaw sagging and her blue eyes filling with tears, as she groped for her cover and purse. She had never seen Bud so mad before, not even when he had had that blazing argument with his father over Big Bud turning up half-drunk when he came to babysit Little AJ. Numbly she walked out of the commissary, keenly aware of Bud's guiding hand maintaining a firm grip on her elbow.

Mac looked with troubled eyes as Bud and Harriet left. Despite her honest liking for the bubbly blonde, and her acknowledgement of her good qualities, she wasn't totally blind to the other woman's faults. Once Harriet got an idea into her head she could be like a… a… terrier with a bone between its teeth, worrying and worrying at it, and refusing to let go, no matter how much she was asked to do so. It seemed that Bud had finally had enough of his wife's interference and was about to stop asking and start telling instead. Mac only hoped for both their sakes that despite Harriet's intransigence over the Harm and Loren Singer engagement, Bud wouldn't let his anger drive him too far. She shook her head, although she had previously thought that the Navy's ban on husbands and wives working together was ridiculously hidebound, and although on this occasion the dispute was not work related, she could suddenly see some sense in the ruling. If Bud and Harriet were at outs with each other, then the tension between them would be readily recognised in JAG Ops, and could, if the Admiral became aware of it easily end up in official action being taken against both husband and wife.

Loren was too immersed in her own misery to take note of Bud and Harriet leaving the commissary, although she was keenly aware of Harm's rapid departure. But along with the misery there was the beginning of a glow of resentment. 'He had brought this on himself, praising that stupid, artificial Peterson woman right in my face! That… that bottled blonde… Oh, what was it MacKenzie had scathingly called her? Oh, yes, "Video Princess"! He made me so damn' mad, and what was worse he couldn't even see what he'd done wrong! Men are so damn insensitive sometimes. But maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't have turned my shoulder to him and ignored him when he asked if he could join Carolyn and me…'

Carolyn had very little difficulty in interpreting the various expressions that chased one after the other over her friend's face. 'Whoa, hold on there just a cotton-picking minute! _ Friend_? Where had that come from. This was _Loren Singer_ I'm thinking about! But… yeah… friend _was_ right! She'd started off as no more than an unwelcome second chair who, it was grudgingly admitted, had done a lot of the work that brought about the Coulter case, and while they had been working together the younger woman had unexpectedly revealed a dry sense of humour, an ability to work as a good team member, a quick mind and an aptitude for discovering discrepancies, and somewhere along the line a working partnership had morphed into a companionship and then a friendship. OK, it was still not a deep friendship, but Loren was… she had, by degrees become a friend.'

With that thought in her mind Carolyn said quietly, "OK Loren, you've told me what he did wrong, and yeah he was a bit of a klutz! But… men can be like that you know, and while you're certainly punishing him, if the expression I saw on his face a bit earlier is anything to go by, it now looks like you're also punishing yourself! And face it Loren, his sin isn't so black that you need to risk losing everything just because you got into a snit over a thoughtless remark!"

"I know!" Loren snapped back, "But it's not just his comments about that woman! Just look at the way he's acting out! What was he thinking, raging out of the room, that way? Why not just take up an ad in Times Square and let the whole world know we're having a fight! He's makes me so damn' mad!"

"Yeah, well, you've made that pretty obvious!" Carolyn observed dryly, "but take a minute, Loren, and ask yourself, who are you really mad at, Harmon Rabb or Loren Singer?"

Loren sent a look of dismay across the table at Carolyn, "Oh, my God! You're right, Carolyn I need to…"

But whatever Loren was about to say was interrupted as Alan Mattoni slumped into one of the vacant chairs with a resigned, "Ladies… sorry to interrupt, but can you spare a moment or two? If so, I might be able to spare us all a lot of moments and some aggravation."

Loren pushed aside her personal dilemma and turned her attention on Alan as Carolyn coolly replied, "Well, now that you've interrupted our lunch, I guess we might as well let you have your say."

Alan had the grace to wince and look embarrassed at his breach of manners in not asking permission to join them before he sat, but swallowing his chagrin he continued, "Your witnesses' forensic testimony has pretty well sunk the original autopsy report… and I'm pretty sure that despite Captain French's testimony the panel are going to decide in Captain Coulter's favour, so I thought I'd let you know that if you were to move for a dismissal of the charges, I won't object."

"No!" Loren interjected, and then as the two senior officers looked at her, she blushed and subsided back into silence.

"That's very kind of you, Alan," Carolyn said sarcastically, "and if you had said that yesterday, I might have accepted your offer. But at this late stage, I agree with Loren. What you're offering is not only literally a day late but also a dollar short!"

Alan shook his head in amazement, "But… I'm giving you the win!"

"It's not about the win!" Loren burst out again and then gasped, "Sorry, ma'am, sir!"

"No, go on, Loren. Tell Commander Mattoni why it isn't about the win," Carolyn encouraged her friend.

"Sir, if you concede now, and dismiss the charges, then yes, Captain Coulter will be vindicated, released from prison and all the rest. As far as the court is concerned that, of course, would be a good and just outcome. But it leaves a major question unanswered: If Captain Coulter did not murder his wife, then exactly how did Ellen Coulter die? Commander Imes and myself are pretty sure how, but Captain Coulter and his daughter need to have that our reasoning for coming to our conclusion as to cause of death entered in the record. We have one piece of physical evidence to offer and we want to put Captain Coulter on the stand. Once we've done that…" Loren paused, looked at Carolyn for confirmation and then took the plunge… "We'll rest our case and allow you to move to dismiss the charges!"

"Why allow me to dismiss, Lieutenant?"

"We've got this case won, sir, we'll have uncovered the truth and we have nothing more to prove. This way, we'll have the undisputed win, and you'll come out of it looking good too, instead of just having a loss on your record."

Mattoni leaned back in his chair and looked at Loren with a mixture of admiration and amusement, "You, Lieutenant are exceedingly devious and cunning, and might just turn into a damn fine attorney one day!"

"What do you mean, 'might' and 'one day', Alan?" Carolyn laughed as she came to Loren's defence, "She already is a damn' fine attorney!" Loren blushed slightly at the unexpected praise as Carolyn continued, "I may have done most of the talking in the courtroom, but it's Loren's hard work in prepping the case that has really kicked your butt! So… our offer is on the table… take it or leave it!"

Alan nodded, "I'll take it. And I'll also take my leave of you! I'd like to say it's been a pleasure working with you, but I don't take all that much pleasure in having, as you so delightfully put it, my butt kicked!" With a grin to take any implied harshness out of his words, Alan Mattoni stood and looked at the two defence attorneys in turn, and then with a smile on his face, he gently shook his head and left them in peace.

Carolyn idly twirled her fork in what was left of her pasta and prawn salad and without looking across at Loren, remarked in a conversational manner, "That was pretty generous of you, to let Alan off the hook like that."

Loren looked up in surprise, "You think so?" she asked.

"Yeah… you cut him a lot of slack… Why not try the same tactics with Harm?"

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 1326hrs EST, Courtroom 3, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191826ZMar01)**

Carolyn looked anxiously at the courtroom clock and then double-checked the time on her watch. Loren was cutting it fine. There was less than five minutes left before the court was scheduled to reconvene, and Judge Morris was not one to turn a blind eye to half the defence team being late or, heaven forfend, not showing up at all!

Then to her relief she heard the rapid click of heels on polished wood and turning her head she saw a drawn and miserable looking Loren hurrying down the aisle towards the front of the courtroom.

Carolyn waited, barely, until Loren had taken her seat and then leaning back she spoke in a fierce hiss around Captain Coulter, "Well, all sorted?"

Loren shook her head numbly, "No... he's left the building… nobody seemed to know where he's gone and I didn't want to advertise…"

Carolyn missed whatever Loren might have been going to say next as a slight disturbance at the rear of the court caught her attention, and hoping that it might be Harm she turned her head just in time to see that it was indeed him taking a seat in the back row, "It's OK! He's here!" she hissed.

"Another witness?" Captain Coulter asked, intrigued by the behind his back whispered conversation.

"No, not a…" Carolyn began but was cut off as the judge's door opened and the bailiff called the court to order.

Personal considerations had to be put aside as Carolyn and Loren turned their full attention on what they felt was the climax of the trial and the presentation of the key piece of evidence in discovering the reason for and the cause of Ellen Coulter's death.

Judge Morris looked at Carolyn and asked, "Are you ready to proceed?"

"Yes your honour, at this time, I'd like to submit Defence Exhibits A, B and C. Exhibits A and B are the autopsy reports carried out By Doctor Brennan and Commander Coulter respectively on the exhumed remains of Ellen Coulter. You will note that they are considerably longer and more complete than the original autopsy report!"

"Don't editorialise, Commander!" Judge Morris warned.

"My apologies, your honour. Exhibit C is a work order from Base Housing Maintenance for repairs to be carried out to the heating system at 42 Saratoga Avenue, Norfolk Naval Base. This is the address at which the Coulters resided." Carolyn paused for effect. "The work order is dated the day of Ellen Coulter's death and is for repairs to the propane gas operated heating and hot water system commonly installed in Base Housing. I would like the court to note the handwritten comments at the foot of the work order. These comments were written and signed by Petty Officer Two Argente, the operator assigned to the repair, and where he states that he was unable to complete the work on the date assigned because he lacked the necessary length of vent piping, and that he warned Mrs Coulter not to turn in the heating until he had returned the following day with the necessary parts to complete the repairs, and that in accordance with normal safety procedures he had 'tagged off' the heating unit."

"Commander Mattoni, have you seen this?"

"No, your honour."

"Very well… Commander Imes, if you'd be so good?"

Alan Mattoni gave the work order a swift perusal, even now his brain working to see if there was something in it that he could possibly turn to the prosecution's advantage, but there it was in black and white, just as Carolyn had described. With a sigh he handed the sheet of paper back to Carolyn, "The people stipulate to its existence and authenticity, your honour."

Judge Morris accepted the page from Carolyn and instructed the court recorder, "So entered." He then looked at Carolyn, "Do you have anything further, Commander?"

"We do your honour; the defence calls Captain Thomas Coulter to the stand."

As always the prospect of hearing the defendant give his version of events sent a quick and hastily stifled frisson of anticipation round the court as Judge Morris raised his head and let his gaze sweep the assembled spectators.

Captain Coulter was duly sworn and having seen him take his seat in the witness box, Carolyn sat down and Loren, putting her personal issues to one side and now fully focussed on the business at hand, rose to begin her direct questioning of the witness, and she meant business, wanting to finish this as quickly as she could so she could turn her attention to the disastrous state of affairs between her and Harm.

"Would you agree, Captain, that at the time of your wife's death, you were a drunk?"

Coulter licked his lips, hoping that the signs of his nervousness weren't too apparent to the panel, "Yes, I was a drunk," he answered in a subdued voice.

"And what kind of drunk were you?" Loren asked.

"I was an angry drunk."

"Did you ever direct that anger at your wife, sir?"

Coulter nodded miserably, "Yes," as he looked down at his fingers twining themselves around each other as his hands rested on his belt buckle.

"Why?" Loren countered.

"Because she wasn't perfect. That was what I expected from people – that was what I asked of my men."

Loren turned and paced slowly towards the panel, "Do you think that this was fair, sir?" she asked over her shoulder.

"No… it was twisted. My wife… deserved better from me." He paused for a few seconds, "I was not up to the job of being her husband. I was weak and full of self-loathing."

"Did you ever consider leaving her?" Loren asked

"No. Because then I would have had no-one to blame for my unhappiness."

Loren nodded and paused before she carried on with her questioning, and Harm took the opportunity to crane his neck to see how Terri, no longer a witness and seated amongst the spectators, was taking her father's confession. He could see that her face no longer wore the closed, almost hostile expression that it had worn throughout the trial whenever she had looked at her father or heard his name mentioned. Instead there was an expression of growing doubt.

Loren drew a deep breath and clasped her hands behind her back before she turned back to face the witness box, "Did your wife ever try to leave you, sir?"

"No, Ellen would never go out on her own, she was too dependent. Though she did throw me out of the house."

Loren slowly walked back across the courtroom towards the witness stand, "Tell us about that, please, sir."

"It was the week before she died. We were arguing… and… I lost control… I pushed her. When she fell she…" Coulter gestured towards the back of his own head, "she whacked her heads on the bedpost. I had threatened her often," Coulter admitted shamefacedly, "but it was the first time I had ever laid hands on her… the first time I had hurt her. It… it shook me up."

"How did you react?" Loren asked.

"I took a room at a motel." Coulter replied.

"You returned a week later, sir?"

"Yes, and we argued again!" Coulter replied heavily. "I threw stuff around, but she stood fast. Stared me down. I was furious but … but I knew it was over, all I could do was stomp out of there."

"Captain, why did you yell 'Are you happy now?'" Loren asked.

"I was trying to make the point that she would be alone from now on and that it was going to be hard for her."

"Sir, she'd just been alone for a week!" Loren objected.

"She called me at the motel every day." Coulter responded. Harm could see the surprise on Terri's face at that revelation.

Loren nodded, and then asked in a softer tone, "Captain, what did you do when you found out that your wife was dead?"

Coulter looked Loren straight in the eye and in a level voice, but with his eyes bright with remembered tears, said simply, "I cried." He paused and swallowed to clear his throat before he continued, "That may sound pathetic and like a plea for sympathy… but it's the truth."

"Thank you, Captain Coulter. I have no more questions," Loren said quietly.

"Commander Mattoni?" Judge Morris invited the prosecution counsel to cross examine, and Mattoni stood but then to everyone's surprise said, "The people have no questions for this witness your honour, and moreover, in the light of testimony given before this court, the people unconditionally withdraw all charges against Captain Thomas Coulter!"

Judge Morris almost gaped at Mattoni There was a subdued hubbub in the courtroom as the spectators shared his amazement, a hubbub that Morris almost instantly stilled with glare, a sharp rap of his gavel and an even sharper "Silence! Or I'll have the bailiff clear the court!"

He beckoned both sides, "Sidebar!" and waited for them to approach the bench, and then covering his microphone with his hand he asked quietly, "What the hell is going on?"

"Your honour," Mattoni replied, "It's obvious that the evidence we've heard today totally discredits the evidence from the first trial. The forensics are so much more complete, Captain French's testimony may, even unconsciously be tainted, the work order, tied in with the forensic report of high CO levels… and well, your honour, I have nothing with which to refute all this. So rather than have the defence come right out in court and present as a closing argument that Ellen Coulter took her own life, to the added distress of both Captain and Commander Coulter, I would far sooner withdraw the charges and spare them that much."

"I see," Judge Morris said in a non-committal tone of voice, "And I take it the defence has no objection?"

"None, your honour. We've set out our stall, and I don't think there's a single person in the courtroom that would vote for a guilty verdict."

"You may well be right," Morris growled, "but I don't like seeing the jury being second-guessed before they have even made the first guess. But as both prosecution and defence agree, then so be it! Stand back!"

The attorneys withdrew to their own tables as Morris began his ruling, "Captain Thomas Coulter, the withdrawal of all charges by the prosecution means that you are a free man. The original conviction against you is null and void, and you are reinstated to the list of active Navy officers with rank, seniority and all pay, allowances, benefits and entitlements restored to you with effect from the date of the original conviction! Members of the panel, the court thanks you for your attendance at this trial, you are free to return to your normal duties! This court is adjourned!"

All rose as the disgruntled judge returned to his chambers and the crowd broke up into excited clumps as the members of the panel worked their way through to the exit, some of them at least relieved that they hadn't had to reach a verdict.

Harm edged his way forward to join the group consisting of Carolyn, Alan Mattoni, Loren and Captain Coulter, only to stop as he came across Terri Coulter working her way towards the doors.

"Leaving?" he asked her with an inquiring look.

Terri looked over her shoulder, her face troubled, "I don't know if I can face him yet, Harm. I've spent the last twelve years of my life hating him… and now it's all been turned on its head."

"He didn't do it, Terri. I know it's hard facing up to the fact that your Mom may have deliberately taken her own life. But your dad, for all his faults didn't kill her. Terri, he's spent twelve years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, and I'll bet that's changed him. I can guarantee that he's sober; twelve years in prison is a long time without a drink. You need to talk to him, Terri."

Even as he spoke, Harm realised that he was also giving himself the best possible advice.

"Harm, I don't know what to say…"

Harm gave her a half-grin of understanding, "You could start with 'Hi, Dad'," he suggested, looking over her shoulder.

Terri turned to see what he was looking at, and saw her father staring hungrily at her, with his heart in his eyes. "Yes… OK… I'll give it a try." She turned and slowly walked towards her father, and as they saw her approach, Carolyn, Loren and Alan stood back.

Terri halted in front of her father and licked her lips, "H… h… hello Dad…" she faltered

But Harm, despite Terri's opinion hadn't been looking at Captain Coulter; rather he was looking at Loren who stared back at him with much the same expression on her face as Terri's father had.

Indifferent to the others around them Harm and Loren started walking towards each other on the same instant, and then stopped with only a couple of feet between them each searching the other's eyes.

"Loren, we need to talk," Harm finally said gently.

"Yes… yes, we do…" Loren agreed, her eyes misting over.


	35. Chapter 35

**35**

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 1306hrs EST, Lieutenant Bud Roberts' Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191806ZMar01)**

Still fuming and still with his wife's elbow in a firm grasp, Bud steered her into his office before he let go of her arm, and then turning he locked the door and closed the blinds before he looked at her and said, "Sit down, Harriet!"

Stunned by this hitherto unseen degree of anger, Harriet fumbled her way into one of the visitor chairs as Bud perched on the corner of his desk, his folded arms and crossed ankles indicating that he was in no mood to compromise.

"Bud…" Harriet faltered, "What… what's got into you… I've never seen you like this…" And then as she reflexively rubbed her elbow, her bewilderment gave way to anger. "And how dare you manhandle me like that! In front of the whole command!" She placed her hands on the arm rests of the chair and started to rise only to be halted by Bud's next words.

"I said, sit down, Harriet!" His voice was icy cold, and in that instant, as she subsided back into her seat, Harriet felt a band of ice grip her heart and her flash of anger was replaced by fear. Not physical fear, she knew right to the bottom of her heart that Bud, no matter how angry her might be, would never lay a finger on her, but there was something about his anger today that told her it went way beyond the bounds of what was normal for her fundamentally good-natured husband.

"Whatever's the matter Bud…? This isn't like you…" although the anger was gone from her voice Harriet's attitude was still one of self-righteous defiance.

"The matter is Harriett that I love you… and…"

"Well! You've got a funny way of showing it, Bud Roberts!"

"Harriett! Please let me finish what I'm trying to say!" Bud said heavily. He then waited for a response from his petulantly pouting wife. When she made no immediate response, he sighed and continued, "I love you, but I'm also afraid for you."

Harriet looked up with an expression of alarm on her face, "What? How? Why?"

"Harriet listen very carefully. We have spoken before about not interfering in matters that do not concern us. Yes, I do mean the Commander's personal life. Think back to when the Colonel was in hospital, when you first started to think that Commander was beginning to have more than friendly feelings towards Loren Singer. We were in the minivan outside the hospital, and I strongly advised you at that time to butt out of the emotional triangle of the Commander, the Colonel and Lieutenant Singer. You didn't take my advice, did you? Now, I'm not advising, I'm saying that your interference stops – right here, right now!?"

"But, Bud… it's all so wrong…"

"Harriet," Bud sighed again, "Right or wrong, it is none of our never mind! And your fixation on the Commander's personal life is even more wrong…"

"But, Bud, he's our friend, he's AJ's Godfather, and I can't bear to see him throwing himself away on a useless piece of…"

"Harriet! That's enough! No, it's too far!"

"Bud!" Harriet wailed in protest.

"No, listen. You just went too far on two levels: the personal and the professional. Let's look at it on the personal level first. The Commander is our friend; he's done so much for me, and for you, and as you say, he's AJ's Godfather. Do you really want to throw away five years of friendship because you can't or won't make an effort to at least try and get along with the woman he has asked to marry him? We may not like his choice, Harriet, but we have to accept it, or risk losing him as a friend, and I'm pretty sure that's what will happen if you don't stop this mindless feud you have with Loren Singer. And I have a feeling, a very strong feeling, if he would have heard what you just said in the commissary that is exactly what would have happened. Harriet, the Colonel has accepted the Commander's choice, and has even made peaceful overtures towards Singer. They may never be real friends, but they have at least agreed to end the war!"

Bud cocked his head to one side and added more gently, "Did you know that when the Commander first told Loren Singer that he loved her, they were in the Colonel's room at the hospital? Just about the time we were in the minivan, too. Well anyway, Loren bolted…"

"Just when did Lieutenant Witch become Loren to you?" Harriet interrupted snidely

Bud grinned mirthlessly, "About the time she became engaged to the Commander, but that's neither here nor there! As I was saying, when she bolted, the Commander was left standing and it was the Colonel who they had thought was asleep, but wasn't, told him, 'if you love her, go after her', if I remember correctly what the Commander told me! So, you see, the Colonel has accepted that the Commander has made his choice – and it wasn't her – so don't you think you ought to accept it too? So… on the personal level, no more cocktail parties to introduce him to 'eligible' young women, right?"

Harriet blushed vividly, she would never forget that particular fiasco, and she still hadn't really mended fences with Lieutenant Commander Somers from the IG's office. "No, no more cocktail parties," she mumbled.

Bud nodded with satisfaction, he brought Harriet round from being closed and defensive so she was at least now listening to him instead of just bristling at his every word, "OK, so we're agreed: for the sake of personal relationships that you need to let go, and try to establish some sort of relationship with Loren Singer. But, Harriet, there's a potentially more serious scenario on the professional side. You have got to stop referring to Loren Singer as 'Lieutenant Witch', or 'The Wicked Witch of Washington' or any other derogatory names. Each time you call her a name, or even refer to her in those terms in the hearing of anyone else, particularly the enlisted, then you are in breach of Article 117 of the UCMJ. And that's why I'm afraid for you. I don't want to see you losing two thirds of your pay and being cooped up in the women's brig in Miramar for six months for every time you refer her to by 'Provoking or Reproachful Words'. And it could be much worse, sweetie, it could be said that as Loren has considerable seniority on you that you could be charged with Article 89, 'Disrespect to a Superior Commissioned Officer'. That is a BCD, loss of all benefits and a year in the women's brig. I couldn't stand to lose you for that length of time, and A J sure as hell couldn't either. So, for God's sake Harriett, power down and wind your neck in, please?"

During his peroration, Harriett had staring slack-jawed at Bud, and by the time he had finished her blue eyes were awash with tears that were beginning to trickle down her face. Bud abandoned his perch on his desk and crouching next to her, offered her his handkerchief while looping an arm around her shoulders in a comforting hug.

"Look," Bud continued, "If the Commander's family are happy to accept Loren Singer as his wife, then who are we to gainsay him?"

Harriet stopped mopping her eyes and turned a stricken face towards her husband, "His family have met her?"

Bud smiled in sympathy, "They most certainly have!" he affirmed.

"And they liked her?"Harriet said incredulously.

"So it seems," Bud agreed.

Harriet continued looking at her husband as her brain started to whirl furiously.

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 1648hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191806ZMar01)**

Carolyn was quietly pleased with the outcome of the Coulter trial, not, thanks mostly to Loren's pre-trial review, that she had been overly worried about the result, but she confessed to herself that Temperance Brennan had caused her heart to jump into her throat on a couple of occasions. It wasn't so much what the forensic pathologist had said, but the way she had said it and her attitude which seemed disdainful of the whole military justice system.

All Carolyn needed to do know was to finish drafting her post-trial summation and have it ready for typing in the morning, and then she felt she would be free to have a couple of quiet drinks in celebration of the win. In the normal course of things she would have invited Loren to join her, but with the way things stood between her and Harm it was more important that they mend fences rather than let the misunderstanding – and Carolyn was certain that's what it all boiled down to - fester between them.

Her musings were cut short by the demand of her telephone and sighing she pulled, a legal pad towards her, just in case, and picked up. "Imes!" she almost snapped.

"_Whoa! Stand down Commande_r!" came a laughing voice in her ear, "_It's Pete Murray here. I understand you pulled off a pretty impressive win this afternoon, made the opposition drop the charges?_"

"Yeah, pretty much so…" Carolyn conceded, although that wasn't quite the way she recalled the case.

"_So… how'd you like to kill two birds with one stone_?" Pete teased her gently.

"Doing what?" Carolyn asked, with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"_Well, it's customary to celebrate a win, isn't it_?"

"Yeah…." Carolyn drew the word out.

"_Well, we've got a couple of promotions in the detachment to celebrate, so we're having a wet down at Lola's on Eighth kicking off at twenty hundred_."

Carolyn considered the Marine Captain's invitation. Eighth Street South East wasn't too far from her apartment and she had been looking forward to a quiet celebratory drink. The trouble is, just how quiet would the drink be in the company of a party of off-duty Jarheads? "I won't be the only sailor there will I, Pete?"

"_Hell, no, Sam Cooper's bringing his wife… besides… Patty Bishop's bringing her new boyfriend, he's a medico based up at Bethesda finishing his surgical boards before going fleet. And anyway_," Pete dropped his voice to a husky whisper, "_You know most of the detachment by sight, and I understand Gunny Galindez will be there along with Gunny Waters and a couple of Sergeants to keep 'em all in line." Pete paused for a moment before adding, "Why don't you bring that new Commander along with you, Commander Houston, isn't it?_

Carolyn chuckled, "Austin, Pete. Commander Austin."

"_Hell, I knew it was one of those places in Texas!_" He paused again, _"So is that a yes or a no_?"

"OK, I'll be there, Lola's at twenty hundred, but mind; you're responsible for getting me home at the end of the night!"

"_I wouldn't have it any other way_!" Pete declared emphatically. "_But yours or mine? That's the question_!" and he hung up before Carolyn could reply.

Carolyn looked at the 'phone in her hand with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression, "Yeah, that'd be right! Dream on Jarhead!"

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 1708hrs EST, Parking Lot, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (191806ZMar01)**

Harm signed out at the CP and trod down the steps into the forecourt and turned towards his SUV breathing a silent sigh of relief as he spotted Loren waiting for him alongside the vehicle. As he drew near her he recognised the signs, although many wouldn't have done so, that she had indulged in a lengthy bout of tears. At the sight of her worried and woe-begone face the last vestiges of his anger completely drained away, and with total disregard for the Admiral's dictat on public displays of affection he reached out his hand and gently cupping her cheek in his hand he followed the line of her cheekbone with his thumb and accompanied the gesture with a soft-spoken "Hey, sweetheart, don't cry; we can sort this out…"

Loren gulped, "Oh. Harm… I'm so sorry… I don't mean to be such a bitch…"

"Hey, you're not… but… we can't talk about this here. Do you want to go home, or… maybe Potomac Park? Seems to me we had a pretty intense discussion there once upon a time?"

Loren nodded, "Home , please, Harm?" she said in a very small voice.

"OK, home it shall be…" he looked her straight in the eye, "And don't worry Loren, there's no lasting damage done, we can and we will work this out. All you really have to remember is that I love you. All the rest is just the baggage we tote around with us…"

"And I love you, Harm. I really do…"

"I know… but let's save the explanations and recriminations until we get home. So climb in and buckle up, please?"

Loren nodded, "OK," she replied solemnly.

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 1753hrs EST, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (202253ZMar01)**

The drive home from Falls Church had been quiet, both Harm and Loren considering the best way to mend fences, and the only interaction between them had been brief hand-clasps whenever the traffic compelled the SUV to come to a halt.

Entering the apartment, Harm hung his cover on the pegs to the side of the door and asked, do you want to get straight into it, or shower and change first?"

"Um… neither," Loren answered, "I want to get out of this first…" she indicated her dress blues, "but after that… I really don't want this hanging over us any longer…"

Harm nodded, briefly, "Good thinking…" he hesitated, "Do you want me to get changed in the bathroom while you take the bedroom?" he said tentatively.

"God, no!" Loren exploded, "Never, never, never! Where will be if we can't even share a room?!"

"It's just, I don't want you to feel pressured…" Harm said lamely.

Loren turned to him and threw her arms around his waist and burying her head against his chest she mumbled, "Harm… except for the day you told me you loved me, you've never put any pressure on me!"

Harm wrapped his arms around Loren and dropped a gentle kiss onto the top of her head, "How did we get it so wrong today?" he asked, genuine puzzlement in his voice.

"A good deal of that is down to me," Loren admitted, raising her head and looking up into his face.

"Well, there's probably plenty of blame to go around, sweetheart. So don't go grabbing too much for yourself!" Harm responded with a half-smile. "But let's get out of uniform so we can sit down and get comfortable – just like you suggested!"

Ten minutes later Loren, now in slacks and a sweater and with her hair down, was sat on the couch while a jean and t-shirt clad Harm sat on the coffee table directly facing her, their knees nearly touching.

'Damn!' Loren thought, 'that is so not fair! How the hell am I supposed to concentrate and muster a lucid argument, when he's sitting there right in my face in that tight t-shirt! No fair, Mister Rabb!'

Harm took a swallow from the bottle of water he had snagged from the fridge and let his eyes roam over the petite blonde sitting opposite him. 'OK, her face still shows slight evidence of a tear storm, but she looks… so… so… cool, calm and collected… How the hell does she do it? And how the hell does she have such a powerful effect on me?' he asked himself as he shifted to a slightly more comfortable position.

More in order to temporarily distract himself from thoughts that were better suited to a more intimate atmosphere, Harm cleared his throat, "Loren, I told you once that I would never intentionally hurt you, but that at times, I was the biggest klutz in the world, and I can, almost effortlessly put my foot in mouth, and with a bit more effort I could probably get two in at the same time.. Now, it's obvious that somehow, this morning, I hurt you… I don't know how I managed that, but I am sorry… and if you tell me what I did wrong then I swear I will never do it again. But…" he held up a minatory finger to delay her reply, "please, don't be too hard on this klutz of a sailor, and remember that no matter how badly he screws the pooch, that he does love with all his heart!"

Loren caught her breath, "Oh, you bastard… how can I be mad at you when you say such wonderful things! And anyway… I'm not mad at you any more… I don't think I was ever really mad at you. You made a comment that was a sort of half praise of Renee, and I… I made all too much of it and I… completely lost the plot! And Harm I'm so, so sorry… and then I felt guilty about losing it with you, and that made me angry at myself… but instead of being honest with myself, I turned that anger on you, and it wasn't until lunch when you stormed out of the commissary, and I complained to Carolyn that you were making a spectacle of yourself, and by extension me. Carolyn just looked at me and asked who I was mad at, you or me and it was only then that I realised what I was doing! And Harm, I left her at the table, and I went looking for you to say sorry… but I couldn't find you… and then I had to get back to court… and I was so relieved when you came in… I could hardly concentrate on the case…"

"Hey, hey, hey, you did a wonderful job on direct with Terri's father… I was so proud of you…" Harm said, slipping off the table and onto the couch next to Loren, who immediately half-turned towards him, rubbing her face against his chest. Harm looped his arm around her shoulders, and gently stroked her outside arm.

"Do I take it then that my apology is accepted?" Harm smiled, dropping another kiss on the top of her head.

"Oh, of course it is you fool!" Loren sniffled, "But it really wasn't your fault!" She stopped for a moment to marshal her thoughts. "I know I was being stupid, but it was all the fault of my damn insecurities. I try Harm, I try so hard not to let them get to me anymore, and you do such a wonderful job of supporting me, that most times, I can fight them off, let them sink back into the depths… but that support just makes it all the more hurtful when I think I see you betraying that…"

"Oh, Loren, never! Not in a million years!"

"Oh, I know, Harm, I know! At least I know when I'm thinking rationally! But every once in a while, I see you laughing and joking with some absolutely beautiful woman and then the green-eyed monster kicks in and I get all these doubts, like why is he with me? Why isn't he dating some tall, slim elegant fashion model type…"

"Because, my darling, tall, slim, elegant fashion model types don't have as much appeal for me in their entire bodies as you do in your pinkie! And remember our pinkie promises?"

"Oh, I do! I do!" Loren giggled damply as the memory of those last few minutes at Potomac Park brought a fresh spate of tears to her eyes, "but I was feeling especially vulnerable this morning…"

"This morning?" Harm raised an eyebrow.

Loren nodded, and then kept her face lowered, refusing to meet Harm's gaze.

"Why was that, sweetheart?" he persisted gently.

Loren mumbled something indistinct against his chest.

"What was that?" he asked again.

Loren twisted her head slightly so that her mouth was no longer muffled by Harm's t-shirt, "Meg Austin," she replied quietly but distinctly.

Harm sat upright in surprise, "Meg?" he queried, "Why, whatever for?"

"Well… I saw the two of you in your office first thing this morning… she hardly waited until you were through the door before she pounced on you… and then you were so close there with her, she brought you coffee and you were sat with your heads so close together… and she's so blonde and so beautiful…"

"So are you!" Harm told her emphatically, "And anyway, it's ridiculous… you might as well be suspicious of Harriet or… or… Carolyn… or that little PO Two who does the general office filing…"

"No, it isn't the same, Harm!" Loren insisted

"Of coursed it is! The one is just as ridiculous as the other!" Harm argued, "Way out in left field!"

"No, no it's not the same! You've never been in love with Carolyn or Harriett or… or…"

"And who says I'm in love with Megan?" Harm challenged her.

"You did!" Loren declared.

Harm stared at her in amazement, as he ran past conversations in rapid review while Loren looked up at him anxiously, desperately afraid of what he might say and that she should, perhaps have not mentioned Meg at all.

Then after what seemed an absolute age to Loren, Harm shook his head in a puzzled fashion, "No, Loren, I am totally certain that I never told you that I loved Meg… I know I never told her that!"

"You may not have told her, but you definitely told me!" Loren argued.

"When?" Harm challenged her.

"When you were ill! When I first found you in your old apartment. You were raving on about her, and how you loved her and you always would…"

"Loren! I was fevered when you found me, right?" Loren nodded, "Then you're right, I was raving! Look I won't deny that I used to be attracted to Meg and it might be that she at one time felt some attraction to me. But we never did anything… anything at all… about it. We were partners, I was her immediate superior, we were in the same chain of command; it was impossible! We never even shared a single kiss! Not even when she saved my ass! Megan and I were friends and partners, nothing more. All the time we worked together I was in a sort of relationship with Diane – and I know I've told you about her, right?"

"Yeah, you did… but…" Loren faltered to a halt.

"Go on, sweetheart," Harm gently encouraged her.

"Well…" and once again, Loren had difficulty in meeting his eyes, "When I was packing your personal kit to bring to you in the hospital… I found… and old shoebox, with a couple of photograph wallets in it… One wallet had a couple of shots of Diane… and the other…"

"Had a shot of Meg on the Sea Hawk!" Harm finished for her.

Loren nodded unhappily, "Yeah, so I figured she must have been important to you, and then you told me all about Diane and the academy… but then you never said hardly a word about Meg, and then she turned up at JAG… and she's so beautiful and tall and… then today, as she was leaving your office, I heard you make a lunch date with her, and then on top of all that you had to go and mention Renee – another tall, slim, elegant blonde!""

"Renee is definitely in the past Loren. And I breathed a huge sigh of relief when she broke off our relationship, although I got to admit, it hurt my pride to be dumped for a mortician!"

Loren couldn't repress a slight giggle at that and Harm tightened his arm around her shoulder in response. "I remember Renee, and I could never figure out what you saw in her…"

"And Meg is just a friend in need, nothing more!" Harm interrupted her. "Loren, Meg got a PCS while I was still trying to cope with Diane's murder. She was posted to Hawaii, and I never heard a word from her after that. I tell you, I still think of her as a friend, but that sort of treatment kills off any romantic leanings pretty damn quickly. And yes, I was happy to see her back at JAG; she's a damn good lawyer and a damn good investigator!" Harm paused for breath, "And if you remember, the day she reported for duty, practically the first thing I said to her was 'Meg, this is Loren Singer, the woman I love!' I don't think I could have made it any clearer to her that if she had any idea of taking our friendship to another level then I wasn't interested. I wasn't interested then and I'm not interested now. You were the woman I loved then, and you are still the woman I love now. Nothing, I repeat, nothing has changed in that regard, and nothing ever will!"

Loren nodded solemnly, her heart rejoicing at the warmth and depth of conviction in Harm's voice, but there was just one more little question she had to ask, "So… what was the oh so private confab about this morning, then?"

Harm leaned back against the squabs and considered just how much he should tell Loren before deciding that this was a case when the whole truth would have to come out, so with a silent plea to Meg for forgiveness for betraying a confidence he said, "Meg had started to form an attraction to an enlisted man, and he apparently was returning her interest. She came to me, not because she wanted advice – she knows she cannot and must not do anything about the attraction. But because she needs to meet with him – in a public place – and make it perfectly clear that they have no future together as long as they are both in the service. What she wanted me for was to act as a chaperone, to accompany her to the appointed meeting place and just sit and observe them so that I could later swear that there had been no sign of improper behaviour."

"Oh… poor Meg… no wonder she needed a shoulder to cry on…"

"Loren, she never…"

"I didn't mean that literally, Harm!"

"Oh… OK… so, now, are you happy that Meg is nothing more to me than a friend?"

"Uh-huh."

"And, sweetheart, if your devils start up again, please tell me… don't just get hostile and shut me out, OK?"

Loren sniffled again, "Yeah, OK…"

Harm nodded, "Good… now look at me!"

Loren looked up just in time for her lips to be captured by Harm's as he kissed her gently but thoroughly. "Oh… wow…" she sighed when the kiss ended.

"Oh, yes, definitely a wow!" Harm agreed with a smile as Loren's head burrowed comfortably into his chest and his arm tightened around her shoulders.

**Tuesday 20 March 2001, 2007hrs EST, Lola's Barracks Bar and Grill, Eighth Street SE, Washington DC (210107ZMar01)**

Meg and Carolyn, both similarly clad in Jeans and lightweight jackets worn over sweaters over button-down shirts hurried along the sidewalk, their heads bowed to the chill evening wind that was being channelled down the street by the tall buildings on either side until Carolyn reached out a hand and lightly gripped Meg's forearm.

This is the place!" Carolyn called over her shoulder to Meg as she pushed open the door. Meg gave the establishment a quick once over. It was opposite the Marine Corps Barracks and she' d feared it would prove to be some sleazy dive overflowing with obnoxiously drunken, bragging Jarheads, but so far her worst fears were a long way from being realised. OK, the long bar was fully occupied by young (and not quite so young) men sporting USMC style buzz-cuts and a few young women were sat at the booths lining the opposite wall but none of them looked like the type of parasites who preyed on drunken servicemen, and as Carolyn led her towards the back of the bar Meg took the opportunity to study them surreptitiously and came to the conclusion that most, if not all, were probably female marines.

Carolyn saw Meg looking around and asked shrewdly, "Studying the local fauna and flora?" Meg grinned in acknowledgement as Carolyn continued, "Not quite what you expected? Well, it is only a spit from the Barracks main entrance and you get all sorts of Marines from Colonels to Buck Privates coming in here, so no-one does anything too outrageous in case the guy having a quiet beer at one of the back table turns out to be a Bird-Colonel and a misdeed comes back to bite the perpetrator on the ass! Besides, Lola – if she really does exist – hires former Marine Staff NCOs as bar-tenders and doormen, and some of those old leathernecks are really tough!"

Meg laughed softly at Carolyn's words as she led Meg out into an open area flanked on three sides by further booths and by a stage area on the fourth. A lively party was already underway and as the two women walked under the archway that separated bar from dance hall, a tall man in slacks and an open-necked, short sleeved shirt stood to greet them.

"Carolyn! Hi!" he exclaimed with a wide grin.

"Hello Pete," Carolyn replied with an easy smile as he ushered them into seats in one of the booths, "You haven't met Meg Austin yet, have you? Meg this is Pete Murray, he's the XO of the Marine Security Detail at JAG. Pete, Commander Meg Austin, JAG Corps."

"My pleasure!" Pete said enthusiastically eying Meg's fresh complexion and trim figure, and receiving an elbow in his ribs for his pains, "Hey calm down, Jarhead!" Carolyn scolded him, "You're supposed to be all mine!"

"Oof! Damn! Busted!" Pete replied with his easy smile.

Carolyn leaned across and stage-whispered to Megan, "Don't pay any heed – he's like most Jarheads, thinks he's God's gift to women!"

"Only because we are, Carolyn, only because we are!" Pete's reply brought a chorus of laughs and a few yells of 'Oorah!'from those within earshot.

Pete settled back as the noise subsided and smiled across the table at Meg, "Let me give you a few names, Meg. You won't remember them – they're a pretty forgettable bunch, but at least I'll have shown willing!"

Meg grinned and picked up the moisture-beaded beer bottle that had somehow appeared in front of her.

"So… Everyone! I'd like you all to meet Commander Meg Austin, once of the newest and brightest stars of the Navy's JAG Corps! Meg, this is Patty Bishop – Captain USMC – and Lieutenant Commander Danny Walker, he's a doctor from Bethesda, and Lieutenant Sam Cooper – he's one of yours and his wife, Ellen. Gunny Waters you know from the detachment, and of course you know Gunny Galindez…

Meg felt the world spin around her as she turned and saw Victor Galindez looking at her his expression unreadable, "Ma'am" he acknowledged her presence as Pete Murray continued, "and our guests of honour this evening, Sergeant Cartier – as in the watches, Corporal Friedlander and Lance Corporal Somers."

Meg acknowledged and congratulated the three newly promoted NCOs, Cartier a short, wiry saturnine looking man, Friedlander, big, blonde and stolid-looking and Somers, a petite green-eyed blonde who was dwarfed by the bulk of the individual sat next to her.

Caught by etiquette that demanded that Meg stay for at least half an hour, she could only paste a smile on her face and raise her bottle in salute to the promotees, and resigned herself to surreptitiously sneaking glances at her watch until sufficient time elapsed when she could make a graceful departure from the scene, and she silently thanked God that she had sufficient cash on her to take a cab back to Anacostia; she now wouldn't be able to crash on Carolyn's couch as had been the original plan for the evening. But until that time she would have to show at least the semblance of enjoying herself.

And it wasn't long before Meg found herself drawn into a spirited discussion over the last season's performance of various football teams, the discussion initiated by the claim that the Baltimore Ravens had been lucky to beat the Giants in the last Superbowl – a claim which brought forth howls of derision from the listeners to the effect that a thirty four points to seven win could hardly be described as lucky. The discussion widened from then on, and Meg found herself fiercely defending her beloved Dallas Cowboys against the verbal attacks of the Damnyankees ranged around the table and without noticing that as soon as she'd finished her a beer another ice-cold bottle was slid onto the table in front of her along with an array of tortilla chips and dishes of salsa dip, provided free by the management. A ploy that everyone recognised as being designed to increase the patrons thirst to the benefit of the bar's profits.

Victor had made no move to thrust himself on Meg's attention and gradually the good humoured banter, the flow of conversation and the flow of beer conspired to allow Meg to forget her initial discomfort and to relax and enjoy the party, so when the music started and broke into the conversation Meg realised with something akin to a shock that it was twenty one thirty h9urs, and she hadn't felt so relaxed for a long time. As various members of the party got up and moved to the dance-floor Meg settled back in the booth and relaxed as she watched the others dance. Carolyn Imes was dancing very closely with Pete Murray, her head on his shoulder and seemed to make no objection when his hand slipped down from her waist to cup her butt. Meg raised an eyebrow but smiled slightly, happy that her new friend seemed to have someone in her life, even if she didn't. Then as she took another mouthful of beer, her grin broadened at the sight of the diminutive blonde Lance Corporal who was dancing closely with the man-mountain next to whom she had been sitting, she had her hands flat on his chest and was gazing up into his face with a satisfied expression, while he had his hands lightly laid on her shoulders and what looked like an expression of terror on his face.

Meg turned to the visibly pregnant young woman sitting next to her and asked, "Do you know who the big guy is? The one dancing with the tiny blonde?"

The woman squinted and nodded, "Sure do, Raoul Hernandez, Sergeant on the Security Detail," she smiled, "And my brother in law!"

Meg chuckled and raised her beer in salute, "Well, of all the dumb luck! I see I asked the right person."

"You sure did!" the other woman replied, and then cocked her head inquiringly, "but why the interest?"

Meg smiled, "Well, I saw him sitting with that tiny blonde girl earlier and I couldn't help but see the difference in size, and now… well, just look at his face – he looks half-scared to death!"

"And so he should be!" Meg's companion replied with a grin, "the little blonde girl is Julia Somers, just promoted Lance Corporal, and she's got her sight firmly fixed on Raoul, and he's only just realising that his carefree bachelor days are very probably numbered!"

"Does that worry you? Meg asked.

"Hell no! Why should it?"

"Well he is your brother in law…"

"Yep, and it'll do him as much good as it did Enrique to settle down and start a family of his own! Mind, now, he might require a little push or two in the right direction!"

"So you're rooting for the Lance Corporal?" Meg laughed.

"Damn straight!" Maria Hernandez grinned and raised her glass of Pepsi in the direction of the dance floor, "You go, girl!"

Both women laughed, and Meg settled down to chat to her new companion, finding that Enrique was a Marine Corps Corporal and had pulled late duty tonight, much to Maria's disgust, and would join the party later and in the meantime, Raoul had promised to keep an eye on her and make sure she was Ok until he got there.

Meg was about to inquire about some of the other couples she saw dancing when the music changed to a more up tempo beat and a glowing Carolyn and a grinning Pete re-joined the table, both taking long gulps of their beer as they sat closer to each other than was strictly necessary, Pete's arm comfortably around Carolyn's waist, and from the position of her arm, Meg was certain that Carolyn's hand was resting on the Marine's thigh. The first quick dance tune was followed by two more and more and more couples left the floor until the band leader saw that the faster paced music wasn't what was wanted by his audience, and for the next set he had the band revert to a slow, soft jazz music that soon had most of the party back on their feet and back on the dance floor.

It was with some reservations that Meg accepted an invitation to dance from Pete Murray, resolving to take direct and condign action should his hands stray as they had when he was dancing with Carolyn, but he turned out to be the almost perfect dance partner. His right hand held her left in a comfortably loose clasp and his left hand stayed firmly in position on her waist. What is more, he was an accomplished dancer, light on his feet and confident, adroitly leading Meg so that she appeared to dance much better than she actually could. So it was with a feeling of some regret that as the music died that Meg turned back towards the table and then faltered as she saw Victor Galindez return Carolyn to the booth and then turn to face her, "Ma'am, may I have the pleasure of this dance?" he asked formally.

Meg cast a quick look around seeking for any hint that anybody could detect an atmosphere between her and Victor, but seeing nothing but disinterested amusement on Carolyn's face and not wishing to make a scene and arouse suspicion, Meg smiled, "Thank you Gunny, I'd be honoured."

Victor led her back into the dance as the music swelled, and took her in a light. Formal embrace, hand in hand and hand on waist, much as Pete Murray had just done. But unlike the ease with which Pete had danced with her, Meg was quick to detect the tension in the Gunnery Sergeant. Her forebodings were amply filled when a few seconds into the dance he hissed in her ear, "Ma'am, what are you doing here?"

Meg's chin came up, "I was invited by Commander Imes, Gunnery Sergeant, and if you don't like me being here, there's a simple remedy – it's called the door!" she said coldly.

"Oh… I like you being here just fine… ma'am! It's just that I'm surprised to see you here!"

"No more surprised than I am to see you, Gunnery Sergeant!" Meg snapped in reply.

"Why should you be surprised?" He asked, leaning back slightly and looking her in the eyes, "It's a Corps wet-down, and I'm Corps and I work in the same building as these guys!"

"Semper Fi, hey, Gunny?"

"Damn straight!"

"Yeah, well in that case, according to you, I have as much right to be here as you do!" Meg retorted.

Victor's face clouded over for a few seconds until he remembered his remarks about Meg being a Marine even if only briefly, and there being no such thing as an ex-marine. As the memory returned, his face lost its stiff expression, "You're right… Meg, you do have the right. I'm sorry…"

"No… don't be sorry Victor… I just wish that I'd turned round and left the second I saw you this evening…"

Victor stiffened again, "Is the sight of me that bad? Is that why you cancelled lunch today? Then maybe I _shoul_d leave…"

"No… Victor, that's not what I meant… If anything, the sight of you is too good… and I didn't cancel lunch today, I postponed until tomorrow, because I do need to talk to you, seriously, with a chaperon to swear that nothing improper happened between us, and my chosen chaperon couldn't make it today!"

Victor relaxed again, "Too good… huh? Well, you're looking pretty good too, Meg."

"Ah, Victor, don't please! This is hard enough as it is…"

"Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry…" Victor looked around the dance floor and spotted Raoul Hernandez and Julia Somers dancing closely together, "Ah, hell, if only we were both enlisted or both commissioned…"

"Yeah," Meg replied sardonically," and if wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

Victor was grateful for the break in the music that allowed him to return Meg to her table and after a few bantering words with Carolyn he quietly effaced himself, turning to join Gunny Waters and his wife another couple of Staff NCOs but kept on an eye on Meg's table as he drank and joked with friends.

Gunny Waters studied Victor, he had picked up that Victor wasn't quite himself this evening and noticing his distracted gaze, he followed his friend's line of sight and soon saw that one of the women at the other table was the object of Galindez' interest. To Waters, it didn't matter which one, one of the women was married and pregnant, another was busy wrapping Raoul Hernandez around her little finger and the other two were officers. JAG officers at that. Waters groaned silently; his buddy Victor looked like he was headed straight into a whole world of pain.

At the table which was the focus of Victor's attention Meg kept up a front of laughter, but she was keenly aware of Victor's gaze fixed firmly on her, and she didn't dare look across the room at him. That, she felt, would be like putting an advert up on the Times' Square bill-board.

Then with a sense of relief she felt his gaze lift from her and sneaking a glance at his table she saw that he was gone. A quick scan of the dance floor failed to reveal him and it was with a mixture of relief and regret that she concluded that he had left the party. Needing a few seconds to compose herself, she forced a smile onto her face and turned to Maria Hernandez and asked quietly, "Where are the heads?"

Following Maria's instructions Meg skirted the dance floor and left the hall through a door to the left of the stage which opened into a short hallway pierced by two doors on the right, one marked 'Men' and the other 'Women'. Entering the sanctuary, Meg looked at herself in the mirror and then running the cold tap she wadded a paper towel and carefully dabbed the cool water onto her eyes, her throat and the back of her neck. Tidying her hair, she prepared to leave the bathroom in the hope that Carolyn would be ready to leave and they could make their escape.

She opened the door into the hallway and froze. Just exiting the men's room was Victor, and the sound of her closing the door behind her had made him glance back over his shoulder.

He turned towards her, a degree of warmth in his eyes, "Meg…"

"Yes, Victor…?"

Two steps closed the distance between them and he raised a hand, cupping her chin. His deep brown eyes searching her cornflower blue ones and then he bent his head to hers and kissed her, softly, gently at first and then as his arms went around her and pulled her body against his, his tongue probed her lips and she opened to him as he prolonged the kiss with a fierce insistence and a passion that left Meg feeling weak-kneed as she enthusiastically returned the kiss. At last the need for air broke them apart and Meg staggered back.

"Oh, God, Victor… we… we can't… we shouldn't have…"

"I know… I know…" his voice was as regretful as hers, "But I just had to kiss you… just once…"

Meg flushed slightly, "I… I'm glad you did… I wanted the same… but it can never happen again. Never! Do you hear there?"

"Yes… I hear you… Meg. I don't want to hear you, but I hear you loud and clear!"

Meg nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she brushed past him and re-entered the bar. Victor leaned back against the wall and groaned, "Ai, Madre de Dios! What have I done…?"

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 0758hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (211258ZMar01)**

Harm paused in his office doorway and watched as Loren continued on to her office, her confident stride giving the lie to her earlier claim that she was too tired and sore to walk. He smiled as her recalled just how that tiredness and soreness had been inflicted, and then with an effort smothered a yawn of his own.

"Harm… Harm…, Hello Harm, earth calling?" Carolyn's voice recalled him from his memories. "Do I take it by that sappy smile that peace and, dare I say, Harmony has been restored to the Rabb/Singer household.

Harm groaned at the well-worn pun on his name, but his lazy smile in answer was all the reply Carolyn needed although it was contradicted by his drawled, "You might think that; I couldn't possibly comment!"

Carolyn shook her head in disbelief and contented herself with a long, slow, disbelief-laden, "Yeah… riiight!" before passing around the edge of the bull-pen to her own office.

Shaking his head in mock exasperation Harm hung up his cover and snapped open his brief-case but before he could do more than retrieve his pen from its depths he was disturbed again by a knock on his doorframe. Looking up he saw Meg Austin trying to smile at him, "Are we still OK for that lunch-time thing, Harm? Catherine's Cookie Corner at twelve thirty?"

"Yeah, we're still good!" Harm confirmed and then suddenly recalled an important alteration to the plan, "There's just one thing, Meg; I'll be bringing Loren with me too!"

Meg looked slightly concerned at that, bringing her more to Harm's attention and as he looked at her he frowned, she didn't look too good, she looked pale and stressed and tired.

"Meg, are you OK? You don't look your normal sunny self…"

"Oh, no, I'm fine… it' just that Carolyn and I went to a Corps wet-down last night, and I ended up sleeping on Carolyn's couch… it's not the most comfortable bed in the world, so I guess trying to sleep would be more accurate. An hour under your magic hands would do the trick… but since that's no longer an available choice, I guess I'll just have to wait till I get home and grab a long hot soak…" Meg teased him with a pretty fair imitation of her usual smile.

"You found somewhere, then?"

Meg shook her head wearily, "No, still in the VOQ, but I desperately need to find somewhere!"

Harm hesitated; sure he'd be helping a friend, but the old loft wasn't in the best part of town, but maybe Meg would be happy to use it as a more convenient base until she found somewhere better,

"Meg… do you remember the old loft I had, just north of Union Station?"

"Yeah, sure, why?"

"Well… it's not the best part of town, but it's a damn sight nearer to here than Anacostia, and it's empty since I moved in with Loren…"

"Oh, Harm… that's very good of you… but…"

"Not that good Megan Austin. I'd expect you to pay rent and utilities, and like I said It's a rough neighbourhood, and the place is difficult to keep warm, but if it's a help…"

"Oh, if I'm paying rent… then I'd like to take a look at it…"

"Sure… Why don't we swing by after secure today… and you can decide and then we can hammer out the details tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sounds like a plan… Thanks, Harm!"

Harm grinned, "You're welcome. Now get outta here I want to do some prep before Staff Call!"

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 0912hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (211412ZMar01)**

Admiral Chegwidden cast a fulminating glare down each side of the table in turn. This was a fucking shambles! At least three of his senior attorneys looked as if they hadn't slept for a couple of days, and Imes was showing definite signs of a God-damned hangover!

Chegwidden drew a deep breath and paused before he spoke, and when he did, his tone was decidedly frosty, "I find it difficult to believe that I am sat at a table together with conscientious, intelligent, accomplished, professional attorneys who are also supposed to be disciplined naval officers. There are amongst you those, and they know who they are, who so far this morning have neither looked nor acted their parts. I don't care what you do in your off-duty time unless and until it impinges on your abilities to carry out your duties in a smart and sailor-like manner! Today some of you have crossed that line. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last time such behaviour will manifest itself, or by God you will find yourselves facing charges of dereliction of duty and being unfit to perform your duties due to the effects of alcohol. Do I make myself clear?"

A thunderous chorus of "Yes, sir!" eased his ire slightly, but he told himself, the whole damn crowd of them had best tread very lightly for the rest of the day!

"Now… Rabb!"

"Sir!"

"The case of the incestuous siblings! What's happening there?"

"Sir, on the face of it, there is enough evidence to drop the charges as they stand, prosecute the CO for malicious and selective prosecution, and to charge the convening authority with abuse of authority and exerting undue command influence."

"Mattoni, what's your take on this from the other side of the aisle?"

"Difficult to say, sir. Rabb has his evidence, but he hasn't heard what the CO has to say about the matter."

"Only because he won't speak to me!" Harm interjected hotly. "In fact that's another charge I could lay at his feet – obstructing a JAG investigation!"

Chegwidden slammed his hand down on the table, causing at least three of his staff to jump, one of them, uttering as little squeak of alarm as she did so.

"Thank you, Lieutenant!" he glared at Loren who blushed a bright crimson and then had to bite her knuckle to prevent herself from giggling as Chegwidden turned to Mattoni and Rabb who were staring at each other like a pair of junk yard dogs.

"That's enough Commanders!" he snapped. "Now, Rabb, what do you mean the CO won't talk to you?"

"Just that, sir. I called him yesterday, told him who I was; he said he had nothing to say to me, and slammed the 'phone down."

Chegwidden shook his head in disbelief, "Mattoni, get hold of him. Explain the facts of life to him as they pertain to this case, and then arrange, and if necessary chair a meeting between Rabb and this… this…"

"Idiot, sir?" Carolyn interrupted with a spurious air of helpfulness.

"Yes! No!" He glared at Carolyn, "You're not helping, Commander!" he ground out between his teeth.

"No, sir, sorry, sir" Carolyn mumbled as she bowed her head apologetically, but at the same time effectively hiding the small grin that was twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"H'mph!" Chegwidden snorted, "Don't let yesterday's results go to your head! But…" he managed a grin of encouragement, "Well done Commander, and you too, Lieutenant, you did good work from start to finish"

Rabb's heart swelled with pride as the Admiral congratulated his fiancée, and young Lieutenant Barlow encouraged by Chegwidden's change in mood leaned sideways and clapped Loren gently on the shoulder, "Attagirl!" he whispered, but not quietly enough to avoid the Admiral hearing him.

"Is there something you wished to contribute to the discussion, Mister Barlow?" Chegwidden asked severely.

"Uh… no, sir! Sorry sir!" The chastened junior officer replied.

"H'mph!" Once again the exasperated snort came from the Admiral, "Mister Roberts!"

"Sir!"

"Pack your sea-bag – you're TAD to the Eisenhower for four days. She's in the Med so you'll be away six days in total! You'll be briefing the air wing on new rules of engagement for the Northern No Fly Zone over Iraq." He passed a file down the table to Bud. "So read, and digest the contents of that so that you can explain it clearly, accurately and concisely to the jet jockeys when you get there. Pick up your travel orders from Tiner and be ready in all respects for movement tomorrow at zero eight hundred hours!"

"Ayer, aye, sir!"

The Admiral peered around the table fixing each of them with his piercing stare. "Remember what I have just said regarding off duty behaviour and its effects on your on duty behaviour and deportment. If I ever see any of you in the condition in which some you allowed yourselves to appear this morning, then beware the wrath of Chegwidden, compared to which the wrath of the Lord will seem like a gentle benediction." He paused holding each of them in turn by the power of his personality. Eventually, satisfied that his message had been received and understood, he grunted "Dismissed!"

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1237hrs EST, Cathy's Cookie Corner, Broad Street, Falls Church, VA (211737ZMar01)**

Harm held the door open to allow Meg and Loren to precede him into the café and was relieved to find two vacant tables that looked ideal for their purposes. Megan nodded her appreciation and made her way to the further table while Harm held Loren's chair for her as she seated herself and then took the adjacent seat for himself, noting with satisfaction that both he and Loren had a clear line of sight to Meg's table.

The middle-aged waitress appeared quickly and took their orders for sandwiches and drinks; Loren in a spirit of mischief insisted on ordering Tuna and Mayonnaise sandwiches and black coffee for them both. Harm gave a theatrical shudder and reminded her in accents of the strongest loathing that she merely anticipating the weekend's lunches.

"Or paying an homage to Pop's catering skills", she chuckled.

"Or lack thereof!" Harm grinned in reply, but the grin quickly faded as Gunny Galindez entered the café and with a nod of acknowledgement to Harm and Loren he crossed to the table where Meg waited for him.

Without preamble, not even exchanging greetings, Victor drew out a chair and sitting looked across the table, his face expressionless and his eyes unfathomable. "You wanted to talk, ma'am. So… talk."


	36. Chapter 36

**36**

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1242hrs EST, Cathy's Cookie Corner, Broad Street, Falls Church, VA (211742ZMar01)**

Meg's heart sunk at the sight of Victor's expressionless face, and then sunk even more at the flat, almost unfriendly tone he had used. She straightened her shoulders, as if the physical act could allay the emotional hurt, and then gave silent thanks to whatever daemon had prompted Victor to act as he had; it would make what she had to say easier if they could maintain an emotional distance between them.

"Very well, Gunny," Meg answered, her eyes turning into chips of blue ice, "Whatever feelings we might have – or might have had – between us are far too dangerous for us to allow ourselves to surrender to them. No matter how we might feel as man and woman, we cannot forget that we are also an officer and an enlisted man in the Us Armed Forces, and no matter what we think we might feel for each other the oath of serviced we took prevents from acting on, or even speaking about those feelings.

"I… This is… is hard for me Gunny and I suspect it is equally hard for you. That kiss, last night… was wrong, very wrong, and it can never be repeated. We have to ignore that and any and all other manifestations of attraction, and try and treat each other as colleagues who share a mutual respect. That's all we can be, Victor," Meg finished.

Victor leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on the table-top, his hands lightly clasped, "Bullshit!" he declared flatly. "We can be so much more to each other! Listen, I have spent most of last night and this morning thinking about us! Not you and not me, but us! The only way we can avoid each other is by one of us leaving JAG or leaving the service. I am not 'attracted' to you Megan Austin, I love you, therefore there is no way I am going to put your career at risk. You have worked too hard to get where you are. So… this is what's going to happen. If you can wait this long, my hitch is up in eighteen months, that's too short a time in terms of residual service, so I can't ask for a posting. I will not be re-upping at that point. Then when I am a civilian, I am going to ask you to marry me. In the meantime all else will be as you said, we will treat each other as respected colleagues. I will not ask you for dates, I will not attempt to kiss you or touch you; I will even try not to let my love for you show in my eyes when I look at you or speak with you.

Meg blanched and then blushed, "Victor," she used his name for the first time, "No! I will not let you sacrifice your career either…"

"It will be no sacrifice, Meg. This hitch will see my twenty years up. I will retire with pension and full benefits and while I am still young enough to find a second career, and still young enough to be both husband and father!"

"Victor… I… yes… but it's going to be hard, so hard…"

"I know it is my Meg, mi Corazon, but I can do this, I am a Marine! Of course," and for the first time, his eyes came alive and showed a glimmer of humour, "I understand that it will be harder for you, because, after all you are just a squid."

"Victor!" she protested.

"Yes you are, you can't deny it you're just a squid, a beautiful lady squid; my beautiful lady squid. But even so, you can do this just as well as I, or you're not the woman I think you are!"

"I don't know if I am, Victor… I don't know if I can do this…" Meg faltered, her cornflower blue eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"You can do this, you will do this!" Victor said in an urgent voice, "And you will not, Alma mia, cry!"

Meg tried to smile, "I may not be able to help myself, Victor."

"That is what I want to see, to see you smiling." Victor said, fighting to keep the pain from showing in his eyes or in his voice, "But I'll go now, because I'd rather keep that memory, rather than one of you crying." He stood, all at once the Marine Gunnery Sergeant again. "By your leave ma'am?"

"Yes, thank you, Gunny, dismissed," Meg managed in a creditable voice, but watched with her heart in her eyes as Victor left the little café.

Although neither Harm nor Loren had been able to hear a word that was said between Gunny and Meg, the body language was easy to read, and as Gunny left and Meg looked in danger of surrendering to her emotions, Loren got to her feet, and with an outstretched hand and a swift, "No, stay here!" to Harm she crossed the room and took the seat so recently vacated by Victor Galindez.

Judging that soft words and sympathy would only result in the emotional storm that neither Harm nor Loren wanted to see, and which Loren guessed Meg needed but was also fighting desperately against, Loren took the opposite tack.

"Lock it up Commander!" she snapped in an urgent, whispered undertone, "You're an officer in the United States Navy, not some ditzy cheerleader that's just been dumped by the quarterback!"

Meg looked up, startled and furious, and just about to make a hot reply when she realised just why Loren had said what she did, and managed instead a rather watery smile that was a mixture of thanks and relief, reaching across the table to grip Loren's wrist in silent gratitude.

Loren was not yet done, however, "Now, we are going to get up, go to the Ladies' Room, where you can make some running repairs, and then Harm and I are going to walk you back to JAG, where you will continue your duties as if nothing had happened. Do you hear?"

Meg, nodded and muttered damply, "Does Harm know what a tyrant you are?"

Loren grinned, "He's learning!" and was rewarded by Meg's second attempt at a smile

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1328hrs EST, Commander Harm Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (211828ZMar01)**

Harm looked through the open shutters in the general direction of Meg's office, "OK… that went well, I thought!" he said in a voice replete with irony, and when Loren made no reply, he shifted his view back across to her as she sat in one of the visitors' chairs across the desk from him.

"No comments, Madam?" he asked.

"I hope she's going to be alright," Loren said in a concerned voice.

"She's going to have to be," Harm said firmly. "Navy regs and the UCMJ don't leave her any choice!"

Loren nodded, she was aware of the Navy's policy on fraternisation, and that it was the most stringently applied of any of the policies of the different services, but this was the first occasion that she had seen at first hand the effects of that policy, and if it was hard for her to watch, she realised that it was harder for Meg, and probably also for the Gunnery Sergeant, although with his usual impassive expression it was, as always, hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling.

Loren sighed as these thoughts crossed her mind, "We've been so lucky, Harm…"

"We certainly have," Harm agreed, "The Admiral could have been entirely unsympathetic and had you and or I transferred to anywhere in the world, as soon as we told him we'd started dating, or he could even have strictly applied the same chain of command rule, and initiated administrative or disciplinary action, but he's been supportive instead. That's because we are both officers, and our relationship stays the right side of article one three four, unless we let it disrupt the office. And that's the difference between us and between Meg and Victor. Look, we know he's a damn' fine man, so does the Admiral, but the regs don't care. He's enlisted, therefore end of argument!"

"I know, Oh, I know… but it's so unfair! Poor Meg!"

Harm cast an eye at the clock, and in an effort to lighten the mood he quipped, "And it'll be poor Loren too if the Admiral catches you gold-bricking in here instead of… what are you working on now?"

Loren smiled appreciatively at Harm's efforts to lift her mood, "Initial stages of an investigation – with NCIS – into missing vehicle parts from the motor pool at Camp LeJeune. It seems pretty routine, just paper intensive while we, that is Carolyn and I, wade through the inventory, vehicle maintenance records and the stores received tallies to find out exactly how much of what has gone missing!"

"Gee, sounds like a whole lot of fun!" Harm grimaced in sympathy.

"Well, just as long as we don't have to trek down to LeJeune again… I really hate that place!" Loren complained.

"And sharing VOQs with Carolyn?" Harm teased her gently.

Loren crinkled her nose in the way that Harm found absolutely adorable, "Why would I hate sharing…" and then memory of a certain conversation on the subject of Winnie the Pooh pyjamas returned, and Loren groaned silently as her cheeks flamed, "That is so not fair, you bringing that up. It'd be different now that I know Carolyn!"

Harm grinned, "Gotcha!"

Loren glared at him for a few moments before standing and then smoothing her skirt said with immense dignity, "I think that I prefer going through motor pool maintenance records, than continuing this conversation with you!" and stepped through the office doorway into the bull-pen, and then spoiled the whole effect by glancing over her shoulder and dropping an outrageous wink at her fiancé

Harm sighed in his turn and bent his attention to the task of drafting a report explaining why he was moving to dismiss the charges against Captain Maxwell and raise counter-charges against both Colonel Dawson and the convening authority. It would have been an easy enough task if he had been able to write in plain English, but while he was the equivalent in rank to Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, he was most definitely inferior in rank to Major General Lucas, and consequently the report needed to be tactfully phrased. In short, he was bound to call a spade a manual excavation device.

At length, with the report finished, if not to his complete satisfaction, he ran a spell-check on it and then once again proof-read it, before saving it and then sending it to the printer. Once printed, he signed it, and placing it in a folder, he made his way across the bull-pen to Alan Mattoni's office, where he paused and tapped lightly on the door-frame.

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1421hrs EST, Commander Alan Mattoni's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (211921ZMar01)**

Alan Mattoni looked up from the brief he was reading, "Come on in Harm, and take a pew." and waited until his visitor had seated himself before nodding in the direction of the folder that Harm held and asked, "The Maxwell case? Or is there something else I can do for you?"

"No… it's the Maxwell case. This," he tapped the folder lightly with a careless finger is my report as to why the charges against Captain Maxwell should be dropped, and why charges, and what charges should be raised against Lieutenant Colonel Dawson and Major General Lucas."

Alan Mattoni reached a hand out for the file and asked in some surprise, "You really are going after Dawson and Lucas?"

"Yep."

"Why, Harm?"

"Because the charges they are preferring seem to be based on some sort of personal prejudice, and I really dislike the thought of a senior officer using the military justice system to vent his spleen or personal dislike on a junior. If you look through the list of charges I've drawn up you'll see it's pretty damaging, but it's also short. There are more charges arising from their conduct that I could raise, but for the moment, choose not to."

Alan raised his eyebrows, "Is that a threat, Harm?"

"Of course not!" he answered impatiently, "It's an advisory. But your Colonel Dawson isn't helping matters by refusing to talk to me!"

"Hey hold on! Since when did he become my Colonel Dawson!"

Harm grinned, his momentary flash of irritation passed, "Since the Admiral detailed you to prosecute Captain Maxwell!"

"Pure sophistry, Harm!" Alan exclaimed with a grin, "I might as well describe Maxwell as 'your Captain Maxwell'!"

"And you'd be right, Alan. That's exactly who he is! He is mine until I get the charges dropped or he walks out of court a free man!"

Alan shook his head, "I get the commitment to the client thing, Harm, I really do, but don't you think you're carrying it a little too far?"

"No, Alan, you don't get it. Yes, I'm committed to my client, and I will defend him to the utmost of my ability, but if I discover – even halfway through a case – that he is in fact guilty, then I will do my utmost, within ethical bounds, to get him to admit his guilt and enter a plea. To win is good, to get the truth in the open is even better. Which brings us nicely back to the Maxwell case; Colonel Dawson mounted an unofficial investigation into Maxwell solely because Maxwell lives off base and wasn't claiming BAH. This investigation apparently involved covert surveillance and the questioning of Maxwell's neighbours. As a result of this so-called investigation Dawson ordered Maxwell to change his living arrangements. Maxwell refused on the grounds that Dawson had no lawful grounds for giving that order, and requested an explanation as to why the order was given. Dawson then said, in the bluntest possible terms, that it was because he believed that Maxwell was having an incestuous affair with his own sister, and that they were pretending to be married to cover up the incest."

Alan listened in dismay to Harm's recital of the facts as seen by the defence. Dawson had acted outside his authority on the flimsiest of pretexts, and had laid himself open to a section 1150 of Naval Regulations complaint or a charge under Article 138 of the UCMJ. And Alan was uneasily aware that the extra charges insisted upon by General Lucas were ill-considered and displayed a contempt for the regulations that cover undue command influence by continuing to act as the convening authority after directing Colonel Dawson to add further charges to the original charge of Disobeying a Direct order.

"So, what do you want me to do?" he asked Harm.

"Explain to General Lucas and to Colonel Dawson exactly where they have gone wrong, and tell them that legally they do not have a leg to stand on. Any military judge in his right mind will simply throw the charges out as soon as defence makes a motion to dismiss based on Undue Command Influence and misconduct of the Commanding Officer. You might also mention that when counter-charges are raised against them they are condemned by their own documented actions and that such charges will mean the end of their careers. And off the record, Alan, it may be in the best interests of both Captain Maxwell and the Corps for them to be separated, I believe that these two are so blinded by their dislike, their baseless dislike, of Captain Maxwell, that if they are not removed from the Corps they will victimise him and do the best to ruin his career and have him confined for a lengthy period!"

"And?" Alan queried.

"And I believe it is in the best interest of the Corps if these two so-called senior officers were allowed to resign quietly, keeping their pensions and benefits." Harm shrugged, "It's not what I would have preferred, but if this is done quietly…." He paused and changed tack, "If they refuse to resign, their trial will, because of the lurid nature behind the original charges, draw media attention, and when the full facts come out, that they falsely accused two innocent officers of incest… Well, I'm pretty sure the CMC will not be amused or entertained."

Alan groaned and for a moment or two buried his face in his hands, and then raising his head he looked directly at Harm, "What the hell are we going to do, Harm?"

"How do you mean?"

"Look, neither of us is high enough up the totem pole to take on a two-star…"

Harm interrupted him with a flat-hand slap to the desk's top surface, "We sure as hell are, Alan! Besides, we don't have any choice. As to what we're going to do… we'll 'invite' Lucas and Dawson to meet with us here, and we'll lay our cards on the table. What happens after that is wholly up to them!"

"Dammit Harm, that sounds like blackmail!"

"No, it's plea bargaining, quid pro quo."

Alan shook his head doubtfully, "The Admiral will never go for it," he prophesised.

"There's only one way to find out!" Harm replied picking up the folder and getting to his feet.

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1511hrs EST, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (212011ZMar01)**

Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A J Chegwidden had read Harm's report while Harm and Alan sat in silence in the wing chairs in front of the gleaming expanse of the JAG's desk. Chegwidden finished reading the report and then turned to the two Commanders. "Well, what is the problem? I see a clear cut case of undue command influence and a further case of abuse of authority."

"My points exactly, sir." Harm offered.

"So why bring it to me?" the Admiral asked as he peered over the top of his reading glasses.

"Uh… I would rather deal with this whole unsavoury matter without it coming to trial, sir," Harm explained but then with a most unmilitary shrug he added, "Commander Mattoni isn't entirely comfortable with my proposals."

"And just what are those proposals, Commander?"

"The charges against Captain Maxwell are dropped and General Lucas and Colonel Dawson are allowed quietly to resign, keeping their pensions and all benefits."

Chegwidden switched his gaze to Alan, "Commander, you have reservations over Commander Rabb's ideas?"

"Yes, sir. It strikes me as being perilously akin to blackmail."

Chegwidden stared long and hard at both of his junior officers before speaking, "Commander Mattoni, I can see where you're coming from and believe it or not, I do have some sympathy for your point of view. But Commander Rabb is essentially right, it is just a plea bargain, and again, essentially all plea bargains contain an element of blackmail, do what we want or we will make sure your sentence is the most severe we can. Alternatively, it can be seen as a sort of quid pro quo. In this case, I believe Commander Rabb's prime concern is to protect the Marine Corps from some very unsavoury publicity and to protect Captain Maxwell from being victimised by two senior officers who should know better, and whom I have come to believe have no place in the Service. Rabb, draft a letter to both General Lucas and to Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, advising them that they are required to attend an investigative hearing here at JAG HQ, sometime after next week, and have it ready for my signature by secure today. If there is any demurral on the part of either of them, I shall be speaking to the DCMC as my first stop, and if necessary I shall take this case all the way to the SecNav and beyond if necessary. So you might want to make it clear that this is a one-time, time sensitive issue. Clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good! Dismissed!"

Both Commanders rose to their feet, paused briefly in the 'at attention' position before barking "Aye, aye, Sir!" and about facing and making for the door.

Chegwidden sighed, and removed his reading glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. Dammit, this apparently simple case was turning into a real can of worms! Rabb was right of course, it was all wrapped up in abuse of authority and undue command influence, but, Goddammit, it would be refreshing if just for once, a clean and simple case landed on his desk!

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1637hrs EST, Commander Harm Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (212137ZMar01)**

After a brief conversation with Alan Mattoni Harm had returned to his office where he had spent more than just a few minutes drafting his thoughts on what needed to be explained to General Lucas and Colonel Dawson, before saving it on his PC and then attaching it to an e-mail flagged "Immediate" and sending it to Alan Mattoni.

That done, he stretched in his chair to ease the kinks out of his shoulders, rolling his head on his neck to the same end when out of the corner of his eye he saw Harriet Sims standing in the middle of the bull-pen talking to Mac. He was about to pass this off as an everyday, normal occurrence when he noticed that not only was Mac's arm no longer in a sling, but that she also appeared to be answering Harriet quite freely. Happy for his friend that she seemed to have been cleared by her doctors, but surprised that it should happen so soon, he got to his feet and walked out into the bull-pen, calling, "Hey, Mac!"

The woman in the Marine's uniform turned with a look of surprise on her face, took in Harm's uniform and rank and came to a brace, "Sir? Do I know you?"

Harm halted in momentary confusion, "I'm sorry…" he looked closer at her uniform, "Captain. I thought you were someone else!" and flushed as he realised just how lame that sounded, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. Now that he saw her face he realised that despite her striking resemblance to his partner, she wasn't, couldn't be Mac. Her skin, despite a light sun-tan, was too fair, lacking the Marine Lieutenant Colonel's exotic olive tone, and her eyes were lighter too. Her hair was definitely on the red side of auburn and she had a scattering of freckles across her nose that made her look absurdly young for her rank.

Surprisingly, she smiled. "It's just like I was telling the Lieutenant here," with a nod towards Harriet, "I'm Captain Suzanne McKenzie, and I came here to visit my cousin, Colonel McKenzie, but I gather she's in a meeting just now…"

Harm frowned as he began to connect the dots, "Just how long have you been a Captain?" he asked.

The marine officer looked startled at his question and then chuckled and blushed, "Is it that apparent?" she asked, still grinning, "Damn!" I thought I was carrying it pretty well! Two days!" she finally answered his question.

"H'mm… and do you own and fly a De Haviland Chipmunk in RAF trainer colours?" Harm asked.

"Yes. Yes, I do!" The smile had disappeared and a flat, unfriendly expression appeared on the young woman's face, "Am I under investigation for something… sir?"

"Oh… no… no. nothing like that. It's just that I fly a Stearman, and Pop Walchowski showed me a Chipmunk when I was down at Charlottesville last weekend…"

"Oh… you're the Navy flier he was bigging up!" she gurgled.

Harm raised a sardonic eyebrow, "The day Pop bigs up anything to do with the Navy is the day I transfer to the Air Force!" he said with a huge grin, "But if he was bigging up a Navy flier, that would be my fiancée!" 'No harm in letting her know from the get-go that I'm off the market!' he thought with satisfaction.

Harriet flashed him a look which he had absolutely no success in interpreting, and he was pretty confident that he could read the blonde like a book, but on this occasion he was compelled to raise an interrogative eyebrow, which she then waved off with a gesture that he easily interpreted as meaning 'later… sir,' and turning to the visitor she asked, "Can I get you a cup of coffee while you're waiting, Captain?"

"Yes, thank you, hot, black and strong please, but call me Sue, please?" she ended on a request and with an open smile on her face.

Perhaps you'd care to wait in my office until Mac, Colonel MacKenzie that is, has finished with her meeting?" Harm suggested, and sensing her hesitation added, "I'd be grateful, It's not often I get a chance to chew the fat with a General Aviation Pilot, especially one who flies a tail-dragger!"

Sue MacKenzie regarded him measuringly and then seemed to come to a decision as she made a decisive nod of her head, smiled again and said, "In that case, sir, I'll take you up on your offer, thank you."

Harm smiled in return, not the full blown one hundred megawatt version, but enough for it to make Sue MacKenzie catch her breath, hoping that no-one else had noticed, and even Harriet, who was still inclined to be mad at him couldn't help but feel cheered by his smile, especially when he turned it on her and asked, "Harriet could you arrange for that to be two coffees, please?"

Harriet sighed resignedly, "Very well, sir, two coffees, your office, aye…" and as Harm led the visitor to his office, Harriet gave a gentle shake of her head and made for the Galley. She was fully occupied in refilling the coffee machine, when Bud bustled into the room, and closed the door behind him.

"Are you insane?" he demanded angrily, with his face like thunder.

"B… Bud…?" Harriet queried, taken completely by surprise, and dropping the mug she was holding, which shattered on impact with the floor.

"Don't 'Bud' me!" Her husband said furiously, "Christ, Harriet it's not two hours since I told you had to stop meddling in the Commander's affairs, and almost before I turn round, you're interfering again, conniving and introducing him to another damn woman!"

"Bud Roberts! That is so unfair!" Harriet retorted, "I did not introduce to him that Captain, and I did not connive anything! The Commander saw her from the back and thought she was Colonel MacKenzie, just like I did, and he came across to see how she managed to talk the doctors into taking off her plaster and jaw wires before time, and how they'd done it so quickly!" Her blue eyes filled with tears, but for the moment they were not having their customary effect on her husband.

"Why would he think she was the Colonel?" Bud said.

"Because, she looks very much like the Colonel!" Harriet said roundly, no longer on the defensive, "Which is hardly surprising, considering she claims to be Mac's cousin!"

Harriet's lapse from protocol was a warning to Bud of just how strongly Harriet felt. Normally, even in social settings, she had difficulty in addressing the Colonel as anything other than ma'am, or referring to her as the Colonel, so for her to refer to her as Mac in the middle of the working day was an indication not to be ignored. Neither was the heaving of her bosom as she fought to restrain the indignation she felt at being falsely accused.

"Her cousin?" Bud echoed, feeling that a rapid change of subject would be beneficial.

"Yes!" Harriet replied shortly, as the machine gurgled to indicate that the brewing process was complete. Harriet filled two mugs with the fresh brew, looked at Bud and then more pointedly at the door.

Bud instinctively moved to open it, but before she stepped through the doorway, Harriet indicated, with an inclination of her head, the pieces of china that were scattered around the floor, "And because you startled me into dropping that mug, you can clear it up!" she commanded as she started across the bull-pen.

Bud stood for a few seconds gawping after her; he knew that he had just made a huge gaffe, and that once Harriet had calmed down, she would come to a rational decision as to just how drastic his punishment would be. He groaned silently, and retrieving a dustpan and brush from the storage closet under the sink he dropped to one knee and started sweeping up the fragments of the mug.

Alan Mattoni chose that moment to provide himself with a fresh mug of coffee and strolled into the Galley, stopping in mild surprise at the sight of the Lieutenant crouching on the floor, "Practising juggling, Lieutenant?" he asked with mild amusement.

Bud glared up at him, and recognising him as a fellow married man just said, "Women!" in the tones of deepest loathing.

Harriet almost stormed across the bull-pen like a blonde tornado, attracting curious glances as she did so. The last time anyone could recall her losing it at JAG HQ was when she had screamed at the Commander over the photographs in the Annie Lewis case, which had accidentally been dropped on the floor, and which she in her advanced pregnancy had found utterly disturbing. And it was something close to a miracle now that she wasn't sloshing the coffee, that she carried, everywhere.

Be that as it may, Harriet made it to Harm's office, where with a cursory, "Your coffee, sir, Captain," she deposited the two mugs on his desk and whisked out of the office, heading for the sanctuary of the women's rest room.

But even in those few seconds Harm had seen her white face and the tears in her eyes and with an apologetic look at his guest, he half rose from his seat to go after her, when he saw she had been intercepted by Carolyn Imes.

"Harriet, what's wrong?" Carolyn asked in concern.

Harriet gave her a look, the tears trembling now on the ends of her eyelashes, "Men!" she declared in disgust, and brushed past the concerned Commander.

Carolyn had noted the direction from which Harriet had come and with thin lipped determination written on her face, he marched towards Harm's office.

"Harm!" she accused him, "What did you say to Harriet?"

"Not guilty, Carolyn," he said, a baffled and injured expression on his face as he spread his hands placatingly, "She was pissed with someone or something before she ever got here. Right?" he added imploringly as he glanced at Sue MacKenzie.

"He's right Commander," the semi-stunned Marine officer confirmed, "The Lieutenant was upset before she got here!"

Carolyn shook her head, "OK, you're off the hook… this time!" she grinned, and with a nod to Sue MacKenzie she turned and left the office.

Sue burst into laughter, "How do you people ever get any work done?" she demanded, "It can't always be like this, surely?"

Harm relaxed and grinned, he had been a bit piqued by Carolyn's assumption that he was responsible for Harriet's loss of composure, but the humour in the Marine officer's voice smoothed his ruffled feathers to the extent that he was able to reply, "Only on a good day!" and was rewarded by another peal of laughter, as he picked up the phone.

Sue MacKenzie raised an eyebrow and mouthed "Should I go?" tensing to push herself off from the chair, but on his decidedly negative head shake, she relaxed.

"Hi, Loren…" he spoke into the 'phone. "Have you got a spare minute or two, I've got someone in my office, I'd like you to meet… Fine, see you in two. 'Bye."

"So… I'm your latest exhibit, am I?"

"What? Oh… no, no nothing like that… I'm teaching Loren to fly and…"

"In your Stearman?"

"Yeah, after all that was what it was designed for!"

"Yes, true. I had forgotten that!" Sue admitted with a small slightly embarrassed grin.

"Forgotten what?" Loren interrupted from the doorway, a pleasant half smile on her lips, and one which Harm saw thankfully did reach her eyes.

"Come on in Loren, and sit down," he encouraged her, "You make the place look untidy!"

Sue held her breath for a moment until she saw the gentle gleam in Harm's eye, which was returned with interest by a soft smile from Loren, and then as the blonde attorney sat, she saw the flash of the diamond on her ring finger.

"Loren, this is Captain Sue MacKenzie from …?" ended inquiringly.

"Marine Corps DC HQ Staff at Eighth and I" Sue obligingly supplied.

Harm nodded his acknowledgement and continued, "Sue, this is Loren Singer from JAG HQ…"

"And your fiancée," Sue finished for him.

"How did you…" Loren began.

"Oh, please!" Sue chuckled, "I only had to see the way you two look at each other and then I saw the ring. It doesn't take a genius to add two and two together and come up with four!"

Harm and Loren looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: That it was damn' good job she hadn't seen them yesterday!

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1712hrs EST, Bull-Pen, JAG Ops, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (212212ZMar01)**

Mac pushed open the double doors that gave access to the bull-pen from the hall leading from the elevator. She was less than usually happy, her meeting had been with Commander Pike, the orthopaedic surgeon in charge of her case, who having checked her latest x-rays had adamantly refused to remove either the cast from her forearm or the wires that were holding her jaw together, although he had professed satisfaction at the rate at which the breaks were healing, and especially with healing to her cheek bone and occipital arch. But it still meant that she'd have to stay with Bud and Harriet and still needed help in dressing and bathing. And while she loved Harriet, and Bud, and especially little A J, she longed to get back to her own apartment and look after herself, to be able to take a long, hot, scented bath, surrounded by aromatic candles, and being able to kick back and relax in t-shirt and shorts and… well… just to be herself, and look after herself.

She was still brooding on the injustice of life when she was intercepted by Harriet, who said, "Ma'am, there's a visitor waiting for you. She's in Commander Rabb's office…" Harriet might have gone on to say more about the nature of Mac's visitor, but the Marine interrupted her. She had seen Harriet's red-rimmed eyes.

"Harriet! You bin cryin'" she ground out, "Har' say suthin?"

"Oh, no, ma'am… it was Bud!" she said bitterly. "But that's not important just now… Your visitor, ma'am?"

"Yeah, OK." Mac groaned silently to herself, she had been dreading just such a scenario since Bud had dragged Harriet pout of the commissary. If they were sulking, especially if the cause of the sulks was their spouse, then evening at chez Roberts was not going to be a fun-filled experience.

Satisfied that she had got her message across, Harriet nodded a farewell to Mac and headed for her desk, where she spent the next few minutes plotting revenge on Bud, before sighing and returning her attention to the pile of files and paperwork in her in-try.

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1716hrs EST, Commander Harm Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (212217ZMar01)**

Mac tapped twice on Harm's office door, bringing the heads of all three of its current occupants towards her. If Mac had been about to try and say anything, whatever it might have been was lost in the shock she felt when she saw the visitor.

It was like looking at a picture of herself ten years ago, made even more eerie by the shocked expression of the younger woman's face that mirrored exactly how Mac felt.

"Mac, this is Captain Sue MacKenzie… Sue, Lieutenant Colonel… Sarah… MacKenzie…" Harm had started his introductions breezily enough, but the matching expressions on the two faces left him letting his voice fade and his delivery slow.

Sue found herself staring in fascinated admiration at the Lieutenant Colonel standing in the doorway. It was like looking at a picture of herself taken ten years in her future. And if that was what she was going to look like when she was in her late thirties, then it was something she could live with. Still, it was weird to see someone who looked so much like her, even if they were related.

Harm and Loren exchanged glances which were replete with wry amusement each silently daring the other to speak. Harm shrugged his shoulders, and grinned, "Well… there can't be much doubt that the two of you are related!"

"No… I don't think there can be…" Sue said softly, her eyes still fixed on Mac.

Mac shook her head, "Nuh… bu' how?"

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1818hrs EST, Loft Apartment, North of Union Station, Washington DC (212318ZMar01)**

"Well, this is it Meg, a bit different from the way you remember it, isn't it?"

Meg looked around in wonder, "It certainly is!" she smiled at Loren, "When I first saw this place it was a nightmare. Harm had only just moved in, there was no electricity, his fridge was actually an ice-box, stuffed with dry ice inside the fridge, and all he had in there was beer, all his meals were ordered in, and he was sleeping on a mattress over… there… and his plan was to do one room at a time. How long did it take, Harm, from start to finish?"

"Uh… just under two years, but be fair, I was Tad on investigations for quite a bit of those years!"

Meg nodded and looked around appreciatively. As she might have expected the kitchen area was equipped with almost every gadget a chef could wish for, including a professional quality six ring, double oven gas cooker. Her approval rating went up a notch or two when she looked into the bedroom and saw the sheer amount of floor space available and the enormous built in triple closet and that same approval sky-rocketed when she saw the eight by six feet shower cubicle. The only drawback she could find was the lack of a bathtub.

"Would the floor support a bathtub, Harm?" she queried having seen that there was enough space for one in the bathroom.

"I'm not sure… you'd have to get a structural surveyor to give you a definitive answer on that. But" he said with heavy emphasis, "if you do, that would be at your own expense, as would the purchase and installation costs!"

"Yeah, that would be only fair," Meg agreed, but wincing at the probable costs. "So… how much rent would you be asking?"

"Oh… let's say… the same as BAH?" Harm suggested.

Meg gasped, "Harm! That's way too low!" and even Loren looked surprised.

"Not really, it's not earning me anything at the moment, Loren's BAH almost covers the cost of our apartment, and what we have to make up between us will be easily covered by your rent, and like I said: you pay the utilities."

Loren nodded almost reluctantly, "Well… when you put it like that… I s'pose…"

Harm gave her a direct look, "Yeah, like I'd try and make a profit from my friends!"

Loren had the grace to blush, "Yes, you're right. Meg, I'm sorry… Harm's right."

"Well, I think he's wrong, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth! Can I move in over the weekend, and start paying rent from Monday?"

"Yeah, sure… but there's no bed, don't forget."

"No, but there's a perfectly serviceable couch… No, the only thing I'm concerned about is my car…"

"No worries about that either," Harm said, "There's a garage downstairs that's available. It's still got some of my junk in there but there is room for your Mustang. Now, you start being liable for the rent from Monday, but you don't have to hand over a dime until you receive your BAH; you can pay me then."

"What about a security deposit?" Meg asked.

"Nope, not needed. I doubt you'll wreck the place or set fire to it… well not on purpose!"

"What do you mean by that?" Meg asked narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

"Well…" Harm answered as he edged nearer the door, and with a teasing gleam in his eye, "Not only have I seen you at work in the kitchen, I've also tried to eat some of your cooking!"

"Oooh!" Meg yelled in frustration as she stamped her foot, "Just you wait, Harmon Rabb! Just you wait!"

"'Enry 'Iggin's" :Loren couldn't prevent herself from interjecting in an undertone, but not quite quietly enough, as she discovered when two pairs of blue eyes were turned on her, one pair sparkling with anger while the other pair shone with unholy amusement.

Loren gulped, "So… do you two have a deal?" she asked with the most innocent wide-eyed expression she could muster up at an instant's notice.

Harm immediately burst into laughter, while Meg glared at the two of them before the absurdity of the situation got to her and her eyes lost their angry glint as she collapsed back against the kitchen island. "You two are quite impossible!" she complained through a giggle.

"No we're not," Loren denied through her own laughter, "Just difficult! It takes too much effort to be impossible!"

"But we are working on it!" Harm assured Meg with great earnestness.

"Somehow I doubt that!" Meg said sobering up, "In fact, I owe the two of you so much, just for today…"

"Nonsense!" Harm interjected, "I owe you. You're moving in here, so you'll be taking care of the place so it won't fall into disrepair, and you're putting a few extra dollars into our pocket every month!"

"Oh… not just this place, Harm, but today at lunch… The two of you just being there helped me through a pretty tough talk with Victor, and then Loren stopped me from having a very public meltdown! Can you imagine the scuttlebutt at JAG if word got out that I'd started bawling like a baby after Victor left the café?"

Both Harm and Loren shifted uneasily, both made uncomfortable by Meg's words. "Meg, it wasn't anything that you wouldn't have done for us!" Loren protested.

Meg grinned, "Well… true… I would have done the same for Harm," Meg admitted, "But since I haven't known you all that long…"

"Your nose is getting longer, Austin!" Harm grinned back at her.

"Oh well, I never could fool you could I?" Meg said, mentally crossing her fingers.

"No… I guess you couldn't," Harm said cheerfully, "So do we have a deal?"

"We do!" Meg said emphatically.

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 1857hrs EST, Benzingers Bar and Grill, Falls Church, VA (212357ZMar01)**

Mac guided Sue to a booth at the far end of the bar and looked around for Charlie, the drinks waiter, and catching his eye, beckoned him over.

"Toni', ice 'n' twis', please," she mumbled as she dug in her purse for her drinking tube.

"Yep, got it, Colonel," Charlie replied and cast a glance at Sue. "Captain?"

"Uh… the same, please," Sue replied conscious that she had to drive back to the BOQ at Eighth and I.

Charlie nodded and bustled off top get the drinks, and if he thought anything of the very similar appearance of the Colonel and the Captain, he kept those thoughts to himself.

Mac waited the few minutes before Charlie returned with their drinks and then said bluntly, "Anyone c'n see we're kin… have to be blin' no' to…" she dropped her eyes and stirred her drink with her drinking tube, watching the ice as it swirled around the glass. "Bu' never knew had a cousin!"

Sue grimaced, "Me neither until a couple of weeks ago. I had to spend a few days at Quantico, transitioning… anyway, I kept meeting people who called me 'Mac', I've never let anyone call me that, and I used to get in their face, and they'd apologise, and they all kept telling me I looked like 'Mac' McKenzie, and then last week night in the O Club at Eighth and I, I met a Colonel Farrow…" she paused as Mac winced, "Sorry, am I stepping on sore toes?"

"Nu-huh, 'salrigh' go on," Mac answered.

"Well he told me that I looked just like you, the way he remembered you from Okinawa, and when I asked if he knew where you were now, he told me you were at JAG." Sue paused again, "So I did some checking, and I found out your parents' names, so then I called Daddy and he finally came clean. He had an older brother, Joseph Michael, your dad, but they had a major falling out when Daddy chose to join the army instead of the Corps, and your dad cut all connections. According to Daddy he tried to talk to Uncle Joe several times, but gave up when he wouldn't answer his calls or letters."

"Your dad still 'live?" Mac asked.

"Yeah, he's a Colonel, Field Artillery at Fort Sill."

"Your mom?"

"Yeah, Mom's still with him. She was an Army Nurse, retired as a Captain, getting married and trying to get stations near dad as he moved around slowed her career down some. It was a bit different back in the day, no spousal co-location policy," Sue added in explanation, "And then I came along, and back then, as a woman, if you got pregnant – bam! - The order of the boot!"

"You only chil'" Mac probed.

"Hell no! A brother and a sister, Peter and Catriona. Both younger'n me. Peter's an Apache pilot down at Fort Campbell, and Catriona's doing a PhD in bio-chemistry at Princeton."

Mac nodded and took a sip of her drink, "Your Mom 'n' Dad, wha' names?"

"Benjamin and Catherine."

Mac shook her head in wonder, "So… I go' Unca Benjamin and Aun' Catherine, an' three cousins…"

"Ben and Cathy" Sue gently corrected her, and smiled as Mac shook he head again, "Yeah it's a lot to take in isn't it?" she asked sympathetically.

Mac nodded and smiled weakly.

"What about your family…" Sue asked, but before Mac could answer, she added, "And how do I address, you, Colonel? Mac? Sarah? Cousin?"

"Bes' be Colonel an' ma'am on duty an' Mac off duty, I don' think I'd answer if an'body called me Sarah… and cousin could take some gettin' used to…"

"OK… but I didn't give you much of a chance to tell me about our family, and fair's fair!"

Mac shrugged, knowing that her story would seem inadequate compared to her new relative's. "No' much to tell. On'y chil', Dad was alcoholi', Mom walke' out when I was fifteen. Dad died coupla years ago, dunno where Mom is, Unca Matt, Mom's bro'er in Leavenwor'… Tha's 'bou' it."

Sue felt her heart go out to the older woman. She guessed that there was more to the full story than the bare bones she had just been given, but she also guessed that probing for more would lead to her being shut out.

"Mac, would you mind if I told my folks about you… not everything, just that I've met you and that you're Joseph McKenzie's daughter?" Sue asked diffidently, "I'm sure they'd like to know, and I'm sure they'd want to meet you…"

Mac shrugged, like she could stop Sue from telling her family anyway. "Yeah, why not," thinking that that would be the end of it and she'd never hear from any of them again. Somehow that thought tugged painfully at her heartstrings. Suddenly she was desperate to get to know the family she didn't even know until today that was related to her.

"No," she changed her mind, "Please tell 'em, I thin' I wanna get to know 'em!"

"Good!" Sue enthused, "I hoped you say that!"

**Wednesday21 March 2001, 2108hrs EST, The Roberts' Residence, Alexandra, VA (220208ZMar01)**

Mac climbed out of Sue's car, "Than's' she smiled. Her newly discovered cousin had insisted on driving her home, although it meant that she had to take a considerable detour off the direct route from Benzingers to Eighth and I.

Sue stayed parked at the kerbside until she saw Mac enter the house, and then with a smile, engaged the drive and pulled away from the kerb, keenly anticipating the morning when she would 'phone her Mom and tell her of her discovery of a hitherto unknown cousin!

Mac quietly let herself in to the house, hoping that whatever bug had bitten Bud and Harriet had been squashed in the time she was out. However, on her poking her head into the lounge she realised that her hopes were doomed to disappointment.

Harriet was sat on the couch, her feet tucked up under her. A half glass and a bottle of white wine sat on the end table next to the couch and a box of Kleenex on her lap, while from the den Mac could hear various electronic bangs and thuds, sure indicators that Bud was taking his frustrations out by means of some ultra-violent video game.

Mac was in no mood to listen to a diatribe from Harriet on whatever iniquities she was sure Bud had perpetrated, neither was she in the mood to listen to Bud complain about whatever it was he thought Harriet had done. But…

Sighing she walked into the lounge and perched on the couch, sitting sideways to face Harriet, and taking note of the blonde's tear stained face. "Tha's no answer!" she said indicating the wine.

"I know!" Harriet sniffled, and that half-glass is all I've had, honest!"

Mac looked at the bottle and mentally agreed that Harriet hadn't been overdoing the drinking. "Yeah, OK, but you sittin' here sulkin' an' Bud playin' games in the den isn't helping either!"

"But, Mac, he…"

Mac held up a hand, "Harriet, I don' wanna hear it. No' gonna get involved. Goin' to bed. But you gotta talk See you in mornin' g'nigh'!"


	37. Chapter 37

**37**

**Thursday 22 March 2001, 0722hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221222ZMar01)**

Harm had barely dropped his briefcase and hung its cover on its accustomed peg when there was a knock at the door. Slightly surprised at being accosted quite so early in the morning he turned to see Mac stood in his doorway, a steaming mug in each hand, "G'mornin' Harm," she smiled.

"Good morning, Mac," he replied, unable to keep a degree of suspicion out of his voice or a similar expression off his face, what can I do for you?"

"Brough' coffee?" she said hopefully.

"Yeah, I can see that! You'd better sit down, and then you can tell me what I can for for you!"

Mac deposited the coffee's on his desk, and sat down. "You allus so s'picious?" she pouted.

"_Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_!" he quoted with an air of triumph, before picking up a coffee and giving it a precautionary sniff, "You make this?" he demanded, equally suspiciously.

Mac scowled at him, well able to translate the quotation from Virgil, but inhibited by her still-wired jaw from reaming him out as she wanted. But she also wanted his help, and the battle between her two sets of wishes was easy for Harm to read.

His grin grew broader and Mac fumed silently for a long minute, annoyed that he should have seen through her subterfuge so easily. Under normal circumstances she had no problem in reading him, except of course when it had come to the volatile relationship they used to have, and when he pulled a rabbit out of his hat to win a court case that he should have lost, or when... In fact, when she considered it, he had never been that easy to read. "No... Ti'er ma'e it!" she finally conceded.

"That's OK, then, Ham grinned, and took an ostentatious sip from his mug, "Now, Mac, what _do_ you want?"

"Need some he'p," Mac confessed.

"Go on," he invited her blandly.

"'SBud 'n' Harrie'," she supplied. Now that she was here and had come to the point, she found the words were sticking in her throat, "Want you to speak with them."

"Go on," Harm repeated.

"They're havin' a fight, big fight. Not speakin' to each other, and AJ's upset."

"H'mm... sounds like a good reason to stand well clear," Harm commented.

"Rabb!" Mac gritted, "Bud 'n' Harrie' are friends!"

"All the more reason to stand back and let them sort it out," Harm said reasonably, "No good ever came of interfering in personal fights or affairs."

Mac's shoulders slumped, "Maybe," she half-agreed, "But if they can' keep it out of the office, then Adm'ral could cancel Harrie's TAD," she pointed out.

"Good point," Harm nodded his head in acknowledgement. The arrangement under which Harriet worked at JAG whilst ostensibly posted to the IG's office was a tenuous one at best, and had required careful negotiation by the Admiral when the old IG retired and a new incumbent replaced him, and while changes of personnel were a routine part of military life, Harriet being posted away from JAG because she couldn't keep her personal life separate from her professional life would be a huge black mark on her record. But, "Why don't you speak with them?"

"'Cos I'm still staying with them! Be v'ry awkward!""

Harm looked closely at Mac. She was almost seething with frustration. "OK, I'll speak to them about their deportment and behaviour at work, but that's as far as I go. If you want any further intervention, then you'll have to do your own dirty work!"

Mac nodded grudging acceptance of his terms. It wasn't all that she'd hoped for, but it was better than a downright refusal. "C'n we try get it done 'fore staff call? 'Fore Adm'ral notices. Please?"

Against his better judgement Harm nodded his head, "OK, we'll give it a whirl!"

Mac nodded her thanks and stood to leave, but Harm noticed with a wry grin that she left the used coffee mugs on his desk.

Harm stood and stretched, and shook his head, and picking up the mugs he headed out across the bull-pen towards the galley, stopping at the Gunny's desk, "'Morning Gunny, all well?"

Victor looked at him warily, he had not been ignorant of Ham and Loren's presence in the Café, and he wasn't sure how much Meg might have confided, and whether this was an attempt at interrogation. Deciding to play it safe, he came to attention and gazed at a point just above Harm's left shoulder, "Work couldn't be better, sir!"

Harm nodded but took the opportunity to search the Staff NCO's face for any sign of bitterness, resentment or clues that he was hiding his disappointment, but as usual Galindez face was an impassive mask. "Good, good. Gunny, as soon as they come in pass the word to Lieutenants Roberts and Sims that I need to see them in my office, ASAP, and when you've done that, my compliments to Colonel McKenzie and ask her to join us there, please."

"Lieutenants Roberts and Sims to report to your office as soon as they arrive, and ask Colonel McKenzie to join you there, aye, sir!"

"Thank you, Gunny!"

It was less than ten minutes later that a knock on his door frame brought Harm's head up from the report he was drafting to see the two junior officers standing at his door. They may have been constrained by lack of space to be physically close together but their body language plainly said that they weren't too happy about that particular circumstance.

"You wanted to see us, sir?" Bud unconsciously spoke as if for them both, earning him a daggers-drawn look from Harriet.

Harm's face froze in an expressionless mask, "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?" he demanded in an icy voice.

"Sir?" Bud said, even that one word conveying his puzzled surprise.

"Is that the usual way you report yourself, Lieutenant?" Harm asked coldly.

Bud was left floundering, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he fought for comprehension. Fortunately for both of them, Harriet was quicker on the uptake, "Lieutenants Roberts and Sims reporting as ordered sir!" she rapped out, ignoring a startled look from Bud.

Harm grunted an acknowledgement, then snapped, "Front and centre, Lieutenants!"

Bud and Harriet hurried to stand in front of Harm's desk, both of them assuming the at attention position. Harm looked to his right, looking for Mac, just in time to see her arrive in the doorway. "Come in please, Colonel, and take a seat," Harm invited her.

His unaccustomed formality sparked a feeling dread in Harriet, and she cast a frightened sideways glance at Bud, who stood white-faced beside her, but her look was seen by Harm, who snapped, "Eyes front, Lieutenant!"

Harm looked at them expressionlessly for a good minute, while the two junior officers each picked a spot above his head and gazed fixedly at it. After letting them stew for that short while, Harm cleared his throat, "You may wonder why I have asked Colonel McKenzie to sit in on this interview. That is because it is really her place as Chief of Staff to do so, but due to her injuries, she is not able to enunciate clearly enough or with sufficient emphasis what I am about to say!"

"It has come to my attention that the pair of you are involved in some sort of domestic dispute. I don't care what caused it, I don't want to know what Mister Roberts thinks that Miss Sims has done, neither do I wish to hear a repetition of Mister Roberts' alleged faults. What I care about is the possible effects your disagreement may have, and I believe is already starting to have on the support staff in this office. You are two of the more popular officers with the enlisted staff, and while that is not necessarily a fault, there are bound to be those amongst the enlisted who for whatever reason will choose to support the one of you against the other. We have already seen, quite recently, the effects that a dispute between senior members of staff can have on efficiency and morale in the bull-pen, and I can assure you that the Admiral will not, for one instant, tolerate another such spate of internecine ill-feeling. I would also remind you that when you first embarked on your relationship and the Admiral allowed you to continue to work together, he gave you a warning that you were to conduct yourself in full accordance with military protocols, and that he did expect to have to detail a chaperone to accompany you to the galley. I can also assure you that he does not expect to have to detail a peace-keeping force to accompany you either."

"While the fact that you are having a domestic dispute is nobody's business but your own as long as you keep it outside the office, the second that you bring it into the office, you affect the smooth running of this section. That brings your quarrel under the provisions of Article one three four of the UCMJ, Conduct to the Prejudice of Good Order and Discipline. This is a legal office, and both of you have worked here for long enough for you to be fully aware of that article and the penalties that it may incur. I also remind you of the Navy's policy regarding spouses working in the same organisation, and that the two of you are only here together because the Admiral pulled strings on your behalf, exercised Admiral's privilege, and made an unofficial arrangement with the IG's office. That arrangement can be terminated at any time, to have immediate effect, and I am pretty sure that if this imbroglio comes to the Admiral's attention, officially, then that termination will take place. Nobody in this office wants to see that happen!"

"So... I strongly suggest that you return to your duties, and for the duration of the working day at least, bury the hatchet. Make an effort – a successful effort – to demonstrate to all and sundry that whatever has caused this... argument, and the argument itself has passed, before it becomes necessary to take any official notice or action. Understood?"

Bud and Harriet cast a sidelong look at each other, which Harm let slide this time. They remained silent, not sure of what response they were expected to make. They were not left in confusion for more than a few seconds.

"I said, 'understood'?" Harm yelled at the miscreants.

Shocked again by his vehemence they nearly chorused, "Sir! Yes, sir!"

Harm grunted again, this time in satisfaction and then barked, "Dismissed!"

The reply was in chorus this time around as Bud and Harriet responded with "Aye, aye, sir!" paused for two seconds and both left-faced and almost scurried out of the door, Bud holding it open for Harriet, as they made their escape.

Harm and Mac waited until Bud and Harriet were out of sight, before Mac got to her feet and closed the door, and then, still standing, she looked at Harm, the beginnings of a frown on her face, "A bit har' on 'em. P'raps?"

Harm too looked vaguely concerned, but he shook his head, "No... I don't think so... I think they needed a bit of a shock and took a good look at themselves and their situation. Does it ever occur to you Mac, that we've been in our billets here far longer than the norm?"

The marine officer looked vaguely troubled, but then nodded reluctantly.

Harm acknowledged her nod with a slight smile, "Just so... and we're here as part of our routine rotations. Bud and Harriet – as a married couple – aren't, and I think they're in danger of forgetting how vulnerable they are to having their continued service together terminated. So I reckon a sharp reminder of their circumstances wouldn't be amiss."

Mac considered Harm's words for a few moments and then, but still somewhat reluctant to agree with him, she nodded again and with the grimace which currently passed as her smile, she left the office leaving door, as was usual open behind her.

**Thursday 22 March 2001, 0722hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221222ZMar01)**

As they fled Harm's office, Bud cast an appalled look at Harriet, who returned it with an equally frightened look of her own. "We need to talk – now!" Bud insisted.

Harriet nodded her agreement and thought for a few seconds, as Bud almost on autopilot steered them towards the galley.

"No... not here, Bud!" Harriet objected, coming to a halt, "there's too much chance of us being interrupted!"

"You're right, but where then?" Bud demanded. I don't want to do this in my office, it's too open to prying eyes!"

"And you're right, too!" Harriet agreed, and then a thought struck her, "The conference room, there's still over an hour to staff call!"

Bud nodded, and taking Harriet's arm in a light grip he guided her along the hall past the elevator to the conference room.

Bud held open the conference room door for Harriet to precede him, and then nearly ran her down as she stopped a bare two feet into the room. Looking for the cause of her sudden stop, Bud saw that Gunnery Sergeant Galindez was fussing about the long table, ensuring that blotters were precisely placed at the head of the table and down both long sides, and that chairs were precisely positioned behind each blotter. However, he stopped what he was doing as the two officers entered the room, assuming an alert, but relaxed posture as she spoke.

"Sir, ma'am, is there something I can do for you?" he asked.

"Uh... No, thanks Gu..." Harriet began, trying to retreat, but stopped by the body of her husband standing right behind her, and she was interrupted by Bud's voice, cutting across her denial.

"Yes, there is Gunny... can you give us the room, please?"

"Yes, sir!" Victor replied, giving the table a last look, and then nodded in apparent satisfaction, and as he walked towards them, he said, "By your leave, sir, ma'am?"

The two officers stood aside allowing him to leave the room, and once he had, Bud pulled out a chair for Harriet, and waiting until she had sat down, he pulled out a chair for himself and turned it so that he was facing her, but then realising that he knew what he wanted to say, he couldn't figure out exactly how to say it without inflaming an already tense situation.

His silence wore too on Harriet, who turned troubled eyes towards him and said tentatively, "Bud...?"

"Um... yeah... that was pretty uncomfortable, wasn't it...?" he started.

"Bud! Uncomfortable!?" Harriet protested, "I could hardly believe it was Harm who spoke to us like that! Even when he was mad at me a couple of months ago, he wasn't so... official!"

"Yeah... but here's the thing Harriet, he was almost right." Bud said thoughtfully, "Yeah, he was pissed at us, and thinking back, yeah we could quite easily upset the bull-pen. Remember what it was like when The Commander and the Colonel were at loggerheads..." he paused again, "And now, in retrospect, I'm beginning to wonder, if it wasn't all engineered by Brumby..." he rubbed his jaw in memory.

"You're getting off the point, Bud," Harriet said with a tinge of annoyance, "In what way was the Commander 'almost' right?"

"Well, he forgot to ream us out for being so stupid as to forget that we love each other. At least, I still love you, and I hope you still love me?"

"Oh, Bud! You really are dumb at times!" Harriet flashed out, "No matter how mad I might get at you from time to time, I will always love you!"

"I had hoped so..." Bud smiled. "And now that we have agreed that much, can we now try and get to the bottom of this latest upscuddle. I'll admit, I was annoyed at you because I thought you were encouraging the Commander to flirt with the Colonel's cousin – although I didn't know at the time she was the Colonel's cousin. I was especially made because I'd only told you the day before not to interfere in the Commander's private life any more!"

"I wasn't encouraging him to flirt. It was just like I said, he saw her from the back and thought it was the Colonel! You gotta admit that they do look like each other! And what ticked me off was that you didn't really give me a chance to explain, or the benefit of the doubt – what happened until innocent until proven guilty, Bud? And when I tried to explain, it seemed like you didn't believe me anyhow!"

Bud blushed, "Yeah... Harriet, in mitigation, I jumped to that conclusion based on previous patterns of behaviour, but can I plead guilty on all three counts, say I'm sorry, and then throw myself on the mercy of the court?"

Harriet nodded, "OK... I'll admit that I hadn't behaved very well in that regard in the past, but when you spoke to me the other day, I really did listen, and I am going to try and change... I'll even try and be civil to Lieutenant Wi... I mean Loren Singer! I don't know if I'll succeed, but I will try!"

"So... does that mean, we're back on speaking terms?" Bud asked hopefully.

"Well, we just have been talking, so I guess that mean yes," Harriet said solemnly.

"OK.. then we can continue further negotiations later, once we get home?" Bud suggested.

Harriet looked at him blankly for a moment until she penetrated his meaning and then she blushed, "Oh, Bud, yes, I'd like that!"

**Thursday 22 March 2001, 0921hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221421ZMar01)**

Admiral Chegwidden listened to the case status reports from Carolyn and Bud, and grunted in satisfaction. And then turned to Alan Mattoni

"Commander Mattoni, any progress on the Lucas, Dawson and Maxwell case?"

"Colonel Dawson will be here at fourteen hundred hours tomorrow, Sir. I have had no reply from General Lucas..."

Chegwidden grunted in annoyance, "Very well. I'll call General Lucas myself, and if I still get no joy out of him, I'll start at DCMC and go upwards from there! But, I assure you, Commander, he will be here at fourteen hundred tomorrow!"

"Now, changing the subject... Commander Imes, Lieutenant Barlow, you are to proceed via Andrews and COD to the Benjamin Harris, where you will transfer to a helo to be taken out to the James H Spencer, DDG. It seems someone has a grudge against the radar techs. One dead and two injured in two separate incidents last Friday and yesterday. Pick up your travel orders and itinerary from Tiner, and report to Andrews MCCP by fifteen hundred hours."

Carolyn and Tim Barlow looked at each other and then back at the Admiral, "Aye, aye, sir!"

The admiral nodded, and turned to Loren, "That means Lieutenant that you will be running the missing motor parts investigation on your own!"

"Yes, sir!" Loren said enthusiastically.

Chegwidden eyed her warily, "In conjunction with NCIS!" he reminded her.

"Of course, sir," Loren acknowledged demurely.

"And you have no problems with working with NCIS?" he demanded suspiciously.

"No more than I would have if working with any other bunch of incompetents, sir" she replied gravely.

The admiral groaned silently, he had temporarily forgotten that Singer had been at the hospital when Franks and Gibbs had tried to pin Brumby's assault on Colonel MacKenzie on Rabb, and now that the blonde was engaged to Rabb, it was almost impossible, given her nature, that she wouldn't automatically side with her fiancé and hold the NCIS agents in as much contempt as he did.

"Just try not to let your prejudices interfere in your relationship with them, Lieutenant, and try to play nice."

"If you say so, sir, then I'll certainly try!" was just about as far as Loren was willing to go, but she added a sop, "but if they do their jobs competently, and don't give me any grounds for complaint, then I don't see that we will have a problem, sir!"

While A J Chegwidden had a certain amount of sympathy for Loren Singer's position, Admiral Chegwidden the Navy JAG, couldn't. "Just make damn sure, you do your job competently, Lieutenant, and make sure that NCIS have no cause to complain of your incompetency!"

Loren blushed slightly, "Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden grunted, "And Commander Rabb, I'll see you in my office at twelve hundred! We'll start the handover then!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Thursday 22 March 2001, 1327hrs EST, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221827ZMar01)**

Chegwidden removed his reading glasses, dropping them carelessly on his desk blotter, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers for a few seconds.

"Well, that's all the official BS settled. Now... what about our problem children?"

"Problem children, sir?" Harm asked in surprise.

"Yep. Roberts and Sims... or has peace suddenly broken out between them again?"

"Uh... I'm not sure, sir... I mean I'm not quite sure what you mean, sir. Is there a problem with the Lieutenants?" Harm asked disingenuously.

"Commander... Not so long ago, I had occasion to remind someone else in this office that experts in the art have tried to bullshit me. You are not an expert, so give it up! I may sit here in the Big Chair most of the day, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the vibes when something goes off kilter. And of course I know that you and Colonel MacKenzie read them the riot act this morning. Now, I don't know, and I don't care what the issue was between them. All I'm concerned about is that the issue is resolved before I have to take any official notice or action. Clear now?"

"As a bell, sir!" Harm responded, "And I believe, from observation during the course of the morning, that matters are on the mend."

Chegwidden nodded, and steepled his fingers, "Now, slightly more – no, potentially a lot more serious – are we likely to be looking at a fraternisation scandal?"

"Sir?" Harm queried, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"H'mph! This time I don't blame you for trying to play cagey!" the Admiral grunted, "But I think we both know what and exactly who we mean!"

"Yes, sir," Harm conceded, "But in their defence, they are both too professional, no matter what their feelings might be, to indulge in any sort of behaviour that would necessitate you either counselling them or taken disciplinary action, whether non-judicial or formal."

"You really think, that?" Chegwidden asked sceptically.

"Yes, sir I do, but I also believe that neither of the parties will continue in the service beyond their current obligatory period of service."

"That's a damned shame, they are both, or they have been up to now a credit to the service."

"And I'm sure they will remain so, sir!" Harm defended the two.

Chegwidden shook his head, "It's a damn shame... Commander Austin is a damn fine woman, and I don't say that just because she is from Texas, nor am I saying that just because she is physically attractive, but that she is a fine person and with her personal qualities I should perhaps have said she is a fine person. As is Victor Galindez! Austin will have to search far and wide and long before she finds anyone to equal him, but no matter what we might think, Navy Regulations are entirely unforgiving when it comes to personal attachments between officers and enlisted ranks. And although it leaves a bad taste in my mouth Rabb, I have to caution you to keep an eye on that situation!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"Harm responded with a grimace of distaste on his face.

"H'mm..." Chegwidden leaned back in his chair, and once again Harm was struck by the look of fatigue that settled on the older man's face.

"Sir..." he began cautiously, "are you alright?"

Chegwidden's eyes snapped open and he jerked back to an upright posture, "I'm fine, just peachy, Commander! A little tired is all – that's why I'm taking a week's leave!"

"Yes, sir." Harm acknowledged. Having had a thorough briefing on what was expected of him over the next working week he could easily appreciate that the older man needed a break, a total break from the pressures of his office.

"May I ask where you're going. Sir? I mean, you're not staying in the DC area, are you?"

"No, Commander, I'm not! I'm taking a vacation in New Mexico; I'm going on a fishing trip, and I'm already of a mind to leave my damn' cell 'phone behind!"

Harm nodded, "Could be a good idea, sir," he agreed.

"Of course it's a good idea, Rabb! I thought of it!"

"Yes, sir! Pretty dumb of me to forget that!"

The older man snorted with suppressed laughter, which he tried to disguise as irritation, "Go on, get out of here Rabb! Anybody would think you hadn't got any work to do!"

"I've got plenty of that, sir. Thank you!" Harm risked a grin as he got to his feet, "By your leave, sir?"

"Go on. Rabb, git!" Chegwidden allowed a brief smile to appear on his lips, as Harm made for the office door. He was quite satisfied, he had been pleased with the speed with which the junior officer had read himself in on the various cases and events that might crop up during his week in the Big Chair, and he grinned to himself, he had still managed to rattle Rabb's cage with his references to the Roberts and Sims argument, and the, he hoped, dormant, if not already dead, attraction between Austin and Galindez.

All that however was only a minor part of the burden that he was beginning to feel more and more with each passing day. Still, he couldn't quit yet. Sighing he picked up his 'phone and called his Yeoman's switchboard. "Tiner, get me the number for General Lucas at Marine Corps DC Headquarters please, and put it straight through to me when you get it." He paused to hear Tiner's acknowledgement, "Very well, make it so!"

Chegwidden didn't have too long to wait before his 'phone rang, "_General Lucas on line two, sir_!" Tiner said.

The admiral waited until a click in his ear told him that the connection had been made, and then said "General Lucas?"

"_Yes_?" the voice on the other end of the line definitely sounded irritable.

"General, this A J Chegwidden the Navy JAG, and..."

"_I know who you are, dammit. I've had one of your damned shyster trying to ride my ass for a week or more! What do you want?"_

Chegwidden bit his tongue and made a major effort to control his temper, "What I want General is to inform you that as the convening authority in the Maxwell case, you are required to attend a case conference here in Fall Church at fourteen hundred hours tomorrow."

"_Tomorrow? Impossible! I need more notice than that, dammit_!"

General, you would have had more notice if you hadn't been ducking my officer's 'phone calls all week!"

"_You'll just have to re-schedule, Chegwidden!_"

"That's not going to happen, General Lucas. But let me tell you what is: As soon as this 'phone call is finished, I am going to call the DCMC at Eighth and I am going to request a meeting with him, for today. At that meeting I am going to lay the full facts of the Maxwell case before him, including your use of Unlawful Command Influence as convening authority in instructing Lieutenant Colonel Dawson as to which charges to lay against an officer, a very much junior officer, who after an initial investigation of the charges laid against him appears to be innocent. I will then submit to the DCMC a list of charges to be preferred against yourself and Colonel Dawson. The fourteen hundred meeting tomorrow is your one chance of avoiding those charges being laid. I strongly suggest you attend that meeting, and in the interim speak to Commander Mattoni of this office and see if he can come up with something that might salvage your retirement benefits and pension. Because General, if I have anything to do with it, and I do, you no longer have a career!"

"_Are you threatening me, Chegwidden_?"

"Not at all, Lucas. I am merely pointing out to you the facts in this case, which you have turned into one of the biggest legal clusterfucks I have seen during my whole career! Now, can I expect to see you tomorrow, or do I call the DCMC!"

"_You can go to hell, Chegwidden! I'll be damned if I let you or any of your damn shysters tell me what to do_!"

With that the 'phone went dead. Chegwidden shook his head in disbelief at the man's arrogant stupidity – or stupid arrogance. Once more he called Tiner, this time to connect him to the Office of the DCMC.

**Thursday 22 March 2001, 1418hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221918ZMar01)**

Harm frowned at the rap on his door frame, and glanced to his right to see who was the author of this disruption to his concentration, "Yes, Tiner, what can I do for you?"

"The Admiral's compliments sir, he wishes me to inform you that he is out of the office, probably for the rest of the afternoon, and that you have the watch,sir!"

Harm nodded, "Thank you. Tiner." He resisted asking the Yeoman where the admiral had gone, reasoning that if his CO had wished him to know he would have included that information in the message.

But there was something else he now needed to do. Waiting until Tiner had headed back out across the bull-pen, he picked up his 'phone and dialled Loren's number, "Can you come to my office, please?" and on hearing her simple 'yes', he rung off, and dialled another number.

"Austin,"

"Meg, it's Harm can you spare me a couple of minutes, please?"

"_Yes, of course... is there something wrong, Harm_?"

"Not wrong, as in wrong, wrong, but yeah, something has come up..."

The two blonde officers arrived at his doorway at almost the same second, Loren hanging back to let Meg precede her.

"Shut the door, please, Loren, and then both of you please take a seat!"

He waited until both women were seated and then cleared his throat, "What I have to say concerns you, Megan, but I have asked Loren to sit in as a witness. I don't expect for a second to have need of her in that capacity, and I'm aware that ideally she should be of the same rank as yourself, but given the personal nature of this subject, and as she is already in the loop, I thought you might prefer it if the fewer people who knew the better."

Meg paled, "Is this about the Gunny and..."

"Yes, it is. I have just completed a briefing for my duties as temporary JAG next week, at the end of which the Admiral let me know in no uncertain terms that he is aware of the attachment between yourself and the Gunny. He also made it abundantly clear that unless you are stupid enough to flout the regulations that he will remain officially unaware of the aforesaid attachment. I have assured him that neither you nor the Gunny are stupid. I'm not going to say anything further on the matter, but I thought you should know that the Admiral is aware!"

But how could he know?" Meg protested.

"How could he know? Easy!" Harm said grimly, "He's the JAG!"

**Thursday 22 March 2001, 1831hrs EST, Harmon Rabb and Loren Singer's Apartment, ****1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (222331ZMar01)**

Harm had showered and now, finished changing he walked back into the lounge area and through to the kitchen/dining area where Loren, who had snagged the bathroom before him was stirring a pan of sauce while the pan of pasta boiled alongside her.

The table had been set with gleaming silverware, a pair of their best Waterford Crystal wine glasses and an opened bottle of South African Merlot which had been left to breathe. "M'mm, Harm said appreciatively, as he put his arms around Loren from behind and dropped a kiss to the pulse-point of her neck, "Smells good, what is it?"

"I'm trying a variation on your three mushroom sauce, I've added a few cracked peppercorns to lend it a little bit of spicy heat, and halved the amount of garlic. I've also substituted half fat cheese for the full fat cheese that you used last time. Just trying to look after our hearts!" she explained when Harm remained silent.

Harm's silence was explained by the huge grin on his face, which came into sight as she twisted around in his arms to face her.

"Harm?" she queried.

"I wasn't talking about the sauce – although it does smell good – I was talking about you!" he said in a throaty growl that sent shivers up and down Loren's spine, made her heart thump wildly and also sent the blood to her cheeks.

"Maybe we should..." she swallowed to clear her suddenly congested throat, "Maybe you should hold that thought until after dinner – and in the meantime, I'll take it under advisement."

"H'mm seems like a plan," Harm agreed, as he dropped his hands to her hips and pulled her in close as he lowered his head to kiss her thoroughly.

"Harm..." she panted, after they broke the kiss, "if... you... don't... stop that... then we... aren't getting any... dinner..." And her eyes lit with mischief, "And I've put too much work into this sauce to waste it, and besides... I'm hungry!" she finished plaintively.

"Yeah, and so am I!" he growled.

"So. Go, sit!" she commanded, deliberately misunderstanding him and using the wooden spoon to point at his place at the dining table, "but before you do, you can get the salad out of the 'fridge!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Harm grinned.

Dinner passed in near silence, what little conversation there was concentrating on the weekend's plans, which as usual consisted of a departure for Charlottesville immediately on securing from duty on Friday afternoon. The mundane nature of the subject served to cover the tension that both of them could feel, it wasn't an uncomfortable silence that fell after they had confirmed the details of their plans. From time to time Loren would look up from her plate to find Harm looking at her, and although each time it happened, she coloured slightly, she met his eyes with a warm smile that promised much.

Dinner was also a leisurely affair, as if by some unspoken but mutual consent they had both decided to draw out the evening and heighten their sense of anticipation. And when the meal was finally eaten, they cleared away the wreckage and stood side by side at the kitchen sink while Harm washed the dishes and Loren dried them, both sharing in the task of stowing pots, pans and dishes back in their proper place.

Eventually, with all cleared away to their satisfaction, Loren looked at Harm and said, "I don't know what you're going to do for the rest of the evening, but I'm having an early night."

"Are you?" Harm asked innocently, "In that case I might just join you."

"I thought you might," Loren smiled as she stood on tip toes to kiss him lightly, before turning away, her hands going to the buttons on her blouse as she crossed the lounge, deliberately swaying her hips in an exaggerated manner as she did so and carelessly shrugging the blouse off her shoulders and dropping it on the couch as she passed by.

**Friday 23 March 2001, 0747hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (231247ZMar01)**

Harm smiled in satisfaction as he took a sip from his coffee mug and smiled over the rim of it and Loren, currently occupying one of his visitors' chairs and cradling her own mug of coffee in her hands, She felt his eyes upon her and looking up met his gaze. "What?" she asked.

"Just thinking how beautiful you are, and how much I love you..." he said softly, loving the way the colour leaped to her cheeks.

"Harm...!" she started, but he interrupted here.

"And I was thinking about last night!" he added on a triumphant note.

Loren stared at him, bright crimson, and her mouth opened and closed for several seconds before she found her voice again, "Oh... Harm! That is so not fair!" she wailed.

"Why not?" he asked in a coolly interested voice.

"Well, for one thing, we're supposed to keep that side of our life out of the office!" she declared firmly.

"True, we are," Harm agreed affably. "But you said 'for one thing', am I to take it there's another reason?"

"Oh, yes!" Loren agreed, "I won't be able to get any work done for hours now, because now you've reminded me, I shall be thinking about last night too!" she grinned at him, and had the satisfaction of seeing the red rise to his cheeks for a change. Then she delivered the coup de grâce , "And of course, I'll be thinking about tonight too!"

Harm sat stock still, if there had been any answer he had expected from Loren, it certainly hadn't been one like that.

Loren drained the last of her coffee and ostentatiously placed the empty mug on his desk before standing and smoothing the front of her skirt, "Mess with the best, die like the rest!" she quipped and with a grin that could only be described as naughty, she gave a quick flirt of her hips and left him alone, wondering just where along the way he had lost control of the conversation.

**Friday 23 March 2001, 0917hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221222ZMar01)**

A J Chegwidden had received status reports from the rump of his officers at the table and had handed out two DDOs to Bud Roberts and a UA and Resisting Arrest to Loren. He then cleared his throat, "Commanders Mattoni and Rabb, you need to ensure that you're both present here at 13450 hours with your clients. I believe that both General Lucas and Lieutenant Colonel Dawson will attend, Commander Mattoni, and I'm certain that Captain Maxwell will also be attendance, Commander Rabb?"

He waited for both officers to acknowledge him, before he continued, "Let's try to wrap this one up today. So I shall expect a pre-trial offer from you Rabb, and I expect that you will be able to persuade General Lucas and Colonel Dawson to accept the offer, Mattoni!"

The two commanders exchanged a look and replied in chorus, "Aye, aye, sir!"

"Good!" Chegwidden grunted, Now to round off today's business, just a couple of general reminders. Firstly that I shall be on leave next week, and Commander Rabb is to assume command in my absence. Secondly EDT comes into effect from zero two hundred hours on Sunday morning." He paused and eyed them all grimly, "'I forgot to re-set my alarm', is not an acceptable excuse for being adrift on Monday morning! Thirdly, with effect from Colours on Monday morning, and it shouldn't be necessary to remind you, because we shall be on EDT from Monday, the uniform of the day will be Summer Whites until Fall, and whatever HQ Marine Corps DC have laid down for our green friends! That is all, dismissed!"

**Friday 23 March 2001, 1344hrs EST, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221834ZMar01)**

Admiral Chegwidden looked up in angry amazement as the door to his inner office was opened unceremoniously, he was halfway to his feet in order to deliver a blistering ass-chewing when he recognised his unexpected visitor. His words died unspoken and with an effort he transformed his face into a bland mask.

"General Hammond, this is an unexpected visit, sir," he said urbanely.

"Is it?" General Hammond, the four-star Commander Marine Corps asked cynically. "Especially as you seem bound and determined to carry out a purge of Marine Corps Officers. First there was that nonsense down at Quantico, and now here on my doorstep! What is it with you Chegwidden, have you got something personal against the USMC?"

"No, sir, but it would seem that certain officers of the Corps have something against regulations and the UCMJ, and that, sir, will inevitably bring them to my attention."

"H'mm... Alright, what have you got?"

"I have a meeting with all concerned, including their attorneys in our conference room in just over ten minutes from now, sir. May I suggest that you sit in on the meeting and decide whether or not I have something or nothing?"

**Friday 23 March 2001, 1352hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (221852ZMar01)**

Tiner nearly gave the assembled officers a collective heart attack when he opened the door to the conference room and barked, Commandant Marine Corps on deck!"

The clatter and scraping chairs on the polished wooden floor bordered on the deafening as two Navy Commanders, a Marine two-star General, Lieutenant Colonel and Captain all leaped to their feet.

The Commandant, his aide-de-camp – another Marine Corps Captain – and the Jag entered the room, Chegwidden standing behind his usual chair at the head of the table, while the CMC and his aide made their way to the foot of the table. Waiting until the four-star was seated, Chegwidden gave the order, "Be seated gentlemen."

There followed a much more subdued scraping of feet and chair legs on the floor as the assemblage sat down.

Chegwidden looked along the table, immediately to his right was Alan Mattoni, next to him, a heavy-set, scowling Major General Lucas, his grey hair cropped in a savage buzz-cut and a look of petulance on his fleshy face. If he was thick-set, then his next neighbour down was almost cadaverous in appearance, with dark deep-set eyes under bushy brows and a strange almost eager expression on his face as he stared across the table at Captain Maxwell, who was at Harm's left hand, while he was on Chegwidden's immediate left.

"Gentlemen, this is not a court of law," Chegwidden began after rapping his knuckles on the table for attention, "neither is it even an article fifteen hearing nor an Admiral's Mast. We have assembled today in order to continue the investigation into the charges preferred against Captain Maxwell, and the complaints he has made against the officer laying those charges and against the convening authority, that is Lieutenant Colonel Dawson and Major General Lucas, respectively. The Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Hammond, is here as a witness to what is said in this room, and to decide on hearing what everyone has to say, what if any action should be taken. Is everyone clear on that?"

A crisp, "Yes, sir!" from Harm, Alan and Maxwell was in contrast to the reluctant, "Sir," from Dawson and an impatient, "Get on with it Chegwidden!" from General Lucas. A comment which the JAG ignored but one which the CMC raised an eyebrow at, and nodded slightly to his aide, who in response made a brief note on a legal pad.

"Although this is not a court of law, and the evidence will not be given on oath, I remind you all that making a false official statement is still punishable under Article One Hundred and Seven of the UCMJ and carries a maximum penalty of five years confinement, loss of all pension and benefits and a dishonourable discharge. Is that all understood?"

Again, a chorus of "Yes, sir" was heard from Harm, Alan, Maxwell, and this time from Dawson, who had seen the CMC's reaction to General Lucas' previous comment, and was beginning to wish he had distanced himself from the General's stance.

The two-star however, had not, or so it seemed taken note of the CMC's reaction to his previous outburst, and snorted contemptuously, "Chegwidden, I've already told you to get on with the business. I haven't got all day to waste while you beat your gums!"

Again Chegwidden ignored the Marine General's comment and again a nod from the CMC prompted his ADC into making a quick note.

"Now, if everyone is happy that they understand what is to happen here today..." he paused waiting to hear any comments or dissent before he continued, "We'll do this in a logical manner. Commander Mattoni, will you please read out the charges preferred by Colonel Dawson against Captain Maxwell."

"Sir, the original charge against Captain Dawson was that of insubordination, in that he called Lieutenant Colonel Dawson a eunuch and a pervert. The schedule of charges was later revised to include wrongful co-habitation, disobeying a direct order and fraternisation."

"very well," Chegwidden said, "let's look at them in turn. The insubordination seems pretty clear cut, unless Captain Maxwell denies the charge?" he looked inquiringly at Harm.

"No sir, he does not. But there is a pleas of gross provocation in mitigation of the offence."

"I see." Chegwidden glanced at Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, who fidgeted in his seat and seemed to be on the verge of an outburst. "Keep calm, Colonel, your turn to speak will come. Next charge, please Commander," he turned his attention back to Alan Mattoni."

"That would be wrongful co-habitation, sir, in that Captain Maxwell was improperly sharing his accommodation with a Lieutenant Maxwell, USN."

"Commander Rabb?" Chegwidden invited Harm's response.

"Nothing improper about it, sir. A Lieutenant USN is the equivalent in grade of a Captain USMC and the two officers are not by any stretch in the same chain of Command. Lieutenant Maxwell's billet is with the ONI at the Pentagon, Captain Maxwell is a Company Commander at Eighth and I. Added to the fact that the Captain and the Lieutenant are siblings."

"Yes, they are! And that what makes it wrongful cohabitation!" Dawson's face was purple and working frantically, his eyes bulged and spittle flew from his lips as he ranted and raged. "A man should not lie with his sister! It's perverted and disgusting! Forbidden by Holy Scripture and..."

"Silence!" Chegwidden roared, his face reddened with anger. "I shall not warn you again Colonel Dawson. You will have your chance to speak later!" Chegwidden drew a deep calming breath, "Continue, please, Commander Mattoni."

"Sir. The next charge is disobeying a direct order. In that Captain Maxwell refused to obey an order given to him by Colonel Dawson to the effect that he should change his accommodation immediately."

"Rabb?"

"It is Captain Maxwell's position that Colonel Dawson had no legal grounds for issuing the order, and therefore it is not a lawful order, and far from being obliged to obey it, it is in fact his duty to disobey it."

"Mattoni, the next charge, please?"

"The final charge is that of fraternisation leading to conduct to the prejudice of good order and discipline, in that the relationship between Captain Maxwell and Lieutenant Maxwell is improper."

"An accusation which my client categorically denies," Harm offered.

"I see." Chegwidden acknowledged him, and then turned to Dawson, "Before we look at the merits of each of those charges, can you tell us why you added them to the original charge of insubordination, Colonel?"

"I added them after due consideration of the conversation between myself and that disgusting pervert, and on the advice of General Lucas."

Chegwidden looked at the two-star who sat with arms folded across his chest and a contemptuous sneer on his face. "You discussed the case with Colonel Dawson, and advised him to level the additional charges against Captain Maxwell?" Chegwidden asked mildly.

"Damned right I did" Lucas spat, "The Corps has no room for perverted skunks like Maxwell, and if you were up to your job Chegwidden, you'd have that precious damned whore of his sister facing charges too!"

It was only Harm's fighter pilot swift reactions that enabled him to grab Maxwell's arm as the now infuriated Marine tried to rise and hurl himself across the table at the man who had just insulted his sister.

"Sit down!" Harm hissed fiercely, although he knew that if Lucas had spoken in such terms in respect of Loren then he, Rabb, would now be bouncing the slanderer's head off something solid.

Chegwidden ignored the by-play between Harm and his client other than to let the angry Captain sit down again before he turned to the General, "And you were the convening authority in the case?" he asked in a deceptively mild voice.

"I was and am!" Lucas replied smugly.

"Very well," Chegwidden repeated, "Let me see if I have this straight, Colonel Dawson, you ordered Captain Maxwell to move out of the apartment that he shared with his sister, and when he refused to do so, he was insubordinate to you?"

"Yes, sir. He..."

"Not yet, Colonel!" Chegwidden pronounced. "You then preferred the charge and submitted the necessary documentation to General Lucas, the Convening Authority. You discussed the case with the General, and on his recommendation you added the further charges. Yes?"

"Yes" That's right! He told me to..."

"Shut up, Dawson!" Lucas snarled, and the Colonel after what seemed to Harm and Chegwidden to be a frightened glance at the General, fell silent.

Chegwidden made a note on his legal pad, and returned his attention to Dawson, "Why did you tell Captain Maxwell to change his apartment? How did you come to believe that he was having an improper relationship with his sister?"

"Because he told his neighbours that they were married! Why would he do that if they were as innocent as they make out?" Dawson demanded.

"A good point, Colonel. Rabb?"

"Just who were these neighbours to whom you spoke, Colonel?" Harm asked.

"A Mister and Mrs Fane, they live down and across the hall from the Maxwells."

At that point Maxwell leaned across to Harm and whispered urgently to him. Harm listened and nodded his head, before looking at the admiral, "I know we're not in court, sir, but Colonel Dawson has raised a matter which I think we need to pursue."

"I'll give you a minute, Commander, no more," Chegwidden sounded reluctant.

"Did the couple you know as the Fanes introduce themselves as husband and wife, Colonel?"

Dawson looked slightly puzzled, "I don't know; I can't remember. They must have..."

"Colonel, I have to tell you that Martin Fane is not married to the woman who lives with him. Her name is in fact Susannah Harmington, and at the time of the altercation between you and Captain Maxwell, they had in fact been in residence in that apartment block for a little over four weeks, and had never exchanged more than the common civilities with either of the Maxwells, and you in fact fell into the same trap as they did. While they assumed that the Maxwells were married, you assumed that Fane and Harmington were married."

"But... but..." Dawson spluttered.

"Admiral..." Alan Mattoni protested.

"It's alright, sir, I've done with this line of questioning," Harm interrupted.

"H'mph!" Chegwidden snorted, "So, on the grounds of ill-informed neighbourhood speculation you unilaterally decided that Captain Maxwell was in an incestuous relationship?"

"No sir!" Dawson yelped, "I had him observed for a period, and the observers saw several public displays of affection!"

"You had me and my sister watched! You son of a bitch!" Maxwell exploded.

"Commander Rabb!" Chegwidden snapped, "Keep your client under control. As I told Colonel Dawson earlier, he will have his chance to respond!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm snapped out a reply, and then turned to Maxwell and hissed, "For God's sake keep your mouth shut, before you give anybody the chance to slap you with more charges!"

A slightly shame-faced Maxwell mumbled an almost inaudible apology and subsided back into his chair.

Chegwidden nodded, not without understanding. He was having a hard time keeping a neutral tone to his voice. "And what form did these public displays of affection take, Colonel?" he asked

"Kissing and hugging – in the street and while they were in uniform!" Dawson fumed.

"May I, sir?" Harm asked.

"Briefly, Commander," Chegwidden conceded.

"Colonel, what was the nature of the kissing and hugging your watchers observed?" Harm asked.

"I... I..., well, kisses... hugs... I'm not sure what you mean..."

"Well, were they affectionate pecks to the cheek or forehead such as siblings might exchange, accompanied by a squeeze, or were they full on, mouth to mouth, passionate kisses with hands wandering over the other's body?"

"I... I don't... know," Dawson faltered looking wildly around the room for help.

"Thank you, Colonel," Harm finished.

"H'mph!" Chegwidden took up the reins again, "Can you tell me Colonel, why you initiated this investigation in the first place?"

"Yes sir!" Dawson replied, more comfortable now that he believed he was back on firmer ground, "It was because of the clandestine nature of Maxwell's domestic arrangements, that led me to believe he was hiding something."

"In what way could Captain Maxwell's domestic arrangements be described as clandestine, Colonel?" the admiral asked.

"He was living out of BOQs and he wasn't claiming BAH!" Dawson replied.

"And that was the reason you launched this investigation, that he wasn't drawing BAH?" Chegwidden asked, for the first time allowing a note of surprise to enter his voice.

"Yes, sir!" Dawson replied.

Chegwidden shook his had and turned to Captain Maxwell, "Do you deny calling Colonel Dawson a pervert and a eunuch?"

"No, sir. I don't deny that."

"Do you deny disobeying a direct order?"

"Yes sir, The order had no lawful basis was therefore not a lawful order, and should not have been given!"

"But Captain, is not the duty of every officer to obey orders, no matter how distasteful they may find them?"

"No sir, it is not. It is the duty of every officer to obey lawful orders. The excuse 'I was only; obeying orders' was rejected at the Nuremburg war crimes trials after world war, two and has been since repudiated on numerous occasions at the international court at the Hague."

"I see. Do you deny the charges of wrongful co-habitation and fraternisation?"

"I do sir, most emphatically! The very charges are nauseating, and to my mind speak more of the Colonel's psyche than of mine or my sister's!"

"I see. And can you tell us why you do not claim BAH. After all Washington is an expensive city in which to live."

"Yes, sir. The apartment is under a ninety nine year lease that was taken out by our parents, and was paid in full years before they died. My sister and I have enough income to pay our utilities and to live comfortably. We don't need BAH, and neither she nor I have applied for it in respect of the Washington address, although we have both applied for it when our service took us away from DC."

"And did you ever explain this to Colonel Dawson?"

"No sir, he never asked for an explanation. He just called me into his office and demanded that I move out of my childhood home."

Chegwidden nodded, "As the JAG for the US Navy and the USMC, I am appalled that..."

"Sir," Harm bravely interrupted, "If I may, I have one or two further questions for both General Lucas and Colonel Dawson that might shed further light on their actions?"

Chegwidden did not look best pleased, frowned but then grudgingly said, "Go on then Commander, but make it quick!"

"Yes, sir! Colonel Dawson isn't it true that both you and Genera Lucas both belong to the same church?"

"Admiral!" Alan Mattoni interjected, "I don't see any relevance in what church the General and Colonel belong to!"

"I'm getting there, sir!" Harm assured him.

"Get there!" Chegwidden snapped.

"Sir!" And isn't it true that the church in question is a rather fundamentalist and creationist church that believes that every word in the Bible is literally true?"

"It is true!" General Lucas broke his long silence. "The Bible is the word of God writ large, and God does not lie!"

"Thank you, General for that elucidation," Harm said urbanely and then continued, "And isn't it also true that you let your religious affiliations colour your attitude to Captain Maxwell, whose SRB shows him to be a Roman Catholic?"

"Catholics are the spawn of the devil placed on this earth to further the political aims of the Whore of Babylon that calls itself a Church of God, and have no place in a service pledged to defend this land, 'One Nation Indivisible Under God' is what were are supposed to be! How can we trust a man whose ultimate allegiance lies with the anti-Christ in Rome!"

"Thank you, General. You have been most forthcoming!" Harm replied and then sat back in his chair.

Chegwidden gave a steady look at Harm, "All done Commander?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Legally speaking, and having listened to both sides in this dispute, I have no hesitation in saying that the charges against Captain Maxwell should be dismissed in their entirety, and that..."

"Not quite, Admiral." The CMC spoke for the first time. "Despite the gross provocation afforded him, Captain Maxwell, by his own admission is guilty of insubordination. That charge must stand, however, I am assuming the role of convening authority in this matter, and I am dismissing all other charges against Captain Maxwell! General Lucas, and Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, your behaviour in this matter has been disgraceful throughout. I will see you both at HQ CMC tomorrow morning at zero eight hundred!"

Harm allowed himself to share a grin with Maxwell, while Lucas and Dawson seemed thunderstruck, as if they couldn't believe that they had condemned themselves by their own words and deeds.

The CMC stood, a signal for all to rise too, "I think we're done here. Admiral, if you'll allow me, I'd like a word in your inner sanctum."

"Of course,sir!"

**Friday 23 March 2001, 1527hrs EST, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (222027ZMar01)**

"Coffee, sir?" Chegwidden offered his self-invited guest.

"No, I won't thank, you A J." The CMC shook his head, "What a disaster! What were they thinking?"

"I'm not sure, sir. But if they had acted towards Maxwell in the way they have on account of the colour of his skin, or his gender then I would have had no hesitation in preferring charges against them myself... but on the grounds of religious prejudice and intolerance... it's a tricky one."

"H'mph, tricky it may be! But this is a hell of a disaster if it should get out to the press! I tell you, A J, I'm minded to offer them the chance to retire quietly, and get the hell out of my Corps. I'd sooner see them in Leavenworth, but this sort of thing damages not only the Corps and the Navy, but all of the armed forces at a time when we need all the support we can get and also need to show ourselves as whiter than white!"

Chegwidden nodded, "Upcoming appropriations, sir?"

"You know how the game is played!" the CMC nodded approvingly.

Chegwidden shrugged, "The Jag has to be something of a politician, sir!" He paused, "What about Maxwell, sir? He is the injured party in all this?"

"I'll make sure he's dealt with at a Captain's mast, and that nothing permanent will go into his SRB!"

"Undue Command Influence, sir?" Chegwidden risked a gentle poke at the senior officer.

"Just so, A J, just so. But this time on the side of the angels!"


	38. Chapter 38

**38**

**Friday 23 March 2001 1657hrs EST, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (232157ZMar01)**

"Tiner!"

The door flew open and Tiner stood, braced to attention in the doorway, "Sir?"

"Get me Commander Rabb! ASAP!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Two minutes later Harm stood in front of the Admiral's desk, "Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, sir!"

"Good!" Chegwidden indicated his briefcase and cover. "I'm securing. I have a flight from BWI at nineteen hundred, so I'm taking Tiner with to drive me to the airport. The only thing left for you and I to do is for me to hand you the keys to the classified safe." he held out three keys on a single key ring, "And for God's sake, don't lose the damn things!"

"No, sir! And sir?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Have a good leave, sir!"

"I will!" Chegwidden replied somewhat grimly, "If you don't call me with some sort of emergency!"

"I'll try not to do that, sir!"

"Good! I'll appreciate that. Oh, and don't set fire to the place, or tear it down, or... or... or anything while I'm gone!"

Harm couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, but it was met by a scowl from his CO, "Wipe that smirk off your face, Commander; I wasn't joking!"

His years at the Academy and his career in the navy had taught Harm well, in an instant his face was devoid of all expression, "Aye, aye, sir!"

**Friday 23 March 2001 1720hrs EST, Office of Commander Pike, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (232220ZMar01)**

The nurse held the door open, "Commander Pike can see you now, ma'am."

"M'kew," Mac mumbled.

"Good afternoon, Colonel. Take a seat. What can I do for you today?" Commander Pike rattled off cheerfully and all in one breath.

Mac looked at the sandy-haired doctor hopefully, "C'd ta'e these dam' wires out?" she asked.

Pike opened Mac's notes that lay on his blotter, "H'mm... a couple of days short of the month since you were injured. How does the jaw feel?"

"I'ches," Mac said shortly.

"OK... turn to face the light, just a little to your left, please." Commander Pike rose from his chair, pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves and came to stand in front of Mac, "OK, look up a little, yes, just raise your chin..."

He ran his fingers gently down the side of Mac's jaw and h'mmed and hawed for a minute or so, before he stripped the gloves from his hands and sat down again. He pulled a dispensation pad towards him and scribbled a few words on it, and then stabbed the intercom call button, "Lieutenant Harding?"

"_Doctor_?" came the reply.

"Get hold of a Corpsman to take Colonel MacKenzie down to X-ray, please."

"_At once, doctor_."

Pike looked across his desk ay Mac, "I'm pretty sure the wires can come out, but I want to have a look at some fresh X-rays before I decide. Now, if they can come out, when would you want to come in to have it done?"

"Tonight?" Mac said.

Pike looked a little surprised, "Oh... when did you last have something to eat?" he asked, calculating digestion time against the administration of anaesthetic.

Mac just glared at him.

"Oh... sorry, Colonel, when did you last drink anything?" Pike rephrased the question with an apologetic grin.

"Twelve thirty," Mac said.

"OK... If the X-rays show us that the fractures are healed – and as I say, I think they are, then we can admit you immediately, and I'll schedule you for minor theatre for..." he checked his schedule, "zero seven hundred tomorrow, OK? But that means nothing by mouth after twenty three hundred this evening. Understood?"

Mac nodded.

"Good. If you'll take a seat outside again, a Corspman will come and take you to X-ray."

"C'n find m'own way..." Mac suggested.

"Not going to happen, Colonel!" Pike grinned, "You'll ride, just like any other patient!"

Mac capitulated, but only because she wanted something, "C'n have X-ray of m'arm, too?" she asked.

Pike looked at her, "And if I say 'no'?" he asked.

"Then, when I get home, I ta'e scissors to it!" Mac said waving her plaster encased arm at him.

"You drive a hard bargain, Colonel!" Pike sighed as he scribbled an addendum to his disposition form.

**Friday 23 March 2001 1751hrs EST, US-29 South, Halfway between Warrenton and Culpepper VA (232251ZMar01)**

"I really thought that something had gone wrong at the last minute!" Loren said as she leaned back against the Lexus' head rest.

"So did I!" Harm grinned, "but it was just a last second handover, to finalise things and a warning not to burn the place down while he was gone!"

"Figuratively or literally?" Loren giggled.

"Both – I think!" Harm replied, joining in with Loren's laughter.

"So... what was in that envelope you left with the CP?" Loren asked once her giggles had subsided, "instructions on how to call the Fire and Rescue Service?"

"Ah, no... just contact instructions for the weekend, just in case something blows up that needs someone in the Big Chair."

Loren pouted slightly at that,. She didn't fancy the prospect of being dragged back to DC before time, but then sighed resignedly and shrugged, "Not my idea of a fun-filled weekend," she complained half-heartedly, "but I suppose it's something I'm going to have to get used to when you become the JAG!"

"What would ever make you think that I will ever be the JAG?" a startled Harm asked her.

"Oh come on, you're a shoe-in for the job! Who else is there? Mac? After her latest stunt? She'll be lucky if she gets to stay beyond her twenty. I can't see Chegwidden recommending her for promotion this year, or next. No, I reckon she'll hit the up or out option. Who else is there?"

"There are plenty of other Commanders and Captains too, who are ahead of me in terms of total years of service and time in grade."

"True, but by the time you come into the zone, they'll be long gone. I don't mean to imply that you'll step into Chegwidden's shoes, I reckon there'll be two, three, maybe even four JAGs after he's gone before you'll be in that position!"

"H'mm... and what makes you think I'll even want to be JAG... even all those years into the future, hey? There's far too much politics involved, not enough time in court – when did you last see the Admiral in court, other than as an observer, and definitely no investigations. No, I just don't see me doing that job full-time!"

"Well... I was kind of hoping that having a family might make you want to spend more time settled down somewhat. You know the chance for you to see our children grow up, attend their PTA meetings, graduation exercises, after school activities, and all that stuff, without having to hare off halfway around the world, risking your neck on some sort of investigation. Of course, it would also mean that our kids would have the chance of having their daddy around when they graduate, rather than going to visit him in Arlington every week."

"Wow! That got pretty heavy pretty quickly!" Harm risked taking his eye off the road for a split second to shoot a quick glance at Loren.

"Well, we have agreed that we want kids at some time in the future... and I'm pretty sure you said something about not wanting any more Rabb children to grow up without a father. So I thought that maybe, by the time we have kids, you'll be more ready, or at least more inclined to settle for a less adventurous life..." Loren let her voice trail off hopefully.

Harm didn't say anything for a minute or so while he considered her words, and then said, "Wow! Again! You sure said a heap. And you're right – at least about me not wanting any more fatherless Rabbs. I guess I just hadn't taken that thought to it's logical conclusion. But you have, and it's pretty plain that you've been giving it a lot of thought!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not just a pretty face," Loren grinned.

"Hell! I know that!" Harm expostulated as she chuckled, and then a thought occurred to him. He flicked on the indicator switch and slowed down, pulling onto the shoulder of the road, ignoring for the moment Loren's "Harm?" until he had brought the Lexus to a stop and applied the emergency brake.

Then he swivelled in his seat and looked directly at her, "Loren, is all this some roundabout way of telling me that we're going to have a baby?"

Loren looked stunned for a second, and then broke out into a peal of laughter, "Oh... no..." she gasped as her laughter died out, "just looking ahead to the future – our future!"

"Well I don't see what's so funny about it!" Harm huffed.

"Oh, it was from where I'm sitting!" Loren chuckled, "Oh, Harm, if you could only have seen your face!"

"Well, I know we're planning on having a family," he said a bit sheepishly, "and I know we agreed that it would be your timetable, not mine or mom's, but I always kinda thought it would be a decision we made together!"

"And it will be, stoopid!" she said lovingly, "But it's bound to take lots of practice, so why don't you get this show back on the road, so we can get checked in and then we can have an early dinner, and then get in some of that practice!"

"Just hold onto that thought!" he recommended as he disengaged the brake and selected 'Drive', checking his mirrors before he moved back onto the road and then practically flooring the gas pedal.

**Friday 23 March 2001 1908hrs EST****, Room 214, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (240008ZMar01)**

Harm dropped both sea bags on the bed as Loren closed the door, turning he pulled her to him and devoured her mouth with his.

"My turn to say...'wow!'" she smiled rather breathlessly, "And not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

"That was just to put everything on hold until we've showered, changed, and eaten, and then I'm planning a lot more of the same!"

"M'mm... sounds like a plan to me," Loren said, her hands going to her T-shirt's hem, "But I claim first dibs on the shower!"

"We could share it," Harm suggested artlessly, "We'd be saving time, and we'd be saving water!" he added.

Loren paused in the act of pulling her T-shirt over her head, lowering it enough so that she could give Harm one of 'those' looks. "You really think that us sharing a shower is going to be quick? I think not!" she ended decisively. "You're just going to have to wait your turn, mister!"

"You're a cruel, cruel woman, Loren Singer!" Harm accused her.

"Yeah, I know, but you love me for it!" Loren grinned throwing her T-shirt on the bed.

"For that, and for lots of other things!" Harm growled, once more sending shivers down Loren's spine.

"That's it! I'm outta here – before you talk me out of my shower and my dinner!" Loren gurgled and slipped past Harm's reaching arms and into the bathroom.

Harm grinned, shook his head and stripped down to his boxers while Loren was showering and then just had time to unpack their overnight gear, before she returned, wrapped in a towel, to the bedroom.

The sight of Harm with his shirt off was one that always made Loren mentally drool, but to see him in shorts – boxer or athletic, it didn't matter much – that exposed his powerful runner's legs was almost too much to stand, but she knew that if she didn't make a determined effort that although she'd had her shower, dinner was going to be very late if she got one at all.

"Go!" she managed with a grin that took the venom out of her words, "You need a shower after today!"

For a moment Harm was tempted to take hold of Loren and literally sweep her off her feet, but she seemed to have picked up on his thoughts and gave him a very direct look, but with the hint of a smile hovering at the corners of her mouth, "Go," she repeated, "Your shower awaits!" and then gave a shake of her head in disbelief at the strength of her own self-discipline as he gave her a wordless growl and stalked past her to the bathroom.

By the time Harm had showered and shaved, Loren had dressed in a clean shirt and jeans and with moccasins on her feet and was seated in front of the vanity plying hair-dryer and brush as she finished fixing her hair, and while she pretended to be absorbed in counting brush strokes, she wasn't quite above watching Harm's reflection in the mirror as he towelled down and dressed.

She put brush and dryer down as he fastened the buttons of a brushed cotton shirt, in a warm, terracotta shade and tucked the tails into his wash-faded jeans and pretended to eye him critically, "H'mm... that will do... I suppose. New shirt, Harm?"

"Uh, no not exactly," he replied torn between wanting to demand what the devil she meant by 'that will do' and his natural good manners that required him to answer her question, "I bought it the week before we went up to Gram's, I just hadn't gotten around to wearing it yet."

"It looks good on you," Loren smiled approvingly, "Very good... but," her voice took on a plaintive note, "I'm hungry, so can we please get going?" she batted her eyelashes at him.

"My pleasure, Miss Singer." He inclined his head.

"Oh, no Mister Rabb, the pleasure's going to be all mine!" she responded with a chuckle.

**Friday 23 March 2001 1956hrs EST****, Restaurant, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (240056ZMar01)**

Marie, the brunette Maître d' Hotel welcomed them with a bright, genuine smile, not only were they regular gusts, but they were the type of guests she genuinely enjoyed having in her restaurant, they were polite, cheerful, undemanding and most importantly they gave off an aura of enjoying themselves and wanting to be nowhere else but here. Of course, she knew that was nonsense, they were never here for lunch, so that they obviously just used the hotel as a base while pursuing some other activity, but while they were dining their attention seemed to be equally divided between the food and each other.

"Good evening Mister Rabb, Miss Singer, it's nice to see you again."

"Good evening Marie, it's just the two of us, as usual," Harm smiled, earning him a swift sharp sharp look from Loren.

"Of course, Mister Rabb. Sandie will take you to your table..."

"Our usual table?" Harm asked.

"Indeed."

"Oh, we can find it, alright, thank you, but could you have Sandie bring us a chilled bottle of mineral water along with the menus? It'll save her a trip."

"Yes, I'll do that, of course!"

Harm, with a hand at the small of her back, guided Loren through the tables to the little alcove that they had by degrees come to think of as theirs and then held her chair as she seated herself, smiling down into her eyes as she looked up to thank him. At his look, Loren's breath caught in her throat and she forgot any idea she might have had of teasing about him knowing the maître d's name and she found herself smiling back up at him.

Harm took a firm grip on his feelings, and despite wanting to ravish her on the spot, he forced himself to just dropping a swift, gentle kiss on her forehead, before moving around the table and taking his seat.

"I kinda like this," Loren said, gazing across the table at him.

"Oh yeah? What exactly do you like?" Harm asked, slightly suspicious that he was being set up; Loren had recently developed a disconcerting habit and talent for doing just that.

"I like being out in public, in civilian clothes with you, where we can indulge in those little spontaneous displays of affection," Loren explained. "I mean, if we'd been in uniform, even here, would you have done that?"

"Done what?" Harm asked, slightly confused.

"Would you have kissed me, even though it was only a peck on the forehead?"

"In uniform?" Harm asked, "No, of course not!"

"Exactly!" Loren exclaimed in triumph.

If Harm had been about to make any rejoinder, it was placed on hold as Sandie approached the table, bearing the required bottle of mineral water

"Good evening, Mister Rabb, Miss Singer, welcome back!"

"Thank you, Sandie," Loren answered, shooting a mischievous glance at Harm that left him totally flummoxed as to the meaning of it.

Sandie smiled at the by-play, although she had no idea of the reasons for it, or what it meant. All she saw was a loving couple in which both delighted in gently teasing each other. "I'll leave you to study the menu, and I'll come back in...?"

"Ten minutes?" Harm suggested, cocking an eye in Loren's direction.

"Yeah, ten minutes is fine," the blonde agreed as she opened her menu while Harm poured them both a glass of water.

Ten minutes, almost to the second, later the blonde waitress returned and with a friendly smile, subtly different to her professional one, she asked, "Are you ready to order yet?"

"Loren?" Harm invited her.

"Um... yeah... I'm in a kinda Mediterranean mood this evening," she explained with a smile, "So, I'll have Greek Salad followed by the Pan Fried Sea Bass with olives and peppers and wild rice, please."

"Got, it, ma'am," Sandie said as she scribbled on her order pad.

"I'll have the Greek Salad, too, please, to be followed by the vegetarian paella," Harm decided.

"Very good," Sandie agreed, "Anything from the cellar?"

"The Muscadet?" Harm asked Loren.

Loren nodded, "Yeah, that's dry enough to complement the fish – and the paella."

"The Muscadet it is, then," Harm told Sandie.

The couple passed the time waiting for and between courses by discussing plans for tomorrow. Harm wanted to just to sit back and let Loren practice the manoeuvres she had learned in the last few weeks, up to and including by Sunday, recovery from a stall-spin, but the undercurrent of deliberately fostered sexual tension was almost palpable and both Harm and Loren were happy to let it build, even to the extent of dawdling over their meal and then by Loren stating quite calmly that she would like something sweet for dessert.

Harm swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, "What did you have in mind?" he asked.

"Um... I haven't had any for while," Loren mused aloud, "so I was thinking of a slice of Lemon meringue pie..."

Harm blinked, he had been certain that was not what Loren had meant, but..."Yeah, If I remember... you haven't had any of that since our first night here... when we were still in separate rooms, and you kissed me goodnight, on the cheek, outside your room..."

"Oh, yeah..." Loren breathed, "After I shut the door on you... you'll never know just how much I wanted, and dreaded, you knocking on the door..."

"You did?"

"Yeah... and no... I'm glad you didn't, even though I wanted you to, because it would probably have meant the end of our friendship before we ever got properly started!"

"You had no need to worry," Harm confessed, "That simple kiss on the cheek left me so stunned and confused that I was totally incapable of coherent thought or movement for damn near twenty minutes afterwards!"

"Oh... how so?" Loren asked curiously.

"Um... you... uh... showed me more affection that night than Mac had shown me since I returned from flying duties..." Harm said, flushing slightly with embarrassment as he confessed.

"Oh..." Loren said, herself now completely incapable of more coherent thought, and then to cover her confusion, and pleasure at having made such an impact, she looked around and caught Sandie's eye.

"Miss Singer?" the blonde waitress queried as she approached the table.

"A slice of Lemon Meringue Pie, and coffee for two also, please?" Loren asked.

"Certainly. Should I bring two forks?" Sandie smiled.

"No..." Harm started to say but was cut off by Loren.

"Yes, thank you, that's most thoughtful of you." Loren smiled.

Harm sighed, "That's the elevator out for at least a week, at work and at home – for both of us!" he grumbled at Loren.

"Yeah, I know..." she sighed, "But it is just so worth it!"

The pie and coffee arrived, and although Harm hadn't meant to take more than a couple of forkfuls of the former, he quickly rediscovered it's addictive properties, and by the time he sat back to let Loren chase the last few scraps around the dish he had made a significant contribution to its demise. He lifted his coffee cup and smiled as he looked across the table at Loren's face, set in a scowl of concentration as she hunted down the last of the crumbs, determined that not a single one should escape its ordained fate.

Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up and caught his half smile which triggered an answering smile on her face, smoothing out the lines of her concentration, "What?" she asked

"Oh... I was just sitting here and thinking how beautiful you are," Harm answered, taking comfort in the fact that his response wasn't a total lie.

Loren's mouth suddenly went dry, "I think... I think that you... that you'd better take me upstairs... and show me... not just tell me..."

"What about your coffee?" he asked smilingly, indicating her three quarters full cup.

"The hell with the coffee!" she exclaimed, but nevertheless picked up the cup and drained it a single swallow.

"C'mon, Mister Pilot man,quit dragging your feet!" she commanded as she stood.

**Friday 23 March 2001 2247hrs EST****, Room 214, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (240347ZMar01)**

The door almost slammed shut as Harm swept Loren into a fierce embrace and almost devoured her face and neck with hungry, demanding kisses.

"Harm!" Loren exclaimed with a crow of triumph as the edge of the bed caught her behind the knees, and she fell back on it, her arms, locked around Harm's neck dragging him down with her.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 0123hrs EST****, Room 214, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, (240623ZMar01)**

Harm awoke with the feeling that something was wrong, something was missing... No, not something, but someone...

"Loren?" he asked the empty seeming darkness.

"Yeah, I'm here."

Harm turned his head towards the sound, towards the window, where he could make out Loren's silhouette as she stood staring out of the window.

He slipped out of bed and padded silently towards her on bare feet. "Something wrong, sweetheart?" he queried.

She turned slightly towards him, enough light coming in through the window to reveal that she had slipped his shirt on, but hadn't bothered to button it, keeping it closed by the simple expedient of crossing her arms below her breasts. slipping his arms around her waist

"No... nothing really, I just couldn't sleep... so I was just standing here, watching the lights on the lake." Her voice took a dreamy quality as she continued, "Do you remember our first night here, and I was so excited about the view..."

"Yeah, and I was a total ass," he replied slipping his arms about her waist from behind her.

"No... no, you weren't," she breathed, dropping her arms to hold his in place and leaning back against him. "You were absolutely right, about how the view and the... the... the feel of the lake changes with the seasons, look at it now... so many green leaves already, and even a hint of early blossom on one or two trees."

"M 'mm... so I get some credit for that weekend then, do I?" Harm asked.

"Stop fishing for compliments," Loren scolded him gently.

"I will, if you'll come back to bed," Harm said suggestively.

"You are such a smooth talker!" Loren smiled, dropping her hands and twisting to face him, forcing him to release his grasp around her waist. She offered her face for his kiss, and then just shrugged his shirt off her shoulders, Harm sensing the movement, broke the kiss and then his breath caught in his throat as the light outlined her nude body and he took a step back, reaching for Loren's hand and drawing her after him back to the bed.

This time their love-making had none of the frenzied passion of earlier, but was long, lazy, slow, sensual and totally fulfilling.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 0633hrs EST****, Room 214, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA, ****(241133ZMar01)**

Loren woke up to the smell of freshly made coffee and Harm's rich baritone in the shower, belting out a version of Gershwin's 'Summertime' from 'Porgy and Bess'. Smiling she threw off the covers and walked through into the bathroom, slipping behind the shower curtain, the sudden gust of comparatively cold air silencing Harm as he whirled in surprise, the sound of rushing water and his own voice having masked Loren's approach.

"Oh, don't stop!" she protested as he fell silent.

"Got better things to do with my mouth now you're here," he grinned and kissed her lightly on the forehead, "Good morning!"

"Good morning to you too!" she smiled, and then pouted as he stood back – well as far as the shower would let him, and chuckled.

"What's so damn funny?" she grumbled.

"Oh, I was just thinking about the first time we shared a shower!" he exclaimed, "You were so cute, trying to hide behind your hands! How times have changed!"

"Yeah, that's your fault!" she accused him, "You corrupted me!"

"I did?" he queried.

"No..." she shook her head, "but you did make me feel like a woman for the first time in my life. You made me feel that I wasn't ugly, stunted, hideous; that I had nothing to be ashamed of in the way I looked..."

"Oh, Loren..." Harm slipped his arms around her and pulled her in close, just letting her rest her head against his chest.

"No... don't worry, I'm fine now," she strained back against his arms and smiled up into his face, "Honestly, Harm, I'm really, really fine... except for one thing..."

"What's that?" he asked anxiously.

"It's this shower; it really isn't made for two people to share!" she said.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 0851hrs EST****, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (241351ZMar01)**

Harm waited until Loren had dismounted and grabbed her leather jacket and helmet then used his key fob to lock the Lexus. Then together, walking so close to each other that Loren's shoulder bumped against his upper arm they strolled around to the front of the hangar to greet Pop.

"Morning, Pop," they said, almost in chorus.

Pop sniffed in reply and said to Harm, "Damned iffen y'all ain't done and brung another woman with you."

"Hey, what's this?" Loren demanded, not sure whether Pop was joking or not.

"Hell, no... you're alright, it's that other one, wanting to know why there ain't a proper ladies' rest room in the hangar!" Pop spat disgustedly, "Hell, I told her that iffen she wanted bright lights an' make-up mirrors an' such, there was a-plenty of 'em over in the passenger terminal!"

Harm grinned unsympathetically, "Looks like progress is starting to catch up with you,Pop!" he clapped the older man on the shoulder, "Welcome to the twenty-first century!"

"Iffen this is progress, then you can darned well keep it!" Pop grumbled as he shuffled into the hangar's dark recesses, calling for his boys to "Wheel that damned old Stearman out onto the apron!"

Loren looked after him with a bemused expression, "Is it my imagination, or is he getting more and more cantankerous?" she asked.

"Maybe a tad grumpier," Harm half agreed, "So, before he takes his bad mood out any more on us, what say we get suited up and then up into the air?"

"Sounds like a plan," Loren agreed turning and making for the temporary 'Ladie's Room".

When she returned ten minutes later, Harm was confirming the details for the day with Pop, confirming the need, among other things for refuelling at lunch time.

Pop nodded, I reckon we can do that..."

"So... I'll just taxi over to the pumps when I land, and you'll send someone over with the keys, right?" Harm persisted.

"Yeah, got it!" Pop grumbled.

"Hey, Pop, what's up with you this morning. This isn't like you!"

"Aw, hell, son! I'm sorry, it's just that damned woman!"

"What woman, Pop?" Harm asked mystified.

"You rec'llect that Chipmunk Trainer?"

"Yeah... I met the owner last week back in DC... but she seemed OK..."

"Oh, it's not her... No. she's fine enough... it's that damned woman she brung down with her. All airs and damn graces, wanting this, wanting that, wanting a proper ladies' room! Damn it, I tried explaining to her that we didn't exactly have the facilities of Dulles or BWI, but she just went off on one, bitchin' 'about this an' that. I was damn glad when they finally went wheels up!"

Harm winced, but while he could easily sympathise, he wasn't that keen on bearing the brunt of Pop's frustration, "Well, look on the briht side, Pop, if it's a visitor she's brought that's being so picky, what's the odds she'll ever come back?"

"There is that," Pop grudgingly conceded, "but you keep bringing your'n with you!"

"Yeah, but she's not just a visitor any more, is she Pop?" Harm smiled fondly.

Pop looked him in the eye, and then sadly shook his head, "An' another one bites the dust," he said mournfully."

"You old fraud!" Harm grinned, "How long you been married now?"

"Don't rightly know as I c'n recall," Pop took straight-faced refuge in his broadening accent, "But danged iffen it don't seem like a life sentence!"

Harm shook his head,. But seeing the Stearman being wheeled out on to the apron, he clapped Pop on the shoulder, "Well at least I can get one female out of your hair for the morning,. See you later, Pop!"

Loren had already started the pre-flight walk round when he joined her, so he said nothing as he shadowed her while she painstakingly went through the drill he had taught her, nodding in silent approval as she completed each item on her mental check-list. At last she turned to him and said, "Everything looks fine, you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am. After you..."

Harm waited until Loren had settled herself into the front cockpit before climbing into his rear seat, "All set and strapped in?" he queried.

"Yep!" Loren called back over her shoulder.

"OK, wind her up and let's get going!"

Loren thumbed the starter and the engine coughed twice, spat out a plume of oily smoke from the cylinders and caught, settling down into a low throbbing note as Loren adjusted the magnetos.

Harm heard the crackle of static in his headset as she turned on the radio.

"Hello Charlottesville tower, this is Stearman November six, requesting clearance to to taxi to runway one five for take off."

"November Six, this Charlottesville tower, you are cleared for taxi to runway one five. Hold at threshold and call for take-off clearance!"

"November Six, roger."

Loren nudged the the throttle gently forward and the engine note picked up and the yellow bi-plane started to roll along the tarmac, weaving from side to side as Loren plied the rudder to keep her forward view unobstructed by the nose of the aircraft as it headed along the taxi-way.

As always it was with a silent sigh of relief that Loren brought the Stearman to a halt bang in the centre of the runway threshold. She applied the brakes and cut the throttle as she once again called the tower, "Charlottesville Tower, this is Stearman November Six requesting clearance or take-off for western manoeuvre area."

"Roger, November Six. Be aware that there is one other airplane in that area. Climb to Angels eight for transit!"

"Roger, Tower. November Six taking off now!" Loren opened the throttle to the gate and released the brakes. The Stearman rolled down the asphalt gaining speed with every passing second, Loren holding it down as the tail lifted until as the indicated speed passed seventy, she nudged the stick back and the old airplane lifted into the air with an ease that belied its age. Loren held on course zero one five until the plane had reached the stipulated eight thousand feet and then brought it round in a medium tight bank onto a heading of two seven zero, and settled back for the ten minutes it would take them to reach the designated manoeuvre area.

**Saturday, 24 March 2001 0922 hrs EST, Female Orthopaedic Ward, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (241422ZMar01)**

Mac awoke to a dry mouth and the taste and smell of onion. She had become too used, over the past few years, to feeling the after effects of a general anaesthetic to realise immediately that she was in a hospital, and then on top of that realisation, a dawning knowledge that she was in Bethesda and why she was there. Gently, she allowed her hand and tongue to explore her jaw inside and out, and a grin of sheer pleasure broke over her face as she realised that at last the hated wires that had held her lower jaw practically immobile for the last month had gone!

"Good morning, ma'am. How are you feeling?" a laughter filled voice spoke in he ear.

Opening her eyes, Mac turned her head in the direction of that very familiar voice and smiled into Harriet Sim's blue eyes, she tried to return the blonde's greetings but all she could manage was a feeble croak.

Harriet leaned over and retrieved a plastic cup of ice chips from the night stand, and dug out a teaspoon of them, "Here you go, ma'am, but mind the doctor says you're not to try and crunch them!"

Mac gratefully accepted the spoonful of ice and let them rest in her mouth feeling the coldness trickle down her throat as they melted. "Ohhh... Thank you, Harriet," she managed as the last of the ice melted, "and good morning!"

"Good morning again ma'am. I can't tell you how surprised were when we got the call from the hospital last night! I wish you'd told us beforehand, we would have brought you here quite happily."

"M'mm..." Mac managed as she looked at her cast-free but now bandaged left forearm. "Where's my uniform?" she asked plucking at the hospital gown in distaste, and then rubbing her jaw lightly as long unused muscle began to protest.

"Uh... I don't think you should be getting out of bed just yet, ma'am," Harriet protested as Mac started to swing her legs over the side of the bed, only to stop as she tried to stand up. "Wooh! I think... no, I'll be alright in a minute..." Mac said as she fought off a wave of dizziness. "Or maybe not, she said weakly as nausea overtook her, "Is there a bowl?" she asked faintly as she slumped back onto the bed.

"Try sitting up and then putting your head between your knees..." a worried Harriet offered, trying to be helpful.

Mac did as she was advised, but quickly sat up again, her face an interesting shade of pale green, "Nope, not working," she managed and then grabbed for the trash bin that Harriet had hastily thrust at her.

Harriet made a moue of distaste as Mac voided what little was in her stomach into the trash bin and hastily retreated into the hallway where she stopped a passing Corspman and asked for his help.

"I'm sorry, I'm on a detail, but I'll stop at the nurses' station and ask one of them to come and help you out!"

He was as good as his word, in a couple of minutes a nurse, whom Harriet thought she should have recognised, but couldn't figure out how or why arrived at the door to Mac's room.

"How may I help you. Ma'am?"

**Saturday 24 March 2001 0932hrs EST****, 8,000 Feet Over Western Manoeuvre Area, Near Charlottesville, VA, (241432ZMar01)**

Harm switched his microphone to intercom and placed his hands and feet on the controls, "I have control,"

"You have control!" Loren confirmed, releasing the controls.

"OK, remember what we spoke about, about the causes and types of spins?"

"Yeah!"

"OK, well, a quick recap, a spin is caused when both wiongs stall, but when the lower wing in a bank stalls before the upper. Now I'm going to deliberately put us into a spin, and talk you through the recovery. Don't worry about what's happening outside the airplane, keep your eyes on the stick and on the pedals, got it?"

"Got it!"

Harm let the airspeed drop and then turned into a tight bank to port, and once into the turn attempted to tighten by applying hard left rudder.

The port wing stalled as the angle of attack increased, and the nose dropped as the Stearman yawed into a spin.

"Remember PARE." Harm said as the Stearman dropped out of the sky. "Power!" as he reduced the engine revs even more, "Ailerons!" Harm centred the stick so that the ailerons on both wings were in the neutral position. "Rudder!" he pushed on the pedal to apply starboard rudder. "Elevator!" he pulled the stick back until it was centralised in its vertical axis. And almost magically, the old bi-plane straightened up in a shallow dive, and Harm opened the throttle to regain level flight, and then increased the engine revs and pulled back on the stick in order to regain altitude.

"Do you want to try now?" Harm asked.

"Not yet!" Loren replied, "Can you talk us through it again?"

"OK, but this time I'm going to spin to starboard, and I'll try to make the recovery a little faster!"

"Gotcha!" Loren cried.

"OK, here goes!" Hard on the heel of his words, Harm entered into a spin to starboard, and allowing the Stearman to develop a six turn spin, he started the recovery, "Power... Ailerons... Rudder... Elevators!" he called as he applied each measure, and once again the docile old airplane recovered into a shallow dive, and once again Harm increased power and regained altitude.

"Another one?" Harm asked.

"Yes, please!"

Once again Harm deliberately put the Stearman into a spin and recited the PARE mantra, and once again the old lady behaved perfectly, straightening out and flying right.

"OK, Loren, you have control!" Harm told her.

"I have control!" Loren confirmed pushing the throttle forward and pulling back on the stick, climbing until she passed the 8,000 feet indicated on the altimeter.

"Remember how to go into a spin?"

"Yep, low speed, tight bank and apply rudder!" Loren answered.

"OK, it;'s all yours. Go ahead when ready!"

Loren licked her suddenly dry lips, cut the throttle to half speed and turned tightly to starboard, waiting until she was properly in the turn before attempting to tighten it by applying the rudder. It seemed to her now that she was at the controls that the spin developed with frightening speed. Shaking her head, as if to chase away the sudden fear, she shouted, "Power... Ailerons... Rudder... Elevator!" And if her recovery wasn't as slick and smooth as Harm's, it worked and the Stearman responded just as docilely for her as it had for him.

"Well done! Take us back upstairs!" Harm said, "and redo from start!"

"Yes, sir!" Loren's triumphant laugh was definitely adrenalin induced.

Five more times Harm had Loren effect a spin recovery, and then told her to go through another series of straight forward stall recoveries, before he spoke again into his microphone, "OK Loren, nearly time for lunch... take us home!"

"Roger!" Loren flew a wide, gently banked circle as she looked at the ground to pick up a landmark, and identifying a finger of the woods that pointed almost due East, she turned in that direction and set the throttle for cruising revs. Just over nine minutes later she was reward by the sight of the airport and set the radio to broadcast

"Charlottesville Tower, this is Stearman November Six, inbound from Western Manoeuvre Area at Angels eight, course zero eight seven degrees, range estimate four miles."

"Roger, November six keep coming and join left-hand circuit at Angels two, preparatory to landing at Runway one niner five right and call on finals"

"Join left hand circuit at Angels two for runway one niner five right, and call when on final approach, roger!"

Ten minutes later the Stearman's wheels gently kissed the asphalt of the runway as Loren flared her landing to make a perfect three point touchdown, and then basked in Harm's "Nice one!".

Once again though, she sweated through the, to her, still agonising ordeal of taxiing under Harm's instruction to where a bowser stood waiting alongside Pop's hangar. Blipping the throttle to clear each cylinder in turn, she cut the ignition letting the air-screw stutter into stillness before climbing out of her seat and stepping along the lower port wing until she could slide to the ground, where she expected and received her usual post-flight kiss from Harm who had, as usual climbed out of the rear cockpit before she had unstrapped herself from her seat.

He held her lightly by the waist as she rested her hands on the top of his shoulders and smiled down at her. "Well done!" he enthused, "That was a good morning's work!"

"And it felt like it too!" she half-joked, holding out a hand that was visibly shaking, and then she pulled a face, "My legs are doing that too – and my knees feel like jello!" she half complained.

"Well, let's go and get some of Pop's excellent lunch, if they'll support you that far," he indicated the hangar door, no moire than thirty feet distant, "or should I carry you?" he finished with a teasing smile.

"H'mm... decisions... decisions..." Loren appeared to give the matter some serious thought, but then sighed despondently, "No... much as the idea of you carrying me over the threshold appeals to me, I'm not really dressed for the occasion!"

**Saturday 24 March 2001 1211hrs EST****, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (241711ZMar01)**

With their arms comfortably around each other's waist Ham and Loren strolled into the Hangar Office to see that Pop had been joined by none other than Sue MacKenzie, in a Marine Corps flight suit,who turned towards the door as they entered and greeted them with a smile, "Hi, I wondered if I'd see you here today, and then when I landed, I saw the Stearman was gone, so I figured you were up there somewhere!"

"Hello Sue," Harm smiled, "You remember Loren?"

"Of course I do! Ah! Pop, settle an argument for us, please, which of these two is the Navy flier you were praising sky high?"

Pop looked uncomfortable and was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard as he took a slurping gulp from his coffee mug, while Harm and Loren aided his evasion by dragging chairs out and settling themselves at the corners of the desk.

But Sue MacKenzie was a Marine, through and through, and shared some of the attributes of the Corps' mascot, once she had her teeth into something, then like the bulldog, she had no intention of letting go. "Come on Pop, 'fess up," she cajoled the older man.

"Iffen you must know," the old glared at her, "it was..." he took a giant bite of his tuna and mayo sandwich, "hrrmphmm" he mumbled around his mouthful, and with an effort swallowed it. "There, you satisfied now?" he scowled.

Sue pouted, but was forced to laugh when Loren cried, "Oh, nice piece of obfuscation there Pop!"

"Indeed," a grinning Harm endorsed Loren's verdict, "Now will somebody please pass the pass the sandwiches?"

Sandwiches shared out, Harm lurched to his feet once more and poured Loren and he a cup of coffee, and paused looking meaningfully at Sue before he replaced the carafe back on the warm plate.

"No! Uh... I mean, no, no more for me thank you!" Sue corrected herself hastily.

"So..." Harm sat down again, I understand you had a passenger with you?"

"'Had' is the right tense, thank God!" Sue exclaimed, and seeing the amused yet slightly puzzled expressions on Harm and Loren's faces went on to explain, "I was incautious enough to mention on Thursday that I was going flying this weekend, and my OIC, Major Velasquez overheard me, and more or less invited herself along." She paused and gave a slight shrug, "You know how that goes!"

Harm grimaced in sympathy, "Yeah, it's kinda hard to say 'no' when it's your boss!"

Sue nodded gloomily but then grinned, "Anyway it all ended for the best. I don't know what she expected but what she found certainly didn't match her expectations. Neither the facilities, nor the airplane suited her, and the minute I put the brakes on, she was up, out and into her car and away!"

"For God's sake, it's a general aviation hangar, just what did she expect?" Harm asked.

"From her comments, something akin to Dulles and a seven fifty seven... Oh, excuse me, I'd better get this..." Sue broke off the conversation as it was interrupted by the strains of the Marine Corps Hymn as interpreted by Nokia, and retrieved her cell phone from the breast pocket of her flight suit.

"MacKenzie... Oh, hi, Sarah... Oh! That's great news! When are they letting you out? Wow! That's quick! No... I'm out of town at the moment, but I'll be back in DC this evening. I'll give you a call. Yeah, sounds good to me! I bet you are!" she laughed, "OK, I'll call you 'bout nineteen thirty hours!" She closed her 'phone and turned a beaming face towards Harm and Loren. "That was Sarah, my cousin..." she looked at their blank faces, "You know, Colonel MacKenzie... Mac?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Loren stammered, "It's just we're so not used to her being called anything other than 'Mac' or 'ma'am' that it took a few seconds for us to make the connection!"

Harm nodded his agreement and then frowned, "Hey, how come you could understand her on the 'phone, it's difficult enough sometimes face to face!"

"Oh, why...? Oh, of course the wires! No, that was what she was calling about. She's in Bethesda and they've taken the wires out and taken her arm out of plaster. I guess she's a fast healer! They're releasing her a bit later this afternoon and she wanted to know if I was up for joining her in a celebratory steak! She says she starving for real, solid food!

"Yeah, I'll bet!" Harm grinned. "You wouldn't believe how much that woman can eat, and never put on a pound! She says its due to a great metabolism! And the junk she eats too!" Harm shook his head regretfully, "Mac's idea of haute cuisine is a Beltway Double Cheeseburger with everything, a super size fries and a double thick chocolate milk-shake!"

"That is so gross! And so unfair!" Loren lamented, "If I so much as look sideways at anything like that, I'm rubber banding my skirt button for at least two weeks before I'm back to normal size!"

"Oh... well... I wouldn't say it was gross..." Sue said, "Sounds like a pretty good snack to me." she took a look at the horrified expressions on Harm and Loren's faces, and then burst into laughter, "Only joking, it's not a snack, it's a pretty substantial meal, it would certainly do me for a dinner!"

"Yeah, but Mac eats that for lunch!" Harm retorted.

Pop looked at his three clients, and at the expressions on their faces and burst into wheezing laughter.

"Not funny, Pop!" Harm complained.

"Yep it is! And it's your own fault for distracting me! I misremembered, but this arrived in the mail while you were up this morning!" He handed Loren a slim brown envelope. She took it and her eyes widened as she read the return address.

"Harm... it... it's... it's from Mike..." she faltered, "You open it, please!"

"But it might be your results," he demurred, "Don't you want to read them yourself?"

"No," she shook her head, "I'm too nervous!"

Harm looked askance at her, "Just open the damned thing, Harm, please!"

Harm sit the enveloped open and pulled out the single sheet of paper it contained and unfolded it. He read it through carefully, twice, deliberately prolonging Loren's agony. The he shook his head mournfully.

"For Christ's sake Harm! Tell me!" she pleaded.

"Oh, Loren, Loren... You only scored ninety two per cent..."

"Oh crap!" she burst out, and her face fell, "I thought I did so well... wait a minute! You son of a bitch!" she erupted, exploding out of he chair, "Ninety two per cent! I'll..."

Whatever threat she might have been about to offer, and Harm was pretty sure it was going to be a threat, was cut off as he threw his arms about her in a hug, lifted her off her feet and kissed her thoroughly, not breaking the kiss until the need for air drove them apart. He put her down on her feet and laughed delightedly.

"Yeah, ninety two per cent! Loren Singer! I am so proud of you!"

Loren laughed right back at him, although she was till red-faced, "Ninety two per cent!" she almost danced on the spot.

"Yeah – and that's an 'A' in anyone's book!" Harm grinned.

"Yeah, it is!" Loren agreed with huge grin, "Ninety two per cent, wow!"

sue looked on in amusement, "Ninety two per cent of what?" she asked.

"Ground school – Stage One!" Harm enthused, "Conducted by an FAA certified Flight Instructor! So it's official!"

Sue grinned even more broadly and thrust a hand in Loren's direction, "Congratulations, Loren! Now I know who Pop was bigging up to me last week. Well done!"

**Saturday, 24 March 2001 1322 hrs EST, Female Orthopaedic Ward, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (241822ZMar01)**

"Now, remember Colonel no hard food for at least ten days, let your muscles get used to chewing again before you put any stress on the bone. So, no steaks, no hard candy, no apples or pears. Soft fruit, peaches, bananas are OK. Soft food, soft bread, ground beef or lamb, chicken is OK so long as it's moist, and in small pieces, deep pan pizzas, yes; thin crust probably no. No hard cookies..."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks Doc," a disappointed Mac grumbled. "Are you sure about the no steaks thing?" she asked plaintively.

"Absolutely!" Commander Pike told her sternly.

"But ground beef is OK?" she asked.

"Yes, ground beef dishes are fine, anything like lasagne or moussaka ..."

"What about burgers?"

"Yes, burgers are OK," Pike conceded.

Mac turned to Harriet in delight, "See, now when Harm complains as soon as he sees me with a Beltway Burger bag – and you know he will – I can cite doctor's orders!"

Commander Pike grinned ruefully and said to Harriet, "I've just been played, haven't I?"

"Yes, sir. I think you have!" the blonde lieutenant agreed.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 1344hrs EST****, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (241844ZMar01)**

Sue had gone to take the Chipmunk up again, saying she need to clear her head after a stressful morning hearing her OIC complain about everything, leaving Harm and Loren to decide what to do for the afternoon. Harm suggested a cross-country flight that would help Loren sharpen her navigational skills, and as a reward for passing her ground school. They could carry on with the training tomorrow, he argued, but after achieving such results, to condemn her to an afternoon of circuits and bumps would be unkind.

Loren had grinned at the prospect but had warned him, "Don't think that by turning me up sweet that you're off the hook about winding me up like that!".

Sunset would be a minute or two before nineteen thirty hours, and Harm wanted to be back, wheels down, before then, so that left them about six hours from now.

They pored over an aerial chart, plotting a route with timings and course changes that would bring them back to Charlottesville with sufficient fuel on board to divert if necessary,

"OK then," Harm said as he wrote down the course headings and timings, "We'll call this Navex One, from here more or less West to Staunton, and the North by North East to Hagerstown, then West again to Cumberland, then South South East to Augusta and then South all the way down to Harrisonburg and then South east back to here. Don't forget to convert grid headings to magnetic headings before you plot them on your thigh pad, together with mileage and speed, so you'll know when to change course if landmarks are clouded over.

"What altitude, Harm? I was thinking of six thousand, that's low enough to identify landmarks, but high enough to increase range of vision."

"Yeah it's as good as any. Now, I've got to take this over to the tower and file out flight plan, that is if you've finished?" Harm said as Loren plied dividers and checked their readings against the scale bar at the bottom of the chart.

"Oh yeah, I'm just working out the course corrections from Grid to Mag, but I've got all the way points noted."

"OK, I'll be back in ten!"

Harm was as good as his word and returned to find Loren immersed in a thorough pre-flight check. Unlike this morning when he had been content to let her do the pre-flight without supervision he stopped her about a quarter of the way through, "Loren, I don't want you think I don't trust you, but this is the longest hop you'll have done to date. So let's go back to the beginning of the pre-flight, I want to double check everything and make sure we haven't missed even a moth hole in the fabric!"

Loren felt a twinge of disappointment, but Harm had told her the story of his and Mac's forced landing and their subsequent encounter with murderous poachers, so fighting back any resentment she might have felt, she returned to the port wing and started her check again, this time with Harm ensuring that between them they missed nothing that could possibly affect their flight.

Harm even went so far as to open the tools and spares box he now carried in the baggage stowage and made sure he had a full set of spare plugs, fuel pipes and oil pipes and the means to fit them, and then startled Loren by taking his Browning from the rear of his waist band and placing that in the tool box too.

Seeing her surprised look, he grinned sheepishly, "I don't expect to need it, but just in case..."

"Yeah, I know," to his surprise Loren grinned back, "Prepare for the worst, that way you cut down on unpleasant surprises!"

"You've been talking to too many fighter jocks!" he accused her.

"Only the one," she grinned.

"Oh yeah, and who was?" that he teased.

"Never did catch his real name... "she said thoughtfully, "but I met him in Falls Church a few months ago... not a bad looking guy," she added ruminatively.

"Gonna get you for that!" he cautioned her.

"Oh no, Mister Pilot Man, I still owe you real big time for that stunt with the ground school results. And like you keep telling me, payback's a bitch!"

Harm chuckled and shook his head, "Go on, get on up there!"

Once they were both settled into their respective seats, Harm flicked the radio to intercom,."OK Loren, light her up!" before he switched back to broadcast and called the tower.

Requests made and clearances obtained the little yellow bi-plane rolled out down the runway and eased into the air with Loren at the controls. Reaching six thousand feet, she made a gentle bank to starboard and settling on the heading scribbled on her thigh-pad she turned west and made for Staunton.

Pop watched them go, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun as the Stearman faded into a black speck in the distance and eventually disappeared into the wild blue yonder.


	39. Chapter 39

**39**

**Saturday 24 March 2001 1842hrs EST, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (242342ZMar01)**

Thanks to a tail wind Loren brought the Stearman into the landing pattern at Charlottesville some fifteen minutes ahead of schedule and judged her final approach so that she was able to flare out for a three point landing almost as soon as the yellow bi-plane crossed the runway threshold. Easing the throttle back to just above idling revolutions she let the airplane roll out down the length of the runway and then blipping the engine and pushing on the rudder pedals she taxied in characteristically weaving pattern back to Pop's hangar.

They were meet at the hangar door by Mike, one of Pop's boys, a forty-something former Air Force ground crewman, as most of Pop's crew were, who marshalled the Stearman practically to the hanger door before giving Loren the cut-out sign by drawing his hand across his throat. Loren turned the key in the ignition, sat back for an instant and closed her eyes before pushing her flying helmet up off her sweating forehead, and groaning, operated the quick release buckle on her seat harness before climbing out of the cockpit and down the wing into Harm's waiting arms. To her confusion, her legs threatened to buckle under her as her feet hit the asphalt, "Whooh!" she grinned, grateful for Harm's physical support, "What just happened?"

"Are you alright?" Harm interrupted, his face as well as his voice expressing his concern.

"Yeah... I think... My legs just went a bit wobbly, is all!" Loren said through her blushes.

"Oh... OK, you're probably just tired. Look, go get changed out of your flight gear while Mike," he indicated the grinning mechanic, "and I put Sarah to bed."

"Yeah... I think I will..." Loren agreed, "but not until I get my kiss!"

"Kiss, what kiss?"

"I get a kiss after every flight. Remember?" Loren challenged, her eyes alight with laughter.

"I don't remember seeing that in any contract," Harm demurred.

"It became an implicit clause as soon as we spent out second weekend here!" Loren explained.

"Oh... in that case, c'mere, you!" Harm scooped her up and kissed very thoroughly so that by the time he let her feet back on the floor Loren was feeling weak-kneed for a very different reason and her face was bright crimson, and glowed even more when she caught sight of Mike's grinning face, as he waited by the wing root to help Harm push the Stearman into the hangar.

With an angry kitten glare at Harm, Loren fled to the comfort and privacy of the makeshift changing room where she could repair the damage to her appearance and her feelings at the same time.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 1905hrs EST, Parking Lot, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive Charlottesville, VA, (250005ZMar01)**

Loren glanced across at Harm as he applied the emergency brake, knocked the gear selector into 'Park' and finally turned the key in the ignition. "What now?" she queried.

"Shower, dinner, de-brief and bed – in any order you like." Harm offered.

"Well... the shower's definitely a first!" Loren said decisively, "Then... how about the de-brief and then dinner, and then we could think of something to pass the rest of the night... like sleep!"

Harm nodded, "Yep, sounds like a plan!"

Loren said nothing, but shot him an old-fashioned look, uncertain as to whether he was really agreeing to her idea or whether he was somehow, subtly, poking fun at her.

Still uncertain, she climbed down from the Lexus and waited for Harm to lock the vehicle, allowing him to slip his arm around her waist as they walked together through the hotel main door.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 1952hrs EST, Residents' Lounge, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive Charlottesville, VA, (250052ZMar01)**

Harm's hair was still damply plastered to his head as he and Loren sat on one of the lounge's couches and spread the chart and Loren's notepad on the coffee table in front of them.

"OK," he began, "What went right and what went wrong with the flight?"

Loren frowned, not quite sue what Harm's point was, "Well... what went right was that we made it to Hagerstown and back, and roughly according to the flight plan you filed."

"We did... but what if I was to say to you. That what went wrong with the flight was that we made it to Hagerstown and back, roughly in accordance with my flight plan."

"I'm... I'm not sure what you mean..." Loren said after considering his words

"The key word in both our summations is 'roughly'," Harm explained. "Why didn't the flight go exactly according plan The visibility was good throughout, there were no mechanical problems, so what do you think might have happened. Remember we were slightly off plan even before we got to Staunton."

Loren pondered, "Yeah... I don't get it. I mean, I know I was off course, but I plotted the course on the map. I checked the headings and I double checked when I converted the map bearings to compass bearings... I kept an eye on the compass, and it was dead set on the heading I noted before take-off...so unless the compass needs re-calibrating, or whatever, I don't know..." she shrugged apologetically.

Harm smiled reassuringly, "Don't beat yourself up over it Loren. You flew the course as well as anyone could given the information you had. The one thing you didn't take into consideration at either the planning stage or during the flight itself was the wind!"

"Wind?" Loren asked on rising note.

"Yep, that was a pretty brisk norther blowing up at six thousand, and because you weren't aware of it, you failed to account for drift. Let me put it this way, while you thought you were flying straight ahead towards Staunton, you were actually skidding diagonally across the sky. You weren't sliding south too much, but enough so that you had to adjust before you turned north to Hagerstown/"

"Damn!" Loren was annoyed with herself, "We covered drift in ground school with Mike, too!"

Harm nodded, "Yeah, I thought you might have. Now, with this afternoon's experience behind you, what do you think you might do to prevent a recurrence?"

Loren shook her head disgustedly, "Get a full report from the weather gremlins before planning cross country flights! But how do you know how much to offset a course? I mean, if there's a wind blowing, that is pushing, against the side of the airplane, surely it will be different for each type. For example the Stearman is about the same length as Lieutenant MacKenzie's 'plane..."

"The Chipmunk," Harm supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, whatever," Loren snapped, "But the Stearman has a deeper fuselage than that Chipmunk, right? So it will drift more if both are flying the same direction at the same speed at the same altitude?"

"Yep, that's true. And unfortunately, only experience will teach you, in time, how much you need to adjust to compensate for drift. So... anything else that might have happened to make the flight less than perfect?"

"Uh... no... not that I can think of, but then again," she glowered at Harm, "I didn't set the flight up so I would fail!"

"No more did I," Harm grinned, "I set it up as an object lesson, and I'll bet a good dinner that it's one you won't forget in a hurry! And going back to my question, there was nothing else wrong with the flight; you did damn good. I'm proud of you!""

Loren blushed with pleasure at Harm's praise, but still warned him, "You really are piling up the score, Harm!"

"Score?" He asked blandly.

"Yeah, embarrassing me back at the hangar, and then tricking me over the drift, thing. I will get my pay back! Maybe not to day, maybe not tomorrow, but some day soon! And you are going to pay for dinner tonight!"

"I am, am I?" Harm smiled. "In that case, shall we?"

"Yes, let's!" Loren smiled in return, and standing held her hand out to Harm.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 1942hrs EST, Restaurant, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive Charlottesville, VA, (250042ZMar01)**

Angela Williams looked across the table when she heard the clatter of a dropped fork, and saw her husband's face turn pale, "What's wrong honey?"

Bobbie Williams gulped, "Uh... they're here...again..."

"Who are 'they'?" Angela asked.

"C...Commander Rabb... and his fi...fiancée

Angela closed her eyes briefly, "Alright, if they see us, we acknowledge them – that's all. If not, then we pretend that we haven't seen them either!"

"You don't think I ought o go and apologise?"

"No, I don't think so, I know so!" Angela told her husband decisively.

"Um... well... it would certainly be less embarrassing..."

"Yes, it would. So eat your dinner, drink your wine, and let's get out of here. I didn't drive all this way to see you fidget in a dining chair all night!"

Harm had indeed seen Robert Williams and a woman he supposed to be his wife, but he was not in the slightest bit inclined to be sociable to the junior officer. In fact he had tried his best to put their last encounter out of his mind, and now to see the other man here was almost enough to put a damper on his evening. However, he had no wish to have Loren upset, so carefully ignoring the other couple, he seated Loren at their table and poured them both a glass of water while they waited for Sandie to bring them their menus.

"So... we've got a little over three months, and I haven't seen you stressing yet," Harm said lightly.

"What's there to stress about?" Loren asked, "You've booked the Church – the Episcopalian Church just around the corner from JAG, right?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But nothing. We're going small scale, right? Nothing extravagant, right again?"

"Yeah and yeah... but what about flowers, invitations, favours and... and... and all that other stuff?"

"You've chosen your best man, haven't you?"

"Yeah, Jack Keeter, but we're waiting to see if he can get leave for that weekend. What about your bridesmaids?"

"Bridesmaid, well, Maid of Honour, really – Carolyn."

"Carolyn Imes?"

"Yeah, she's the nearest thing I've got for a friend at JAG. I mean, We'll more or less have to invite the others; I'm not particularly fond of Harriet Sims, but you're their kid's Godfather, and Bud is your friend, so we'll invite them. Meg is a given..."

"Even after...?"

"Especially after that!" Loren blushed as she remembered just how much out of proportion she had blown that whole thing.

Harm nodded, and then said tentatively, "Mac? I know you two aren't exactly the best of friends but..."

Loren hesitated, "Yeah, but...If we're inviting all the other JAG officers, then it would be too pointed an insult not to invite her. And she has recently made peace overtures... I know this might sound a bit callous, but I think the beating she got might just have made her think she is not superwoman after all, and that she needs friends around he too. Face it Harm, for six, maybe seven years, she's had very little social interaction with anybody at JAG except you and the Roberts. That's all changing, and it's going to change even more. While she and you were together – even if only as a platonic couple – then the two of you could socialise with the Roberts on a more or less equal footing. Now you're not available to squire her around, she's the proverbial fifth wheel, and I've got a sneaking suspicion that she's beginning to realise that."

"Are you saying that I should stop being her friend?" Harm asked in surprise.

"No. No, I'm not. I will never try to tell you who you should have as a friend. I should hope that your friends will become my friends too, and if there are one or two among them that I really can't like, then I shall put myself in their way as little as possible, and try to be polite to them when I must meet them. But as far as Mac is concerned, unless she's gone on her TAD, then, yeah, we invite her too!""

Harm nodded, "That sounds fair. What about your friends, who do you want to invite?

Loren laughed, "Harm, I'm worse off than Mac, I don't have any friends at all! Apart from Carolyn, maybe, and hey, that's my fault!"

Harm winced inwardly, "You're opening up to people, Loren, but we still need to give 'em time. They'll come round!"

"You sound so very certain of that!" Loren said with a wistful sigh.

"I'm as certain of that, as I am that Sandie's on her way here with the menu!" Harm joked.

Loren looked over her shoulder and smiled as the young waitress approached the table and then did a double take and gasped, "Harm! Isn't that the guy who wanted to accuse you of fraternisation?"

"Yeah, it is. I spotted him earlier. But if he doesn't approach us, then I'm happy with that. I'm just going to pretend that we haven't seen them!"

Loren looked doubtful, "Running away? You?"

"Not running away, sweetheart, just getting a bit more picky about my friends and about what fights I choose!"

Loren looked at him sideways, "Yeah... riiiight!"

Harm's opportunity for a rejoinder was lost as Sandie stepped up to the table, "Good evening, folks. Your menus, shall In get you anything form the bar? A mineral water, perhaps?"

"Yes, thank you, that'll be good," Harm smiled.

Sandie left them the menus and with a smile turned away to head for the bar, to return some five minutes later.

"Are you ready to order?"

"Yes... Loren?"

"Yeah, I'll have the smoked fish platter starter, followed by the vegetable risotto, please."

Harm nodded, "OK, I'll start with the mushroom and truffled herb salad, with the Aubergine and chick peas, and a side of wild rice for the entrée."

Sandie noted their choices, "Anything from the cellar?"

"Uh... we've got some pretty strong flavours here... so... how about the Muscadet?" Harm asked Loren.

Loren thought for a moment, "Yeah, OK, it's sharp enough to cut through.. yeah," she smiled up at Sandie, "The Muscadet it is, please..."

The Muscadet did go well with their meal choices, Loren in particular enjoying its crisp dryness as a counter to her smoked fish platter. The trout, and other fish were easily recognisable, but she looked in some doubt at what she'd been told was smoked eel until she took a cautious bite of it. Her face assumed an expression of bliss and she swallowed and said, "Oh Harm! This is... this is out of this world! You gotta try it!"

Harm was as reluctant as Loren, but he couldn't resist her appeal so, just as cautiously as she had tried it, he took a small portion on his fork and conveyed it to his mouth. He chewed tentatively and then as the flavour erupted on his palate, his eyes opened in surprise, and he nodded enthusiastically, "Oh wow! Yeah, that is special!"

Sandie served them with her usual calm, smiling efficiency, never intruding, but quick to spot empty plates which she removed without disrupting Harm and Loren's flow of conversation, which for the most part was still concentrated on arrangements for their wedding. The only point of disagreement being Loren's refusal to wear a wedding dress.

"It's not that I'm going to wear my Dress Whites," she stated, "I do want to look like a woman on my wedding day, but I am not going to end up looking like a meringue. A simple, off-white, maybe cream or ivory, dress, and a chaplet of forest flowers..." she paused as Harm smiled fondly.

"Yeah... you always were the forest flower type... It was one of the first thing I noticed about you, the way you always wore a perfume that smelled of flowers, but nothing too heavy."

"M'mm... I remember that bouquet you brought along on our first date... and then you packed the room here with forest flowers the night before we went up to your Grandmother's place. You know, looking back on that weekend, if you hadn't proposed after that floral display, I think I would have killed you!"

Harm looked startled until he detected the glint of amusement in her eyes, "OK, you got me!" he admitted.

"Yeah? Let me tell you something, mister; it ain't over yet, 'I have not yet begun to fight!'" Loren quipped.

Harm reached across the table and picked up her hand, and leaning forward he dropped a kiss on her knuckles, "Just as long as you don't give up the ship!"

"Oh, I don't think I'll do that, it's probably still salvageable!" Loren agreed smugly, retrieving her hand and returning her attention to her plate.

**Saturday 24 March 2001 2005hrs EST, the Pacif****ic C****af****é**** an****d Grill, Penn****sylvania AVE, SE, Washington DC, (250105ZMar01)**

Raoul Hernandez lifted his eyes from the menu and stared across the table at his dinner companion, "How did we end up here?" he asked.

"Well, we wanted somewhere that was pretty handy, so we wouldn't have to trek clear across town, and we decided we wanted something more than pizza and suds, you wanted steak, and I wanted seafood, so we hit on this place so we both could get what we want," Julia replied with an innocent smile.

"No! That's not what I meant!" Raoul replied, and a hint of grim humour showed in his voice, "And you damn' well know it! What I meant is how come we're out having dinner together?"

"What, like on a date?" Julia asked.

"Yeah... uh... I mean no... I mean..."

"Oh Raoul, anybody would think you didn't want to be here with me," Julia gulped, her emerald eyes looking suspiciously moist to Raoul.

"Oh... no... I don't mean that... please, Lance... uh... Julia, don't cry." Raoul's words fell off his tongue in a tangle.

"So, you are happy to be here with me?" Julia asked, her face transformed from the picture of woe of a moment before into a dazzling smile.

"Dammit, Julia! Don't keep doing that to me!" Raoul complained. "Of course I enjoy being with you; I just don't understand how we... well..." he floundered to a stop and glared at her, "Why?"

"Well, yesterday afternoon, I asked you if you had any plans for the weekend, you said no, so I suggested we meet for a drink, and then you said it was the guy's place to do the inviting, so I told you to go ahead, and you did. You invited me out for dinner!" Julia said ingenuously.

"Oh..." Raoul Hernandez, the veteran USMC Sergeant had a sneaking suspicion that somewhere along the line he had been outmanoeuvred by the petite blonde smiling at him from the other side of the table.

He waited until the waitress had taken their orders, and then turned back to Julia, "So... why did you handle me so that I would invite you out?"

"Um... I don't think I did, well not on purpose. I invited you out for a beer because I like spending time with you...and I enjoyed the wet down when we danced together. You're a good man Raoul Hernandez, and there ain't that many around." She shrugged, "I like you, and I guess I'm a sucker for a man in uniform," she grinned.

Raoul shook his head, "Even when it's the same uniform you wear?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way!" she assured him.

Raoul studied Julia, "OK... I kinda like you too... but if we're on duty and you screw the pooch, I will chew your ass, same as I would any other Marine!"

"Like I said, I wouldn't have it any other way – and besides that would be on the job, not personal; a night out with someone I like is!"

**Saturday 24 March 2001 2015hrs EST, the Good Stuff Eatery****, Capitol Hill****, Washington DC, (250115ZMar01)**

"Are you sure your doctor said burgers were alright?" Sue asked for maybe the twelfth time that evening.

"M'mm..." Mac mumbled through a mouthful of the Colletti's Smokehouse Burger, loaded with Vermont Cheddar, Onion Rings and Chipotle sauce. Sue could only look on in amazement as Mac almost inhaled her second burger of the evening, together with its attendant side orders of fries and coleslaw.

"I realise you're just making up for lost time, but where the hell do you put it all? You're a little older than me, but you're just as slim, how the hell do you manage to eat like that, and keep your figure?"

Mac swallowed, wiped her lips with a paper napkin and smiled beatifically, "I just have a great metabolism!" she declared, "Besides this is the first solid food I've had in a month!"

"Great?" Sue echoed, "You mean damned incredible!"

"Yep, just lucky I guess," Mac retorted sticking a straw into her double thick extra chocolate milk shake, while Sue just shuddered.

**Sunday 25 March 2001 0915hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA, (250135ZMar01)**

"Morning Pop," Harm hailed him cheerfully as he and Loren walked out of the bright spring morning into the relative darkness of the Hangar.

"Morning," Pop grunted, he squinted at the couple, "What ya got in mind fer today?" he asked.

"Touch and go for a couple of hours this morning," Harm replied as Loren grimaced and groaned silently, "then some free practice this afternoon. A bit of playtime before we head back to DC!"

"Dunno as how folk kin live up there!" Pops commented before going on to ask, "Whut time did y'all git back last night?"

"A little before nineteen hundred, we had a tail wind all the way back from Hagerstown..."

"But a head wind all the way up, huh? So... I reckon she'll need refuelling afore you take her up again."

"I reckon that too, Pop." Harm agreed cheerfully.

"OK... go ahead and wait in the office while I get one of my boys to fill her up, he'p yourself to some coffee... it's fresh brewed, an' if you've gotten a mind to it, I've gotten your bill ready for you."

"Well, I won't say that I've particularly got a mind to it, but if the bill is ready, then yeah, let's get it settled!"

"Yeah, go on ahead, I'll be with you in a minute!"

Loren declined the offer of Pop's purple poison, saying that she'd rather keep the memory of the Boar's Head's breakfast coffee for as long as she could, and opted to take the time to change into her flying clothes. She returned to the office just as Pop finished swiping Harm's credit card through the old-fashioned manual press he favoured over more modern devices.

"So, Pop," Harm was saying as he entered the office, "Taking into account today's likely hours, she's due for her twenty four service, and renewed FAA certificate of Airworthiness. Do all the routine servicing, but call in if there's any problems, OK?"

Pop nodded, "Yep, shouldn't be though. She's a good old gal, an' you pay to keep her straightened up and flying right, so it's up to me to make sure she does!"

"Hey, I do my bit too!" Harm protested half laughingly.

"Waal, you used to," Pop drawled, "but your hands-on time has taken a knock back this last coupla months!"

Harm looked at the older man, "You're right..." he admitted as he realised that he had been having so much fun teaching Loren that he'd kept the Stearman in the air for every minute he could, rather than spend time with it on the ground. "But, she's flying for two, now Pop!"

The old man's face creased into a grin as he glanced over at the now-blushing Loren, "Yeah, I reckon she is at that!" he chuckled, then as a knock came at the door, he turned towards, "Yeah?"

One of the 'boys' stuck his head round the edge of the door, "The Stearman's all gassed up, boss!"

"Thanks Richie," Harm said getting to his feet, "You ready, Loren?"

"As ready as I'll ever be!" she smiled, although traces of red still showed in her cheeks, and nodding a farewell to Pop she turned and walked with Harm out of the office into the hangar and then out on to the apron.

Loren automatically started her walk-round, visually check the fabric of the port wing for any tears, testing the tension on the flying and landing wires, and checking the play on the control surfaces before squatting by the side of the engine looking for leaks, and checking the condition of pipes, lines and hoses as well as looking carefully at unions, seals and gaskets. Satisfied with what she'd seen she rose from her crouch and walked around the front of the 'plane checking the two bladed airscrew for any signs of chips or stress lines that might indicate a potential failure, before moving on the starboard wing and eventually on to the tailplane where once again she checked the amount of free play in rudder and elevators.

"Pre-flight check complete!" she told Harm who had carefully stood back, watching her progress, but far enough away so that she wouldn't have the feeling he was second guessing her. His face creased in a smile of approval, he walked forward, tugging on his helmet as he did so, "OK, then, up with you, and let's get this show into the air!"

Loren, however stood her ground, reaching fir his hands. He stopped, a questioning look on his face as he let her take both of his hands in hers while she looked up at him. "Harm, are you getting broody?" she asked him.

"Huh? No, not at all, why?"

"Well, we both want kids, but for myself just not yet, I'd kinda like to get used to there being the two of us before introducing a little stranger into the mix, and..."

"Hey, are you still not used to there being two of us?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, I am. I am, but... I'd kinda like a honeymoon period after the wedding... but if you really want to start a family straight off, then I guess that's something I... we... could look at."

"I'm not in that much of a hurry, sweetheart, but why bring this up now? I though we'd settled it on Friday?"

"Well... it was you asking on Friday was I pregnant... and then just now there was all that 'flying for two', and I guess I kinda wondered whether it was some sort of Freudian slip, and you were getting impatient..."

"No, not me! Like I said when we first got engaged and talked about having kids, it's your body, and your timetable. I'm fine with that!"

Loren nodded, and then bit her lip, "This is going to sound so bad, but I really do want to wait until after we're married. Before I get pregnant again, I need to know that the father is going to be there with me every step of the way!"

Harm looked thunderstruck, "Loren, I will be with you every step of the way through any and all pregnancies and child rearing, even if we do decide to have that football team after all!"

"Oh!" Loren blushed even as she chuckled, "That is definitely not going to happen!" and then she sobered again, "Harm, I _know_ here," she laid her hand on her breast, that you would never desert me, but I still need to _feel_ it up here!" she tapped the side of her head.

Harm smiled, noting the twist and the slight emphasis she'd placed on the verbs in her last sentence, "I think I get it," he said, "and I can wait for as long as it takes for you to be ready!"

"You sure?" Loren queried, desperate for confirmation.

"I'm sure about waiting for you to decide you want babies, I'm not sure about waiting for you to haul your six up into that front cockpit!" he grinned.

"Aye, aye, sir!" Loren grinned back at him as her heart soared free, and gave him the grossest caricature of a salute that he had ever seen.

"G'wan, git!"

Loren scrambled up onto the wing, but as she threw her leg over the cockpit rim she turned her head and saw Harm still on the ground and grinning appreciatively at her. Once again blushing bright red, she finished seating herself in the cockpit, and adjusted her helmet and headset. Craning her neck she could just see that Harm had donned his helmet, and fuming with embarrassment, she flipped the radio switch to the 'on' position.

Harm heard the crackle in his ears as Loren's voice rang loud and clear, "You pervert! I've just figured out why you always wait for me to emplane first! You just like drooling at my butt!"

Before Harm could reply, there was a second's worth of static as a microphone pressel switch was held down, "Unknown callsign, this is Charlottesville Tower, be advised that you are on broadcast and not intercom. Repeat, you are on broadcast not intercom!"

There was an instantaneous click in Harm's ears and then Loren's voice in a suffocated giggle, "Oh, crap! I didn't... I mean did they hear..."

"Yep, I reckon so," Harm replied fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice. "You'd best let me handle the tower from here on in. Just start her up, please!"

Loren hastily completed her pre-flight instrument checks and started the engine, which gave its customary two coughs and then roared into life, its bellow reduced to a rumble as Loren altered the settings. Harm thumbed his radio switch back to 'Broadcast'

"Hello Charlottesville Tower, this is Stearman November Six. Advising of change to flight plan. No longer require touch and go, am now heading for Western Manoeuvre Area for individual aerobatics, over."

"Roger November Six, amendment to flight plan noted."

"Thank you Tower, November Six requesting clearance to taxi to runway one niner five, over."

"Roger, go ahead, November Six. Advise when you are at threshold, over."

Harm flipped the switch back to intercom, "You got that, Loren?"

"Yeah, hold onto your hat!" With that Loren knocked off the brakes and advanced the throttle until the Stearman started to roll along the taxi-way. As usual Loren was forced to make the bi-plane weave from side to side so that she could see what lay ahead in their path, and again it was with a feeling of relief and an awareness of sweat trickling down between her breasts and shoulder blade that she brought the airplane to a quivering halt at the runway's threshold.

Harm flipped back to broadcast, "Charlottesville Tower, this is Stearman November Six, holding at threshold one niner five, requesting clearance for take off and transit to Western Manoeuvre Area."

"Stearman November Six, hold at threshold, repeat, hold at threshold. You have a second airplane on final approach to runway one niner five!"

"Roger, Tower." Harm replied, and then craned his neck to watch the other airplane, a Cessna Corvalis, pass low overhead and then land, with a triple puff of smoke from its tricycle landing gear, some hundred or so yard up the runway, decelerating to taxiing speed.

A crackle in his headset brought his attention back matters in hand, "Hello November Six, this is Charlottesville Tower, you are now cleared for take off and transit to Western Manoeuvre Area. Be advised that there is one other aircraft operating over the Western Manoeuvre Area, over."

"November Six, Roger. One other aircraft over WMA. Out."

Harm flipped his microphone switch to intercom, "Did you hear that Loren?"

"Yep, sure did!"

"OK, take us up to Angels five and then steer two seven seven four"

"Angels five and two seven four, aye!" Loren acknowledge and nudged open the throttle, while the engine's sound changed, growing louder and allowing the Stearman to roll at ever increasing speed down the runway until its wings bit the air and the veteran bi-plane rose into the sky.

Loren stayed on her heading of zero one five until the Stearman reached the desired altitude of five thousand feet, at which point she brought the airplane round in a forty five degree bank and settled on the new heading of two seven four.

"Change of plan, Loren," Harm said over the intercom, "We're going to have some playtime, so... take her up to Angel eight..."

"Angels eight, aye!" Loren acknowledged, opening the throttle, and pulling back gently on the stick. At eight thousand feet she levelled off.

"OK, try a falling leaf, to leaf starboard... and level off at Angels two!"

"Falling leaf to starboard, level off at Angels two, aye!" Already Loren was calculating the loss of altitude for each phase of the manouevre, and decided on fifteen hundred feet, that would give four alternating side slips. Applying stick and rudder she let the Stearman slide away and down to her right, transitioning directly to a port side slip as the altimeter passed through six thousand five hundred feet, and slipping back to starboard t five thousand feet, alternating the side slips until, sweating slightly, she centralised stick and rudder at two thousand feet, still flying on a westward heading.

"Bravo zulu!" Harm chortled. He had been watching his instruments all the way down, and although Loren had allowed a little yaw to develop at five thousand feet, she had swiftly corrected and was now only one degree off course. By anybody's standards that was highly accurate flying for a novice pilot in any airplane, especially one with such rudimentary instrumentation as the Stearman.

"Take us back up to Angels eight, in a nice wide climbing turn; give yourself a chance to get your breath back," Harm added shrewdly, having a pretty good idea of the nervous tension that Loren must be experiencing.

"Angels eight, aye!" Loren replied, resisting the temptation to pull her helmet off and wipe her forehead. That had been exhilarating. A bit scary, but exhilarating, and she wouldn't mind the opportunity to do it again!

As the bi-plane passed through five thousand feet, a flicker of movement caught her eye, "Harm! Bogey at two o'clock low!" she said urgently as she identified the flash of movement as the second airplane they had been warned was over the Western Manouevre Area.

Harm looked in the direction Loren had given, but his view down and forward was blocked by the lower plane. "Increase the turn to port!" he commanded.

"Turn to port, aye!" Loren confirmed, applying greater pressure on the stick.

As the angle opened, Harm grunted with satisfaction, his experienced aviator's eye had easily picked up the movement, and a flash of yellow helped in his identification of the stranger. "It's the Chipmunk!" he told Loren, "The one belonging to Mac's cousin!"

"Yeah... OK... but it looks like she's climbing to join us!" Loren said with a trace of nervousness in her voice.

"It's OK, we're at least three thousand feet above her; carry on up to Angels eight, and then steer a nice wide left-handed circle, so if she is climbing to our altitude, she can see exactly what we're doing, that way neither of us will surprise the other."

"Up to Angels eight then a wide circle to port, aye." Loren responded. She had never flown in close proximity to another airplane and had no wish to find out the hard way how things could go wrong. She knew that formation flying was an accepted military practice, but with two aircraft so mismatched as the Stearman and the Chipmunk, she didn't have the faintest idea of what the protocol should be. Hence it was with a feeling of relief that once they had reached eight thousand feet and she had started her wide circle she heard Harm's voice in her headset, "Loren, I am taking control!"

"Roger, you are taking control," Lorn confirmed with a sense of relief.

"I have control!" Harm said, although his grip on the stick, evidenced by the firming of the stick in her own hand was ample confirmation.

"You have control!" Lorn confirmed letting go of the stick and removing he feet from the rudder pedals.

Harm had kept his eye on the Chipmunk throughout its ascent, and the realisation that Sue MacKenzie was intent on forming with the Stearman had prompted his decision. He was, of course, unaware of Loren's misgivings, but he knew she had no experience in flying with other aircraft and he knew how quickly things could go wrong under those circumstances.

As the Chipmunk drew alongside, about one hundred feet distant off his starboard beam, he glanced across the space that divided them to see two heads inside the greenhouse style cockpit canopy, although it took a classic double-take for him to realise that the face in the front seat was Sue MacKenzie, but the face in the rear seat was that of Mac!

He badly wanted to tell Sue to sheer off, that she was too close, but by doing so he would alert the tower that she might be in violation of FAA regulations by operating too close to another aircraft in flight. Before he could resolve the dilemma he heard Sue's voice in his headset, "Hello Stearman November Six, this Chipmunk Uniform Sierra Alpha, switch to Channel one four, please."

"November Six, roger, out."

Harm switched from then public channel to the more private alternative channel, "This is November Six."

"Hey, do you want to play follow my leader?" Sue asked, and Harm could hear the mischief in her voice.

"If you can keep up with me for the next five minutes, OK, but I have a novice pilot on board, we should be practicing basic manoeuvres!"

"Keep up with that old lady? No problem," Sue laughed.

"OK, you said it!" Harm grinned, and immediately pushing the throttle all the way forward, he half rolled to port and put the Stearman into as near a vertical dive as he he could. Keeping an eye on his ASI so that he wouldn't exceed the maximum safe speed, he allowed the Stearman to dive ever faster towards the ground. "Thumbing the radio switch back to intercom, he said to Loren, "You alright?"

"Yeah! But what are you up to?"

"Teaching a Jarhead not to mess with best! Hold on tight!" he responded.

Harm's actions had taken Sue by surprise and she lost a few vital seconds before she managed to react. Copying his manoeuvre she half rolled and dived the Chipmunk, muttering "Damn cocky shyster Squid, thinks he can fly, huh!"

It took Mac another couple of seconds to sort out the intercom switch and although she heard Sue's imprecations she was too slow to stop her cousin from taking up the challenge, "Sue! He's also a combat aviator! Didn't you see his wings at JAG?"

"Oh crap! What does he fly?"

"F-14s!"

"Oh... double crap! Well too late to back out now!" Sue declared as the Chipmunk built up its airspeed.

Harm watched the speed build to the safe maximum before he pulled back hard on the stick, trading speed for height as the Stearman climbed.

"Hah!" Gottim!" Sue gritted between her teeth, confident that the Chipmunk's rate of climb was greater than that of the Stearman.

Harm waited until the bi-plane was halfway through a loop and completed inverted, when he half-rolled off the top of the loop in an Immelman turn that brought him back into a dive and as he zoomed again, onto the Chipmunk's tail.

"Where'd he go?" Sue yelled in frustration.

As she did so, she heard crackle in her head 'phones and then groaned in consternation as Harm borrowed a sound effect from the 'Battle of Britain' movie, "Takka takka takka takka," he chanted, simulating the sound of machine-gun fire.

"Oh, hell!" Sue groaned in mortification, "You sneaky shyster!"

"All part of the service!" Harm grinned as he eased the Stearman alongside the Chipmunk, "Some of us have got work to do right now, but if you want to come out and play again with the big boys, you're welcome any time! Changing frequency, out!" Harm said, just a trifle maliciously, as he knew that doing so would prevent Sue from answering him.

"Oooh!" The marine lieutenant groaned in frustration.

Mac was torn between sympathy for her cousin, a touch of schadenfreude and a feeling of pride in her partner's skill. "I warned you. He's good!" she said trying to keep some sympathy in her voice.

"Yeah," Sue laughed, "You did – but you kinda left it a bit late!"

Harm in the meantime had peeled off and climbed back up to eight thousand feet and levelled off. He retuned the radio and then flipping back to intercom he asked Loren, "You OK up front?"

"Oh, wow! Yeah... still getting my breath back, though."

"OK... do you want to relax or do you want to take control?"

"I am taking control!" Loren affirmed.

"You are taking control, aye!" Harm responded.

"I have control!" Loren told Harm, although again he could feel her take the stick in her grasp.

"You have control!" Harm agreed letting go of the stick. "Now let's take a pause and get our breath back. Do you know where you are?"

Loren looked over the side of the cockpit, "Yeah, I think so... I think I recognise that finger of woodland extending to the east!"

"OK, fly heading three sixty for five minutes, then make a ninety degree turn to starboard. Fly zero niner zero for five minutes and then turn onto two two five, and see how near you can get us back to our starting point!"

Loren jotted down the various headings on the pad taped to her right thigh, and then made a tight circle, banking well beyond forty five degrees as she confirmed her position relative to the ground, and then as the bi-plane's nose pointed north, she straightened up into level flight on her set course. He brain was furiously active, this was, she was sure another test,. There was still a brisk northerly wind blowing, so she determined that instead of steering zero nine zero after the turn to starboard, she would fly on a course of zero eight seven, and similarly she would steer two two eight on the final leg. Letting the north wind drift her back onto her true course.

Harm sat back to enjoy the ride, and also to keep a close eye on the compass repeater. He had deliberately set a course that would expose the Stearman to drift and he wanted to see if Loren had firstly picked up on that, and secondly to see what corrective action, if any she took. There was no telling, of course, on the first leg which took them almost directly into the wind, but as soon as he turned onto her new course and Harm saw that it was north of east, he smiled to himself. Once again Loren had absorbed a vital lesson, and had applied it on her own initiative. Of course the variation in heading might have been pure bad flying on her part, but when five minutes later she again adjusted her heading to fly slightly 'uphill' of her true course his smile became even wider. Yep, once might have been an error, but twice was, to his mind, proof that she had corrected her flight headings to compensate for that wind.

"OK... Well done!" he enthused as they circled over the spit of woodland that Loren had earlier identified as a landmark. "Now, a spin to starboard and recovery, then back up to eight thousand and then a spin recovery to port. Remember PARE: Power, Ailerons, Rudder, Elevator! Got it?"

"Yeah, got it!" Loren replied, but not without a slight rise in nervous tension. Dropping the starboard wing, she let the Stearman yaw and the nose drop With the lower wing stalled the yaw developd into the spin and muttering her way through the mantra, she applied each stage in its turn to come out into a shallow dive but flying straight ahead.

"OK, Loren! Well done! Now back up to Angels eight and a spin to port!"

Once again Loren ran through the mantra and once again the bi-planed recovered, almost effortlessly from the spin, levelling out at six thousand feet.

Harm kept an eye on both the clock and the fuel gauge,a nd after a few more manouevres, testing Loren's memory of the various control movements he bit his lip and debated whether or not to take her through one final, new manoeuvre for the day, but decided in the interests of safety this was one that was best talked through and prepared for on the ground, rather than to have it sprung on her in mid-air. "OK Loren, take us home! We're running a tad low on gas!"

"OK," Loren replied without argument. Harm was cutting the flight a bit short, but truth to tell, the reaction to the successive adrenalin rushes, from the manoeuvres she had performed and the mock dogfight with the Chipmunk, short-lived though it had been had taken their effect and she was feeling a bit tired.

Turning onto an easterly heading, Loren headed back for Charlottesville and was more than happy when ten minutes later the familiar shape of the airfield appeared in the angle between the fuselage and the lower port wing. Loren nodded with satisfaction and thumbed her pressel switch, "Hello Charlottesville Tower, this is Stearman November Six, approaching from Western Manoeuvre Area range five miles, altitude Angels six, requesting landing instructions.

"Charlottesville Tower, descend to Angels four and join the landing circuit descending to Angel one five at threshold to runway one niner five, call for clearance when on final approach. Over."

"November Six, roger. Starting descent to Angels four now!"

The final approach and landing were without incident and the Stearman almost floated down in a smooth three-point landing theta Harm and Loren barely felt. Once again though, Loren was more than happy, to blip the engine, clearing each of its cylinders as the bi-plane rolled to a stop outside Pop's hangar. It was no good, she just did not enjoy taxiing the airplane, but she was damned if she was going to ask Harm to do it for her. It was all part of learning to fly, and overall it was the most fun she'd ever had, 'Well, outside the bedroom!' she reminded herself.

Unfastening her seat harness she clambered out of the cockpit and slid down the lower wing to land as per usual in Harm's arms. Clasping her hands around his neck she lifted her face for his kiss, and breaking their lip lock after some few seconds, she smiled up at him as he said, "You know, that's a sight that never gets old! Much as I do like watching your six when you climb into the cockpit, I really prefer it when I see you sliding down that wing towards me!"

"I'd say that was pretty evident!" the familiar voice made them both jump and loose their hold on each other.

"Mac!" Harm greeted her, "I thought I recognised your face up there! But... but..." his brain finally caught up with his eyes, "When did you..." he made a vague gesture towards his jaw.

"Oh... Yesterday morning. I went to see Commander Pike on Friday and bullied him, so he took the wires out and the cast off my arm early yesterday morning. Then Bud and Harriet spent the morning moving me back to my apartment. So once I was settled, I 'phoned Sue, and we went out to dinner last night and she invited me to go flying with her today."

"Dinner, hey?" Harm queried.

"Yeah, first solid food in a month! It was fabulous!"

"Beltway Burgers?" Harm asked despairingly.

"No, actually it wasn't!" Sue interrupted as she walked out from the office. "Good morning Commander, ma'am," she inclined her head in Loren's direction.

"'Morning , Sue," Harm answered as Loren smiled in the Marine's direction, "But we don't use ranks out here, do we Loren, Mac?"

"No, that's true," Loren replied, "Isn't it, Mac?"

Mac looked a bit taken aback, but as it had been her to first try and break the ice by calling Loren by her first name back at JAG, she could hardly complain. "No... that's true... after all," she turned to her cousin, "You don't want to be calling me ma'am, and if you call me by my name then it would be just too strange to call Harm 'sir' and Loren, 'ma'am'..."

That wasn't quite what Harm had meant, but if rationalising the situation in that manner made it easier for Mac to cope, then he was happy to go along with it.

"I don't know about you three, but I was beginning to feel the chill up there... so I'm all for getting outside of some coffee. Has Pop gone home for his lunch, yet?"

"Yeah, he left about ten minutes ago," Sue said. "He saw you taxiing back towards the hangar, muttered something about damn Navy aviators, and off he went grumbling!"

Yeah, he would!" Harm grinned, "But he doesn't mean anything, his bark's much worse than his bite. And anyway, I think he's just jealous of me; I reckon he's got a bit of a thing for Loren!" he finished with a gleam in his eye as he looked down at Loren.

"He has no such thing! He just likes me 'cos I'm polite to him and don't tease him about his age." Loren denied calmly, refusing for once to rise to the bait.

"Gee, ya think?" Harm answered as the MacKenzie cousins burst out into laughter.

The three women took station around Pop's desk while Harm took a disgusted look at the low level of the coffee in the carafe, and having checked the top drawer of the filing cabinet for more coffee and fresh filter papers took the carafe out towards what passed for athe hangar's kithen returning in few minutes with the carafe rinsed out and refilled with fresh water. He set the machine to brewing, and took his place at the table as Loren, having watched Mac inhale three of Pop's tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches without blinking an eye, asked "So how does it feel to be able to eat again?"

"Bliss, pure bliss," Mac smiled, "Even Tuna and mayo tastes good!"

Sue shook her head, "Even after last night?"

"Even after last night," Mac agreed affably.

"So where did you two girls go to eat last night, if it wasn't Beltway Burgers?" Harm asked as he reached for a sandwich.

"Oh... a place on Capitol Hill, the Good Stuff Eatery**,**" Sue replied, "and I've got to admit, their Burgers were to die for!"

"Ha!" Harm exclaimed in triumph, "Not 'Beltway Burgers' indeed! I knew it!"

"Yeah, alright, flyboy! So I had a burger..." a raised eyebrow from Sue made her hastily amend her confession, "or two. I would really have liked to go for a steak, but Commander Pike vetoed that, and," she added virtuously, "he specifically said that burgers were OK, so I was only following medical advice!"

Harm looked at her for a second, before his face split into a huge grin, "I would loved to have been a fly on the wall during that conversation!" he observed as Sue and Loren both giggled to themselves.

"Oh Harm!" Mac protested, "He did! Honestly!"

"I'm sure he did, Mac," Harm replied soothingly, "But I'd have loved to witness just how you handled him into making that recommendation!"

There was just enough of the truth in Harm's accusation to bring the colour to Mac's cheeks, "Well, OK... I did use a bit of sophistry, but he'd just banned anything that might need vigorous chewing until I'd got some strength back into my jaw muscles, so I wouldn't stress the jaw fractures, and I asked if ground beef was OK, and he said yes..."

Sue was about to join in with the teasing when she decided instead to support her cousin, who wasn't defending herself with any degree of conviction . "So what's so bad about burgers anyway?" she demanded of Harm.

"Well... I'm against eating red meat on principle, and very rarely eat chicken or pork. But I do eat fish, so I'm not entirely a vegetarian, but burgers..." he shook his head, "there's just so much grease and fat in them... Ground beef is usually made with the fatty off-cuts, and then when it's formed into patties it's fried in more fat..."

"Not so much at the Good Stuff," Sue rebutted him, "the burgers there are broiled over charcoal and lose a lot of their fat content in the cooking..."

"Yeah, just like the way Bud grills burgers – including your bean-burgers – when he and Harriet have a cook out!" Mac joined in.

"H'mph, OK I'll give you a pass on that one then, Mac. But..." his eyes twinkled shrewdly, "Are their chocolate milk shakes as good as the ones from Beltway?"

"No! Of course not! No way!" the three women chorused.

Harm blinked and then looked sorrowfully at Loren, "Et tu Brute?" he demanded.

"When it comes to defending Beltway's double thick chocolate ice-cream milk shakes, you bet your ass!" Loren declared.

Harm shook his head and rising from the table he went to the coffee machine where he poured four mugs of coffee, "I don't know how any of you will like this," he warned, "but if it's too strong, or too weak..." he looked at the two Marines, "Then you should have made it yourself!"

"It might come as a bit of shock, Sue," Mac stage-whispered, "But it's not too bad... once you get used to the squid way of making coffee..."

Sue grinned and accepted a mug from Harm, "I'm sure it's fine! Thank you."

Loren too nodded her thanks, but then took a cautious sip, "It... it is a bit on the strong side," she told Harm, "but it's much better than Pop's over-brewed version!"

"Well, I won't claim it's too strong, " Sue said trying for a middle path, not fully aware of the situation between Harm and Mac, but with the growing realisation that there was some sort of history between them, "but it is definitely an improvement on the purple sludge!"

"Yeah, not too bad, Squid!" even Mac conceded, before she changed the subject, "The Admiral's away all week, isn't he, Harm?"

"Yeah, he's fishing somewhere in the wilds of New Mexico, but he reckons to be back in the office a week from tomorrow."

"So... it might work, then, Sue," Mac said.

"Yeah... let me look into it and I'll get back to you by mid-week!"

"Plans, Mac?" Loren asked lightly.

"Yeah, Sue has offered to fly us down to Fort Sill to meet her parents." Mac looked a bit embarrassed, "Uh... you may have wondered why I never mentioned having family?" She saw the answer on Harm and Loren's faces, "Well the simple fact is that I never knew I had any!" She saw the look of surprise on their faces, "Harm, you know what my dad was like, well he had a huge fight with his brother, that's Sue's dad, and then just shut him out. He never mentioned him at home, see... so..."

"But what's this got to do with the Admiral?" Loren asked.

Both Mac and Harm looked at her, "Keep this to yourself please Loren. I didn't get a pass on all the crap that happened last month. As soon as the situation is cleared up with Mic, I'm going to be getting orders for a six month TAD to an LHD somewhere in the farthest reaches of the ocean as SJA, so I can benefit from the contact with 'more squared away' Corps Officers."

Loren winced, "I knew about the TAD thing, but ouch!"

"Yeah. So I'm kinda on probation until then. I shall be handing over my duties as Chief of Staff..."

"Oh, no!" Harm gasped.

"I don't know who's getting the job, but you are the senior officer that's going to be left at JAG, so you are the logical choice." Mac pointed out.

"Mac, I'll hate that!" Harm nearly whined.

"Yeah, and maybe the Admiral will take that into consideration, " Mac offered, "But I wouldn't bank on it! But... back to my travel to Fort Sill, I'm not exactly his flavour of the month, so I don't whether the Admiral will let me take leave!"

"Don't see why not... I'm pretty sure you've rehabilitated yourself to a degree, with all the LSO scut work you've been signing off, and how much accumulated leave have you got on the books anyway?"

"Just like you I suspect, all maxed out on that!" Mac confirmed, "Sixty days, it's been like that for three years now!"

"Well that's got to be in your favour?" Loren asked.

"Well, maybe... but enough about me and my troubles, talking won't fix them, not at this stage! But I think Sue has a bone to pick with you..."

"Oh...?" Harm raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, what sort of sneaky shyster trick was that you pulled out there? I had you bang to rights, was just waiting for you come over the top of the loop and you'd have swum down straight into my sights – if I'd had any! So what was that?"

"Not a shyster trick at all. It was a perfectly legitimate manoeuvre dating back to WW One, invented by a German flier, Max Immelman, it's rarely taught any more because in modern air fighting a pilot loses too much speed, relatively speaking, in the climb and the inverted portion, and is a sitting duck for AIM's. In fact, to quote my old instructor at Top Gun..."

"You were at Top Gun?" Sue looked so dismayed that the other three were forced to laugh.

"Yeah, I was," Ham confessed and he looked at Sue with real mischief in his eyes, "But as our instructor told us, the combat Immelman was going out of favour as early as nineteen eighteen, as airplanes were becoming more powerful and able to climb up to the Immelman performing airplane before it could fully execute the manoeuvre. In fact," Harm's expression became far too innocent, "It was reckoned by that date that it would only work against pilots of vastly inferior skill."

There was an instant of shocked silence before Mac and Loren exploded into protest, "Harm!" they then both stopped to allow the other to begin a harangue, but both were forestalled by Sue's laughter, and sat looking at her in bemusement.

"Oh," she said eventually, mopping her eyes with a lump of cotton waste, "I should... I really should have seen that coming! I saw the grin beginning, but I was just too slow off the mark – again! No. don't worry, I asked for that both out there and in here. But I won't underestimate you again, Mister Rabb!"

"No, I don't 'spect that you will, Harm agreed with a smile. "But now, we do have some work to do. Sue, it was nice meeting you again, both times! Mac, I'll see you at JAG in the morning. Oh, and don't forget I'm acting JAG this week, so don't be late!"

Mac's face was a picture of consternation, she had in fact allowed that little snippet of information to slip right past her, and she was so confounded by her missing that news that she let Harm completely slide on his absurd dig at her timekeeping.

Once on the apron, Loren turned to Harm, "That was cruel, if anybody's known for their perfect time keeping it's Mac!" she mock scolded him.

"Yeah it was a bit on the cruel side," Harm admitted, "but it was fun! Now get aboard, will you. I reckon a couple of hours, circuits and bumps and then we can head for home."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Loren grinned, with another rendition of her caricature salute.

Harm waited until she was almost in the cockpit, before he called her name. Loren stopped with one leg over the coaming and had to bend slightly in order to look past her own shoulder at Harm, "Yes?" she asked.

"Oh, just to let you know, that you've still got a very cute six!" Harm grinned.

Loren's "Ooooh!" of frustration wasn't quite audible in DC.


	40. Chapter 40

**40  
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**Sunday 25 March 2001 1952hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal St NW, Washington DC, (252352ZMar01)**

Harm dropped both sea-bags just inside the door as Loren made a bee-line for the kitchen, "Coffee?" she called over her shoulder.

"Damn right!" Harm agreed as he closed the door, "Want a hand?"

"No, I've got it covered, thanks."

Harm was tempted to slump into a chair, or onto the couch, but decided that such a course of action might not be the most tactful in the world, so despite being told to sheer off, he followed Loren into the kitchen area, and standing behind her, he placed both hands on her shoulder, and bending down he kissed her lightly behind the ear and asked, "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Loren shivered at the contract of his lips with her skin, and stopped measuring the coffee into the filter for a moment, "H'mm not since breakfast, but you did say you liked my butt... so... I'll let you slide on that, but this a one time only offer!"

"In that case, I'll remember to tell you more often!" Harm smiled nuzzling her neck.

Loren twisted around to face him, her hands flat against his chest as he looked up at him, "Harm, I know you love me, but it is nice to hear you say it. And you're not the only guilty party here, I've gotten a bit lazy about saying it to you too!"

"Yeah, that's true," Harm agreed, "But like you know about me, I know about you, and maybe I don't need to hear it quite so much... You're here with me, and yeah, it's nice to hear it said, but to me... well, I guess actions speak louder than words." His eyes started to gleam, and Loren backed off half a pace as suspicion grew in her mind, "But you know what would really tell me you love me, right now?"

"No. What?" Loren asked cautiously, looking left and right to see if she could make an escape if so needed.

"A cup of coffee!" Harm declared with a blissful smile on his face.

Loren gave him a ramped-up edition of her angry kitten glare, "If you hadn't come interfering in here, mister, you'd have had your damned coffee by now! So go and sit down out of my way or you'll be wearing the damned stuff instead of drinking it!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Harm said flipping her a casual half-salute, but backing off. "Should I order in, or do we go through the hassle of cooking this evening?"

"Oh... order in, please. I really cannot deal with an evening in the kitchen. All I want is a coffee..." she paused significantly, "Something light to eat, and maybe a glass of wine, then a long, hot, scented soak and then bed."

Harm nodded, "Sounds like a plan. Something light, hey? Thai?"

"Yeah, something sea-foody with green curry sauce, would be great, thanks!" Loren smiled, her seeming bad temper of a few moments before gone and forgotten.

Coffee was made and drunk, and by the end of an hour food had been ordered, delivered and duly consumed, and Loren groaned as she lay slumped on the couch, "I want that long hot soak... but I can't be bothered to move..." she complained.

"That's OK, sweetheart, you lay back and have a rest, I'll deal with the trash and the clean-up," Harm told her.

"M'mm...thanks..." Loren murmured and laid her head back and closed her eyes.

She opened them nearly an hour later as Harm gently shook her shoulder, "Hey, wake up sleepy head, time for beddy-byes," he smiled.

"H'mm..." Loren stretched, yawned and reluctantly struggled to her feet, "'S OK, I'm awake... or nearly..." She tottered across the lounge and into the bathroom, where she stopped, stunned. The lights were off. But nearly two dozen candles that burned with a mixture of cinnamon and vanilla scents lit the room, the bath was full and the steam that rose from the water also smelled of vanilla, and on the bath stool, within arm's reach of anyone in the bath was a tray standing on which were the half-full bottle of wine left over from dinner, and a glass. Lying between bottle and glass was a single stem of Virginia Bluebells. Loren's eyes flooded, and turning to look over her shoulder, she saw Harm watching her with a smile on his face.

"Oh... Harm..." she whispered.

"Go on," he said quietly, "go and take your long, hot, scented soak! I'll see you when you're done."

**Monday 26 March 2001, 0703hrs EDT, CP, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA(261103ZMar01)**

"Good morning, Lance Corporal."

"Good morning, Sergeant."

"Everyone in?"

"All the security detail are here, Sergeant, but Staff Sergeant Williams, and Gunnery Sergeant Walters have yet to sign in."

"Bailiffs! They have an easy life, Lance Corporal!"

"Yes, Sergeant! Corporal Velasquez and Private Johansen are on the VCP barrier, PFC Smart is front door. Corporal Martin and her guys are on two minute stand by and Corporal McMasters and his squad are on twenty minutes call. We are at Defcon Three. Lieutenant Sawney and Gunnery Sergeant Horner are carrying out a building security check."

"Thank you, Lance Corporal. Dismiss to your duties!"

"Aye, aye, Sergeant!"

**Monday 26 March 2001, 0731hrs EDT, CP, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA(261131ZMar01)**

"Good morning, sir, good morning ma'am!"

"Good morning, Lance Corporal, congratulations on your promotion!" Harm congratulated the tiny blonde as he and Loren signed in at the front desk.

"Thank you, sir!"

"So...now you've got your foot on the ladder, are you keeping Sergeant Hernandez in line?" Harm asked teasingly

"Sir?" Lance Corporal Somers blushed vividly crimson.

Loren shut her eyes briefly. Sometimes Harm could be so... so... oblivious! Mind you, she had the grace to admit, if only to herself, that she wouldn't have see the signs if Carolyn hadn't commented on seeing the two Marines together at the promotion wet-down. But once she had been given the heads up, she had been pretty quick to spot the signs herself.

"Lance Corporal?" Harm replied, puzzled by the young woman's obvious confusion.

"You're acting JAG for this week, sir?" Sergeant Hernandez interrupted in an effort to prevent further damage.

"That is correct, Sergeant."

"Well, sir, Lieutenant Sawney is away from the desk at the moment, he's carrying out a building security check."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Harm said, but puzzled as to why the Marine NCO should make a point of telling him about something that was an everyday event.

Loren stepped in to save the day, or so she hoped, "Sir, we really need to get upstairs, I really need to go over that deposition with you!"

"You do?" Harm asked in mild surprise, this was the first he'd heard about a deposition he had to review.

"Yes, sir, I do!" Loren said emphatically.

"OK, then Lieutenant, let's go to it!"

Loren waited until they were both in the elevator and then looked up at Harm in fond exasperation, "There are times Harmon Rabb when you are so totally loving that you take my breath away, but there are also times when you are just absolutely clueless!"

"Huh? You mean there isn't a deposition to check?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why did you say..."

"Because I had to get you out of there before that poor girl died of embarrassment!"

"Yeah what was all that blushing about? All I did was tease her, just a little bit, about her promotion and she went all fire truck on me!"

"Because she has got a serious crush on Sergeant Hernandez, and must have thought that you were teasing her about that when you asked her if she was keeping him in order!"

"Oh crap, I'd better get back down there and apologise..."

"You'll do no such thing!" Loren snapped, swatting at his hand as he reached for the control buttons, "You'll only make things worse!"

"Sheesh!" Harm exclaimed waving his stinging paw in the air, "Are you going to be this bossy after we're married?"

"Probably, if you are going to continue to be as dumb as..."

Whatever Loren might have been about to compare him to will never be known, as the elevator chose that moment to come to a halt at the JAG Ops floor, and the doors swooshed open, cutting Loren off in mid-sentence.

"After you, Lieutenant!" Harm invited her.

"Thank you, sir!" Loren smiled, but then as she passed him she muttered in a warning tone, "One drool, that's all, just one drool..."

Harm just smiled and pantomimed a leer while he was still in the shelter of the lift, but his effort was wasted as Loren strode determinedly down the hallway to the bullpen doors without once looking back.

**Monday 26 March 2001, 0933hrs EDT, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA(261103ZMar01)**

Harm slumped into the big chair, he'd only been acting JAG for a couple of hours and already he felt drained. Staff call had been short – he had stamped down on any tendency towards verbosity from those at the table but he still felt a little out of his depth.

With a sigh he picked up the budget file folder and opened it on his desk blotter and started to re-read what he'd submitted the year before. It all looked straightforward enough, so if he used the same rationale for this year's budget as he had done for last year, and increased the amounts for which he was asking by the annual rate of inflation... He reached out and stabbed the call button on the intercom and waited for Tiner's "Sir?"

"Tiner, what's the annual rate of inflation? And don't tell me you don't know. If you don't then find out and get right back to me. Understood?"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Five minutes later the intercom buzzed interrupting Harm's train of thought. Scowling he pressed the Speak button. "Yes, Tiner?"

"_Average annual rate of inflation for last year sir, was 3.38 percent, sir!_"

Harm was impressed, "That was quick work, Tiner. How did you get it so fast?"

"_Bureau of Labour, sir and then cross checked with the Treasury Department's figures. The figures agreed, sir!_"

"Very good, Tiner, thank you!"

Harm spent the next half hour with a calculator, pencilling in the new figures on the old budget submission, whistling silently as he reacquainted himself with some of the sums involved. In spite of his inherent dislike of paper work he became so absorbed in his task that it took two attempts by Tiner, rapping ever more loudly on the office door to attract his attention.

"Enter! Yes, what is it Tiner?"

"Sir, these just arrived from the District Provost Marshall's office, sir..."

With a not entirely ungrateful sigh, Harm closed the budget proposal and held out his hand for the files. "Thank you, Tiner."

Harm sat back to read the files, the first one brought a frown to his face, the second one caused the corners of his mouth to quirk in a grin. He pressed the Call button on the intercom and waited.

"_Sir?_"

"Tiner, pass the word for Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Roberts, please!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

Harm released the button and returned to his perusal of the files, looking up at the tap on his door frame, "Come on in and take a seat, both of you, he invited Mac and Bud. "Look, I'm going to use you two as a sounding board for this case..." he tapped a blue file folder sitting on the blotter in front of him, before he continued.

"Three months ago Private Rafael Jesus Rivera, applied to the VA for his veteran benefits. He is a former member of the First Marine Division. At Chosin Reservoir..."

One of the 'Chosin Few' Mac asked in a voice that bordered on reverence.

"Yeah, on the twenty eighth of November nineteen fifty, during the battle for the high ground of Fox Hill, Private Rivera distinguished himself, he was wounded wounded three times. The trouble is when the VA began to process his 21-526 they found that he'd never been discharged from the Marine Corps.

"He deserted?" Mac asked in a disbelieving voice.

"On April fourth nineteen fifty-one he walked away from Kirkland VA Hospital, Albuquerque New Mexico, never to be heard from again.

"And now he's filed for veteran's benefits? Why would he do that?" Bud asked

Harm shook his head, "Got me beat!" he admitted.

"Does anyone care at this late date, sir?" Bud asked.

"Do want to run with that one, Mac?" Harm invited his partner.

Mac turned to look at the younger officer, "There's no statute of limitations on desertion, Bud. You run away from the Marine Corps, and we'll chase you all the way to hell." Her voice had shed its hint of reverence and was now loaded with contempt for those who deserted.

Harm looked further down the page in front of him, "Private Rivera is being held by the County Sheriff at Angel Falls, Chiricahua County, New Mexico, pending our instructions... Mac?"

Mac held out her hand for the file, "I'll take care of it, Harm!"

"Thank you, Mac, that's all."

Mac nodded, "On it," and turning about left the office.

Harm looked at the next file and gave a little snort of wry amusement, "Looks like our week for deserters, Seaman Owen Zugler, was picked up for running a red light in the District. Apparently he had an unauthorised absence from his ship at Norfolk. Spent thirty days in the brig during which time he claimed he was not in the Navy."

Bud half-smiled, "Seems like a pretty lame excuse, sir, and one that can be easily checked."

"Turns out the man who spent that thirty days in the Brig is indeed a civilian, Bud. An unknown man stole his Social Security Number and used it to enlist. Mister Zugler has retained counsel. Since I'm acting JAG, Bud, you'll be handling the case, but I'll be monitoring your progress.

Bud looked across at Harm, "How do you want me to handle this case, sir?"

"Cheaply!" Harm responded smartly.

"Sir?"

"I've just gone through the figures for last year's budget, Bud. And I'm looking at this year's. We have a cost overrun this year, which might lend more force to our argument for an increased budget next year, but it's not something we can get away with two years running, so we need to limit some our outgoings, and this one is a case where I reckon we can do just that!"

"Yes, sir!" Bud said doubtfully, "If that's all...?"

"Yeah, carry on, Lieutenant!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Monday 26 March 2001, 1013hrs EDT, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah 'Mac' MacKenzie's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (261613ZMar01)**

"Make arrangements with the absentee collection unit to bring Private Rivera back from Angel Falls," Mac told Gunnery Sergeant Galindez.

"Yes, ma'am,"

"I want everything on him, service records, medical history, in particular if there are any indications of mental illness, and see if you can locate anyone who remembers him from the Marine Corps!" Mac said as she gathered up a couple files from the untidy pile on her desk and walked through her office doorway into the bull-pen.

"Where are we going with this, ma'am?" Galindez asked as he followed her out the door.

"I want to know why Private Rivera deserted, and if I don't like the answer, I'll see to it that he's dishonourably discharged so that he will never receive the benefits that should rightly go to men who met their full obligations.

"Ma'am, the men that served at Chosin Reservoir are about the bravest Marines that ever wore the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. They were outnumbered ten to one, ma'am, and suffered seven thousand casualties out of fifteen thousand men. It was so damned cold there that the water in their canteens froze..."

Mac interrupted the Staff NCO, with a hint of impatience in her voice, "They couldn't eat their C rations, so they existed on a diet of Tootsie Rolls, and they fought to the last man. I know the history Gunny!"

"I don't think a Marine who served at Chosin would just walk away from the Marine Corps. Ma'am!" Galindez pursued doggedly.

"Well, that's just what it looks like he did!" Mac retorted and then with a nod of dismissal she turned and left Galindez standing in the middle of the bull pen staring after her with a puzzled and disappointed frown on his face.

**Monday 26 March 2001, 1148hrs EDT, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (261548ZMar01)**

Harm pushed the budget file to one side, and knuckled his eyes, he could feel the beginning of a headache coming on, and wished he had a couple of aspirin to stave it off. Still, he looked at his watch, another forty minutes and he could break for lunch with a clear conscience, and then he could make a quick visit to a local pharmacy and buy a bottle of the little white pills. But if paperwork on this scale was the cause of headaches, then his could understand the reason for the Admiral's sometimes uncertain temper.

The intercom's buzzer broke his train of thought and stretching out a hand he pressed the Speak button, "Yes, Tiner?"

"_Sir, Lieutenant Roberts wants to know can you spare him a few moments_?"

"Send him in Tiner!"

Harm waited for the knock on the door-frame, "Enter!" He observed the younger officer as Bud crossed the expanse of carpet between door and desk and noted the vaguely troubled expression on his face.

"Problems, Bud?" he asked as he waved the Lieutenant to a seat.

"Yes, sir!" Bud replied as he settled in the wing chair, "I've just had a meeting with Mister Zugler's counsel – it's Greg Fraser, sir."

Harm sat up and took notice at that, "Greg Fraser? As in Lieutenant Commander Greg Fraser? From the SJA's office at Norfolk?"

"Former Lieutenant Commander Greg Fraser, sir. He resigned his commission, and has set up his own law firm. He's going to specialise in claims against the Navy, he reckons that his service as a JAG will give him an edge."

"How the hell did Zugler get to hear of him?"

Bud shook his head, a faint note of contempt sounding in his voice as he spoke, "He didn't, sir. Apparently Mister Fraser heard about Zugler and contacted him!" Bud paused for a second before adding bitterly, "Ambulance chasing!"

Harm nodded, "Maybe, Bud, maybe. But from memory, Fraser is no great shakes in the courtroom."

"Maybe not, sir. He sure came here with the expressed intention of proposing a settlement, in order to spare the Navy the expense of a trial, sir."

"Sounds good to me Bud, where's the problem in that?"

"Sir, he wants compensation for false arrest and imprisonment, loss of earnings, physical and psychological distress, pain and suffering and punitive damages to the total of two point five million."

"Two point five...!" Harm yelped jumping in his seat as if he'd been stung, "Tell me you didn't say yes to that Bud!"

"No, sir, I did the math." Bud consulted his notes, "Mister Zugler is a short order cook who earns six dollars and seventy two cents an hour, given an eight hour shift that's fifty three dollars and seventy- six cents a day. He was in the brig for thirty days and that comes out at one thousand six hundred and twelve dollars and eighty cents. I made a counter-offer of two thousand for loss of earnings and an ex gratia payment of five hundred dollars to cover the rest."

"And Fraser said what?" Harm asked.

"Two million, sir."

"You said?"

"I upped the offer incrementally, sir, finally going as far as twenty thousand. Fraser remained adamant. I said I'd try to arrange a meeting between you and him. He said, that it would have to be by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, and sir, he wasn't asking."

"He did, did he? OK..." Once more Harm pressed the call button on the intercom, "Tiner!"

"_Yes, sir_?"

"What's on my calendar for tomorrow afternoon?"

"_You're to have a case conference with NCIS and Lieutenant Singer at thirteen thirty, sir. Then __clear after fifteen hundred._"

"Good, fifteen hundred to sixteen hundred, meeting with Mister Fraser and Lieutenant Roberts in the mall conference room. Got it?"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

"Thank you, Tiner. Bud, you make sure everything we've got on Zugler is damn well watertight for that meeting!"

Bud stood, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!"

**Monday 26 March 2001, 1608hrs EDT, Small Conference Room, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (262008ZMar01)**

Mac looked across the table at Colonel Matthew Hazard USMC (Retired), he may have belonged to an older generation than Mac or of Gunny Galindez, who flanked her for this meeting, but Mac was in no doubt that the stocky, suited man opposite, who still had the look of eagles about him was still as tough today as he had ever been while he still wore Marine Green. She gave herself a mental shake and concentrated anew on his words.

"On the night of the twenty-eighth of November, Fox Company was dug in on some high ground about mile east of the Chosin Reservoir. The temperature was thirty-five below that night, we had to work the slides on our carbines to keep them from seizing up; we had thirteen cases of frostbite. The Chinese threw a whole damn' regiment against us. No-one expected to get off that hill alive, we just wanted to kill as many damned Gooks as possible so as not to let down our fellow Marines."

"Colonel Hazard, what part did Private Rivera play that night?" Mac asked looking intently at him.

"I put Private Rivera and Private Boxdale on the perimeter with five other men with good fields of fire. Private Rivera was wounded three times that night, but fought the enemy off. Fox Company was the only thing that stood between the Gooks and what was left of First Division, so I guess you could say that he saved a helluva lot of lives that night. Him and Boxdale."

Colonel Hazard drew a deep breath and slumped back slightly in his chair before continuing, "I was going to put Rivera up for the Navy Cross, I even filled out the paperwork, but when I found out he'd deserted..." he shook his head slightly, but whether in disbelief, or bemusement at his own actions, Mac couldn't tell,as he dipped his hand into his jacket's inside pocket, "I kept hold of this, kind of a souvenir..." he handed a folded sheet of paper across the table to Mac.

Mac quickly read through the citation and raised her eyes to look back across the table at Colonel Hazard, "What type of man was Private Rivera?" she challenged him.

"He wasn't a man, Colonel! He was eighteen!" Hazard replied in a tone that revealed he thought that Mac should have known that.

Gunny Galindez looked at both officers before interrupting, "He was seventeen, sir. He lied about his age to get into the Marine Corps!"

Hazard gave the Staff NCO a look which seemed to acknowledge his own failure and admitted, "I didn't know him all that well. I didn't speak Spanish, and he didn't speak a helluva a lot of English. The Corps took 'em like that back then, as long as they could understand Semper-Fi and Follow me!"

Galindez sat impassively through the Colonel words, and it was Mac that followed up. "Were you surprised when he deserted, Colonel?"

"I was remembering what Bill Maudin said, 'If you look into an infantryman's eyes, you can tell how much war he's seen,' well, at Chosin we all saw too much."

"That doesn't excuse Private Rivera," Mac objected quietly.

"No, but it might explain what he did. There were Marines at Chosin who were on Iwo Jima and Tarawa; they said Chosin was the hardest battle they' ever been in. Even Genghis Khan didn't go there!" Hazard said defiantly.

Mac nodded, she hadn't been sure what she wanted or had expected to learn from this interview, but it appeared to her that Colonel Hazard, like any good leader was defending his man. Even though he might later, and in private, if they were still on active service, rip him a new one.

"Thank you, Colonel," she said, gathering her papers together, but passing the citation back to the older man and then standing said, unless there's anything more, I'll walk you out."

Hazard stood, "Thank you Colonel..." he hesitated, "You will do what you can for Rivera?"

"I can't promise you anything Colonel, other than that I will carry out a full and fair investigation into his case," Mac told him.

**Monday 26 March 2001, 1632hrs EDT, Bullpen, JAG Ops, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (262032ZMar01)**

Victor Galindez was waiting by her office door when she returned from signing out Colonel Hazard.

"Gunny?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Ma'am, I'd like orders for New Mexico to pick up Private Rivera."

"Why not let the absentee collection unit handle it?" Mac replied.

"It will be a low priority for them, ma'am. It will be a couple of weeks before they pick up the prisoner, meanwhile, Private Rivera just sits in his cell."

Mac looked carefully into the Gunny's eyes, "Why is this so important to you, Gunny?"

"I've looked at his paperwork, ma'am, he's old, poor, Hispanic," Galindez paused, but so too did Mac, waiting to see if the Gunnery sergeant had any other, more compelling reason for wanting orders for a task that was well outside of his normal duties.

"Because he's a Marine, ma'am. There's no statute of limitations on heroism!" Victor said, as if that was the ultimate clincher to the argument. it was, Mac breathed in and then shook her head slightly, "I'll have to take it up with Commander Rabb, he controls all the assignments until the Admiral gets back."

Victor nodded his acceptance of her statement, "Thank you, ma'am!"

**Monday 26 March 2001 1817hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal St NW, Washington DC, (262217ZMar01)**

Loren was painstakingly removing the pin bones from a pair of Hake fillets and flaking the flesh while Harm shredded leaves and sliced tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs for the salad and rice. A small pot of curry sauce simmered gently on one of the burners while a large pan of water was being brought to the boil, ready for the two cups of rice that had been measured out.

"So tell me about this meeting tomorrow... and please tell me it isn't with Franks and his ghastly crew?" Harm asked .

"Lord. No!" Loren chuckled, "Can you see NCIS's 'elite' team being assigned to investigate stolen motor parts?"

"So... who is it?"

"It's not even a full team, just two agents, Adams and Gomez," Loren said, fighting to keep a straight face.

Harm let out a crack of laughter, "Oh, you've got to be joking!" he protested.

"Yeah, I thought that would tickle your sense of humour!" Loren grinned as she turned to the sink to rinse the fish smell off her hands.

"So... what are they like?"

"Adams is an ex-cop from Richmond and Gomez is a former Navy Chief Master at Arms."

"And?"

"Gomez is as conscientious as you'd expect, and in a nice change for NCIS is punctilious in calling me 'ma;am', and Adams takes his lead in that from him. Adams had detective experience in Richmond, and I would say he is the more experienced of the two in that sense. I haven't watched them interview any suspects yet, but I'd expect Gomez to be better with sailors than with marines, and the other way round with Adams."

"Oh, why?" Harm asked, he had his own idea, but wanted to hear what Loren came up with.

"Well, because Gomez is a former Chief, he still has some of that command presence, and it will work well with sailors... but marines? Well you know what they can be like around navy, especially retired navy. They probably won't even register that he is now a Federal Agent!"

"So... you can wok with them OK?"

"I think so... We actually haven't worked much together, it's more of a paper chase for me, I've only met them twice, although we've talked on the 'phone. I'm just more of a liaison officer, their contact with JAG, than an active investigator!" Loren finished with a slight pout.

Harm hurried around the island, "And that's just the way I like it!" wrapping his arms about her and giving her a gentle squeeze. "If I can't be there to watch your six, I'd rather have you safe and sound in an office than trying to dodge some wrench-wielding, parts-stealing, desperate Jarhead!"

Loren leaned back against the circle of his arms, "But how am I going to get real investigative experience?" she complained.

"By getting you teamed up with someone who can teach you to investigate properly, and if the worst should come to the worst, someone who you know will have your back!"

"Have you got anyone in mind?" Loren asked, turning to add the fish to the rice.

"Well, I would be the ideal candidate," Harm said, "And no, I'm not bragging!" he quickly added. "But we know that's never going to happen!"

"So... Commander Turner?" Loren asked.

"No!" Harm exploded. "Don't get me wrong, Sturgis is a good man in a tight spot, he can keep his head, and I would have no doubts about him watching your back, but..."

"But what?" Loren asked, intrigued. They had never discussed their colleagues in any depth and she found the insight into how Harm viewed one of his oldest friends to be illuminating, especially as she silently compared it to her own opinion of the tall former submariner.

"He's a little too hidebound... strictly by the book, there's no room in him for … well put it this way, he's Chaplain Turner's son, all his life he's had to live by the word of the Book. He then went to the academy, where he was subject to even stricter rules, then he went on to submarines, where everything must be done according to a yet another set of rules. As a result, his mind runs on tracks, he is unable to think outside the box, and is, I believe, unwilling to try. An investigator, especially one who is mentoring a junior needs a greater degree of flexibility than Sturgis has."

"H'mm... that only leaves Carolyn, Megan, Alan Mattoni and Bud Roberts..."

Harm shook his head again, "Alan is not an investigator, he dislikes being sent on even shipboard investigations or even just down to Norfolk. Bud is too inexperienced, both as an investigator, and even in some ways as an attorney..."

"Oh, I don't know!" Loren exclaimed as she strained the fish and rice into a large dish and reached for the plate of sliced eggs, adding them to the rice and giving it a gentle stir before pouring the curry sauce on top of it.

"How's that?" Harm asked as he placed the salad bowl on the table and turned to the fridge for a couple of cold beers.

"Well, he kicked your butt in court last month with the Margoulies case!" Loren said with a sly grin. "Tah-dah! Loren Singer's patent kedgeree!" she half sung triumphantly as she carried the steaming dish to the table.

"Yeah, he did, didn't he?" Harm half winced, half chuckled, "I must have been off my game that day!"

"Or he's turning into a better attorney than you give him credit for!" Loren said as she helped herself to a portion of the kedgeree.

"There is that!" Harm agreed.

Loren swallowed a mouthful of kedgeree, and took a sip of her beer, "But you haven't said anything about Carolyn or Meg?"

Harm laid his fork aside for a moment. He suddenly looked ill at ease, "Uh... well... the thing is... look, you know that I believe that women can do any job they want in the Navy, or any of the services. Hell, I've been quite happy flying with female RIOs and with a female pilot on my wing, and Meg is a top notch investigator, but..."

"But?" Loren said dangerously.

"But I'd be much happier knowing that JAG investigative teams were mixed sex."

"So, you wouldn't necessarily want two male investigators working together?" Loren challenged him.

"Actually, no, I wouldn't!" Harm denied, taking up his fork again, "Men and women think differently, and they look at and approach problems differently, and that duality is... has been the key to solving more than one case that I can think of!"

Loren applied her fork to her dinner while she considered his words. She knew that Harm wasn't ever intentionally chauvinistic, but sometimes his protective streak kicked into high gear. However, in this case she could appreciate his train of thought and see the justice in it, but even so, she still felt he was being a little too protective. On one level that annoyed the hell out of her, but on another level, well... it was quite comforting to know that he regarded her as something precious...

"So a team should always be one male, one female?" she asked him.

"Yeah, in an ideal world," Harm replied, "But the thing is, JAG is unusual at the moment in that we have, thanks to gapped posts, more female attorneys in house than male."

"M'mm... I wasn't thinking about that," Loren said, "But more along the lines of if you think investigations should be a team effort, why did you cut orders for Gunny to go off on a Lone Ranger type assignment."

"Well, that's not really an investigation, it's a Brig-Chaser assignment, and they are usually handled by one individual, besides this Private Rivers..."

"Rivera," Loren corrected him.

Harm nodded, "Rivera, then. He's sixty-eight, maybe sixty-nine years old... how much of a problem is that going to be for Victor Galindez? And they'll be back in DC the day after tomorrow, anyway."

"None, I hope, otherwise you're likely to find Meg Austin coming after you with blood in her eye!"

"What? I thought that was all over and done with!" Harm yelped.

"I think it is... in some ways..." Loren pursed her lips judiciously. "I don't think they're seeing each other in secret, but I've also seen how they look at each other when they think no-one's watching them." Loren fiddled uneasily with her beer glass, "Look Harm, I am making an effort to get on better with people around the office, but Harriet Sims has got a nose for scandal and she's probably the worst gossip in the world." She held up a hand to prevent Harm interrupting her, "I'm prepared to accept that she probably does what she does because she's happy in her marriage, and wants everyone else to be just as happy. But she's got a loose tongue, and it only needs someone like Seaman Hawkins to get hold of a whiff of a secret love affair..."

Harm winced, "Yeah... but what can we do."

"How about we sit down with Meg someplace quiet, maybe one of the outside tables at lunch now it's getting a bit warmer? And then give her a word to the wise?"

Harm shook his head, "Loren, I really don't like interfering, and look how mad you were at Harriet over her attempts to break us up and get Mac and myself back together."

Loren nodded, accepting his position, "OK, I won't say anything if you don't want me to, but I thought Meg was still your friend."

Harm winced again under the impact of her words. "She is still my friend, Loren. And if she asks for help, then I'll be there for her on the instant, but I do not want to interfere in something so personal when she hasn't given any sign that she wants me to!"

"OK.. Now what do you think of this curry sauce? I didn't want it too hot so that it would mask the taste of the fish..."

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 0919hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (271419ZMar01)**

Harm had listened to the updates in the cases the gathered attorneys were handling, and then held out hid hand to Tiner, who placed two new blue case files in his hand.

"OK... Meg, and Sturgis, pick up your orders and travel documents from Tiner as soon as we're done here. You're heading for Rosey Roads, apparently there are some sailors whose intent seems to be the incapacitating of any marines they can find. To date five marines have been found, badly beaten, in out of the way spots, well away from the bars and pool halls along the strip, or in Ceiba itself."

He turned to Carolyn, "Nothing so exotic for you, I'm afraid. You and Lieutenant Barlow are headed back down to Twenty Nine Palms..." he paused for Carolyn's groan. That particular base held mildly unpleasant memories for both of them. "Fraternisation, a Super Cobra pilot apparently disobeyed an order given to him, after counselling had been tried and failed, by his CO to terminate an improper relationship with one of the enlisted marines employed in the MP Battalion Dog Handler platoon."

"A female marine?" Carolyn asked.

"Harm nodded his head, "Yep, but no investigation required. This is going straight to court martial. Carolyn you'll defend, Barlow the prosecution is all yours. Good luck!"

"Alright, people, just two or three more points to cover...One, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez is on his way to New Mexico, to collect an alleged deserter from a civilian jail. They should be back by tomorrow evening. I'm free this morning if those of you left in DC need to speak with me, but I'm tied up with meetings all afternoon, firstly with NCIS and Lieutenant Singer, and secondly with civilian counsel who is suing the navy on behalf of his client. I should finally be clear by about sixteen hundred, but don't hold your breath! Lieutenant Roberts, be sure and come to see me before lunch so we can hammer out some sort of joint strategy for dealing with Mister Fraser."

"Yes, sir!"

"That's it, dismissed, people!"

The room filled with the clatter of chairs as the assembled officers arose and waited for Harm to precede them through the doors, Sturgis, who had remained silent throughout the briefing, Meg, Carolyn and the young Lieutenant Barlow all following Harm and Tiner, in order to collect their orders and travel documents from the Yeoman.

Mac watched them trail off in a disorderly gaggle a slight frown on her forehead and a discontented expression on her face. Then with a renewed expression of determination, she set off in pursuit, but instead of joining the throng a the Yeoman's desk, she stepped around it and tapped on the door frame to the Admiral's office.

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 0942hrs EDT, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (271442ZMar01)**

Harm had only just sat down when the knock came, looking up and through the open door, he looked at Mac, "Come on in, and have a seat," he invited her.

Mac stepped into the office, quietly closing the door behind her and then crossed the carpet to the wing chairs, choosing as was her normal custom the right hand of the two chairs, and carefully smoothing her skirt beneath her, sat down.

"What can I do for you, Mac?" Harm asked in a light voice.

Mac fiddled with the hem of her skirt for a moment or two where it lay just above her knees, before he raised her head and looked Harm in the eye, "Is there any reason why you didn't give me either of the two off-base assignments?" she asked.

"Is there any reason I should have do so?" queried Harm.

"Damn it, Harm! Don't answer a question with a question! Just give me a straight answer, please! And yes, I think there is a reason I should have been assigned one or the other case – they both involve marines!"

"And that's a pretty good argument Mac, under other circumstances. But you're already involved in a case concerning a marine, Private Rivera. Gunny should be back with him by tomorrow evening, and then we can put that case to bed in very short order. Then you'll be free to be handed cases that deserve your attention as and when they cross my desk!"

Mac continued to look him in the eye, "And was that your only consideration, Harm?"

"No, it wasn't. It was however, my main one. But on top of that, I'm still slightly concerned about the condition of your jaw and your arm. I still haven't seen anything from Commander Pike releasing you back to full duty... No, don't interrupt, please Mac. I know you're going to insist that you're fully fit, but just take a look at your arms for a moment." He blessed the fact that they had moved into summer uniforms, and that the short sleeved blouse that Mac wore showed plainly the disparity in skin tone, as well as muscle bulk and tone in her two forearms.

"Can you honestly claim that both you arms have the same strength, Mac?"

She remained silent.

"No, I thought not. Mac, I know how good an investigator you are, none better! We've worked together for five, six years nearly, and I know that under ordinary circumstances you can look after yourself. But these are not ordinary circumstances. I know you feel that you've got to prove yourself all over again to the Admiral, but give yourself a chance! Dammit, Mac, your bruises have hardly faded, and here you are champing at the bit! And please, don't give me that 'I'm a Marine' crap!"

Mac was inclined to be angry, but bit down her irritation, not only could she not afford another brush with authority, temporary though that authority may be, but she also recognised that Harm's attitude was still coloured by concern for her. It was an oddly comforting feeling and for the first time since Mic had attacked them both she allowed herself to hope that their friendship wasn't totally finished, and neither was their partnership.

"But, I am a Marine she declared, and paused before continuing in a grudging voice, "But alright, I'll let it ride – this time! But only because you're the acting JAG!"

Harm smiled, "Good! And actually I'm glad you came to see me this morning. Why don't you join Loren and me for lunch, say at twelve thirty?"

Mac briefly considered whether or not Harm had a hidden motive, but not being able to find one, she half-smiled and said, "Thanks, I will!"

"So... was there anything else, Mac?"

"No... no, there's not. Thank you, Harm." Mac rose from her seat, "May I dismiss?"

"Of course you may, and please close the door behind you..." Harm sighed theatrically, "I've still got the damn budget to work through!"

"Oh, you poor baby!" Mac teased him, reverting back the earlier days of their friendship when gently mocking quips were the rule, rather than the exception, and which had been gradually superseded by sharper, more barbed comments.

Mac froze in consternation as soon a she realised what she'd said, while Harm froze in surprise, it had been a long time – too long in his opinion – since he and Mac had been on such easy terms.

"Oh... Harm...I... I'm..."

"Don't say it Marine!" Harm interrupted her, "It's a sign of weakness!" he threw her own hi-jacked mantra back at her, and then smiled, "Anyway, it was kind of nice to hear you say that again, and in that tone of voice."

Mac couldn't speak for the lump that had formed in her throat, and with suspiciously bight eyes, she nodded her head in farewell and with head held high marched out of the office.

Harm watched her go with a sadness-tinged gentle smile for old memories, and then with another sigh sat down again and reached for the budget file.

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 1151hrs EDT, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (271551ZMar01)**

Harm looked at Bud in open disbelief, "Let me get this straight! The Marine Corps took Mister Zugler and put him in the Brig for two weeks, and then knowing that they had the wrong man, they held him for an additional two weeks?"

Bud shook his head defensively, "They tasked him with policing the area, that's not hard time!"

It was Harm's turn to shake his head, "Bud, you can't go around plucking innocent civilians off the street and throwing them in the brig!"

"Sir, the Navy made an honest mistake, but it's not worth two million dollars! Fraser wants too much!"

"Oh... that's just Fraser!"

"What's just Fraser?" Mac asked as she walked in through the open door , "I thought I saw him with you yesterday," she added to Bud.

"Yeah, he's retired from the Navy and has set up his own law firm," Harm commented with a wry grin, "Fraser and Company, 1-800 Sue Navy!" he finished with a cynical overtone, waving Fraser's business card to and fro.

Mac leaned over and plucked it from Harm's fingers and gave it a quick read, "It does not say 1-800-Sue-Navy!" she chuckled.

"No, but it might as well!" Harm said bitterly.

Mac raised her eyes to heaven, shook her head and turned to Bud, "So, any news from New Mexico?"

"Yeah, the Admiral checked in via cell 'phone. He's caught three trout!"

"Yeah, apparently the Gunny's sister is a very good guide," Harm supplemented Bud's meagre report.

Bud's eyes threatened to pop out of his head, "Valerie fishes? I never thought she'd leave the mall!" he said incredulously.

"Not Valerie – Maria!" a grinning Mac corrected him.

"The Gunny has four sisters, Bud!" Harm added.

"So counting air fare, car rental, fly-drive, rod and lodging, that comes to four hundred dollars a fish!"" Mac supplied with a cynical look on her face.

"Closer to five!" Harm corrected her, and then looked back at Bud, "Bud, we'll look at Mister Zugler's case again when Fraser gets here this afternoon, I'll up the offer a bit, but he's not getting two million!"

"Zugler's asking for two million?" Mac whistled in surprise.

"No, that's what I was saying when you walked in, that's just Fraser, his reach is exceeding his grasp!"

"Ah," Mac said, her curiosity satisfied at last, "But he was always like that in litigation – especially in torte cases!"

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 1229hrs EDT, Outside tables, Commissary, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (271629ZMar01)**

"This table OK, Mac?" Harm asked, indicating one of the three tables that wasn't shaded by one of the cherry trees outside the commissary.

"Not in the shade, Harm?" Mac asked dubiously.

"No, it's not hot enough yet to have to stay in the shade, let's take advantage of the sun before it gets too hot and too humid!"

Mac shrugged, "OK, I guess that's the SoCal boy coming out again!"

"Gee, yah, think?" Harm grinned, and was inexplicably relived when Mac smiled back as she took her seat.

"I thought Loren was joining us?" Mac queried as she looked around trying to spot the blonde lieutenant.

"She will be in a few minutes, she said she needs to get the last of her papers ready for a thirteen thirty meeting! Sheesh!"

"Sheesh?" Mac asked.

"Yeah, it seems that between staff call, Fraser, and Loren, all I get to do all day is attend meetings – oh and try to get something done with that damn budget!" Harm commented bitterly as he opened the plastic container that held his egg salad lunch.

"I don't recall you being so bogged down the last time you deputised for the Admiral!" he continued in the same tone.

"Getting you down, Harm?" Mac asked in a sympathetic voice, but with laughter dancing in her eyes.

"Yeah, and I've got a damned meeting with the SecNav on Thursday. Why, I don't know. It's to do with JAG management, and surely to God that's something that could wait until the Admiral gets back off leave next week!"

"Yeah, you'd have thought... but...You didn't engineer lunch together just to complain about your schedule, or did you?"

"No... no, I didn't. But it does have to do with manning. I was talking to Loren last night, and she was... well... I won't say complaining... but she was unhappy about the lack of investigative opportunities coming her way. The thing is, the only person I feel I can trust to have her back and train her properly is you."

Mac almost dropped her forkful of meatloaf, certainly her jaw dropped open, "Me?" she almost squeaked.

"Yeah, you. Don't look so surprised. We worked together for years, and I know your style. Despite some... shall we say philosophical differences and one or two rough patches, we've been a good team and you've a wealth of investigative experience you could pass on if you're willing to work with Loren."

"I'm willing to give it a try, Harm, but do I need to remind you that I'll be shipping out soon?"

"No, you don't. But the thing is, Loren will be shipping out soon, we've set the date for June thirtieth, and I can't see the Admiral being able to talk the SecNav into letting Loren and I serve together as man and wife. So it's only three months, and we might be able to persuade the Admiral to give you that much grace before he sends you to wherever he's got in mind. I mean. There's no orders been cut yet, are there? Besides, we have to wait for the DA to appoint a court date for Brumby, and you're going to have to be in DC for that! And he can only do that once we inform him that you're fit to testify, and I can't do that until I get written notification from Bethesda, that you're cleared for full duty" he finished ingenuously."

"True, and no, there haven't been any orders cut yet," Mac agreed, and toying with a forkful of mashed potato, she asked "Why me? Why not Sturgis or Meg, or Carolyn?"

"Sturgis is too rigid in his approach, he lacks flexibility, Meg is needed to give Sturgis some of that flexibility in their approach, that's why I deliberately named her as lead investigator this morning, so that Sturgis will have to listen to her. Carolyn? No, don't get me wrong, she's not a bad attorney, but as an investigator. She's strictly small time! Ideally, I'd like to mentor Loren myself, but you know as well as I do that just isn't going to happen. "

"No... but how much grace do you think the Admiral can be persuaded to grant me?"

"Well you can't deploy until you've passed your PFT, and I can't see you doing bench presses or chin ups with a flipper like that," he nodded at her shrunken left forearm.

"Maybe not, but what if the Admiral decides my time would be better spent in training whoever is posted in to take Loren's place, or even mine?"

"Mac, we could spend all afternoon playing 'What if?' so why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it?"

"OK, then we'll put it to... Oh, here's Loren!"

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 1327hrs EDT, Small Conference Room, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (271727ZMar01)**

Loren and the two visitors rose to their feet as Harm entered the room, "As you were, please," he waved them back into their seats and took his own at the head of the table, with Loren to his right and the two NCIS agents on his left.

Once he had settled himself, he looked at the two visitors and had no difficulty in deciding who Adams and who was Gomez. The taller of the two had a tanned face from long hours in the open, but the other, Gomez, was even darker, his naturally olive skinned face having been further darkened by hours of standing watch at sea in all weathers.

"So, gentlemen, why the meeting?"

"More to keep you up to date, Commander, although we were expecting to meet with the Admiral," Adams began.

"Yeah, well, he's on leave, so you'll just have to make do with me!" Harm retorted feeling his feathers being ruffled.

"Oh, no complaints, Commander," Gomez chimed in with a chastising look at his partner, "We're very happy to meet with you, so there is no question of 'making do'; it was just a bit of surprise not seeing Admiral Chegwidden walk through the door. The Lieutenant didn't mention that the Admiral was ashore."

"You didn't ask," Loren pointed out, "and you were adamant that you wanted this meeting this week!"

"Yes, that's true," Adams admitted, and trying to recover from his gaffe, "As my partner said, Commander, it was just the surprise at seeing you. I meant no offence!"

"Very well, none taken.!" Harm replied not entirely truthfully, "So what progress have you made?"

Loren slid a slim, blue file in front of him. Opening the file Harm saw there were two pieces of paper in it. One seemed to be a list of the motor parts missing from the inventory, and the other was a schematic of a Humvee, with certain parts shaded in blue.

"And the significance of this?" Harm tapped the schematic.

"Well Commander, if you care to cross-reference the list of missing parts, you'll find that they correspond to the shaded items on the schematic."

Harm fought down an inclination to grin, "Are you trying to tell me that someone is stealing a Humvee by instalments?"

"No, Commander, we are not trying to tell you anything. We are telling you that someone in that motor pool is stealing enough parts to build six military specification Humvees including cupola mountings for fifty calibre M2 Machine guns!" Adams told him.

Harm sat up straighter at that, "Six Humvees... but wouldn't it be easier just to steal them off the streets?"

"Six military spec Humvees, Commander," Gomez repeated, "Do you have any idea how much just one of those would fetch when sold illegally?"

"No idea... but I don't like the idea of them being ready to have fifty calibres mounted on them. That sounds like..."

"Bad trouble, Commander!"

"It does. How did you figure out what was going on?"

"We didn't, it was Lieutenant Singer who noticed that all the parts belonged to the same type of vehicle. When we started this investigation, we assumed it was just opportunistic theft of parts for fitting to some Marine's wreck of a truck, or selling on to individuals who needed replacement spares but now..."

Loren blushed at the praise, as well as the warm look Adams s ent her. Harm saw the look but decided for the moment to say nothing.

"What do you intend to do now?" Harm asked, "This looks like it might well be moving on up the food chain."

"Well, as soon as we leave here, we go back to the Navy Yard and brief Director Morrow, what happens from there on in is up to him.

Harm nodded, "Fair enough, but keep this office, through Lieutenant Singer, in the loop!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Gomez couldn't help but respond to the command tone in Harm's voice, and then he grinned, "Madre de Dios! Commander..."

"It's OK, Gomez," Harm grinned, "It seems like the old saying is true, 'you can take the man out of the Navy..."W

"But you can't take the Navy out of the man!" a still slightly pink Loren finished for him, and then catching Harm's eye, she hastily added "Sir!"

Harm turned his head to look more directly at her, and with his right eye now hidden from the two NCIS agents, let the eyelid drop in a suggestive wink.

Loren blushed again, and once more cursed her mother's colouring.

Harm stood, signifying that unless anyone else had anything to add, he considered the meeting closed.

With a nod to Loren's "By you leave, sir?" he allowed her to escape from the room, and while Gomez was packing away the case file, Harm took the opportunity to walk a couple of steps aside with agent Adams. "I noticed that you seemed rather taken with Lieutenant Singer..." Harm left the sentence dangling.

"Yes, she's a very attractive, woman, Commander," Adams admitted.

"Yeah, her fiancé thinks so too."

Adams had the grace to look chagrined, "Damn! I hadn't noticed that!"

"I should if I were you, her fiancé can be very jealous..."

Awareness dawned on the agent, "Ah... I take it that you know the Lieutenant's betrothed, Commander?"

"I do, in fact, I've known him all my life!"

Adams nodded, "Message received and understood, Commander. Congratulations!"

"Just so..." murmured Harm with a faint smile. "I'll have someone walk you out, if you've quite finished.

"Thank you, Commander, but that won't be necessary!" Adams said firmly, and then grinned and held out his hand, "It's been a pleasure – a mixed pleasure – but still a pleasure to meet you Commander!"

"And you, Agent, and you!"

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 1504hrs EDT, Small Conference Room, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA (271904ZMar01)**

"Lieutenant have you discussed my offer with the Commander?" Fraser demanded.

"Not even in the ball-park!" Harm said firmly.

"So, make me an offer?" Fraser suggested.

"Twenty-five thousand!" Harm said just as firmly.

"Out of the question!" Fraser snapped.

"Thirty thousand. Take it or leave it. And you have fifteen seconds to decide!" Harm declared.

Fraser shook his head, "If you want to play hard ball, pal, I'll see you in court!"

Harm made no answer, while Bud looked to him for a lead. Silence reigned for the fifteen seconds, and then Fraser stood up, "Very well, good afternoon!"

The two naval officers just stared at him and then Fraser seemed to collapse, "OK, One seventy-five!"

"Eighty!" Harm barked out, raising a minatory finger "Eighty thousand, with the written understanding that Mister Zugler cannot disclose the amount of the settlement,

Fraser looked sideways at Bud, and the with a sigh of resignation, he agreed, "Done!" and slumped back into his seat.

"And give no interviews to any publications including, but not limited to, the National Enquirer or People Magazine!" Bud added firmly.

"Lieutenant that may adversely affect my client's ability to make up the loss he suffered at the hands of the Navy!" Fraser replied.

"Oh Come on Fraser, we've heard all this," Harm objected. "Now, your client has a legitimate beef, granted, but you were in the Navy; do you want to see the service subject to ridicule?"

"I need to think of my client!" Fraser answered.

"Who is being well taken care of," Bud pointed out.

"And now it's time to consider the greater good," Harm suggested quietly.

Fraser let a cynical grin appear on his face, "What are you trying to do? Appeal to my better nature?"

Harm let his own grin appear as he nodded his head, "Exactly! Besides you're not going to do better than eighty thousand!"

Fraser thought for a second or two and then drew a deep breath, "Done!" he agreed, doing his best to appear satisfied, and rising to his feet again, he offered his hand to Harm, who accepted it in recognition of the deal having been struck.

"Lieutenant," he nodded his farewell to Bud and turned to leave the conference room.

"Sir, that was masterful, you're his new best buddy!" Bud enthused.

"Yeah, maybe!" Harm said, although his tone of voice didn't carry any great degree of conviction, "Just get that agreement typed up and printed out, and then sent to Fraser for signature, and we can wash our hands of this whole mess!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Bud responded as the he held the door open for his senior officer to precede him.


	41. Chapter 41

**41**

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 1819hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb s Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC, (272319ZMar01) **

Loren hung her cover on one of the pegs on the inside of the door and barely restrained a giggle as Harm skidded his onto the hallway table just inside the doorway.

"Oh well, another day, another dollar," she chirped brightly as her hand went to the pins holding her bun in place

"Or another day older and deeper in debt!" Harm almost snapped back at her, as he started unbuttoning his shirt and walked towards the bedroom.

Loren shook her hair free, and mumbled around her mouthful of pins, "Aw... didn't the big, bad sailor like sitting in the big chair?"

"What?" Harm growled, glaring at her.

Loren took the pins from her mouth and toed off her shoes before she answered him, "I said, didn't you enjoy being the JAG for the day?"

Harm plumped down on the end of the bed, and bent to untie his shoe laces, "Not really... too much politics, too many budget constraints to take into consideration, and far, far too many meetings, with far too many creeps..."

"Like the former Commander Fraser?" Loren asked, as she hung her blouse on a hangar before her hands went to the waistband of her skirt.

Harm sat back upright, one shoe off and one shoe still on his foot, as he watched appreciatively while Loren slid her skirt down over her legs and then bent to slip it off over her feet.

Not hearing an answer to her question, Loren looked around and over her shoulder, and then gave a snort of exasperated laughter, "You're drooling – again!" she protested.

"Damn straight I am!" Harm averred, "but to answer your question," he added quickly as Loren, the light of battle in her eyes, advanced towards him, "I was thinking more of creeps like Agent Adams."

Loren stopped, a puzzled look on her face, "Adams? I thought he was OK, kinda... well..."

"Creepy?" Harm supplied.

"No! I'm not sure... he was pleasant, polite, well mannered and..."

"Creepy!" Harm finished on a note of triumph.

Loren quickly straddled Harms thighs and pout her hands on his shoulders for balance, "Where did this suddenly come from?" she asked.

"Well... if you think I drool, how come you missed the way Adams was acting around you? He was practically tripping over his tongue!"

Loren looked at him blankly for a second before awareness dawned, "Harm! You're jealous!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Am not!" he sulked.

"Are too!" she shot back, "But it's kinda cute, and loving and..."

"I am not jealous!" Harm denied, "I just thought it was disrespectful towards you, he was pretending to be all professional and courteous while all the time he was planning on making a mph...!"

Loren put and end to Harm's rant by the simple expedient of stopping his lips with hers and then deepening the kiss, all the while pressing back on his shoulders.

Harm lay supine on the bed and smiled up at Loren, "You are half naked, have just kissed all the breath out of me and are sitting astride me. Do you have any idea of just what that does to me?"

"Don't need an idea," Loren grinned, reaching behind her for her bra clasp and wriggling slightly to give emphasis to her words, "I can _feel_ the effect I have on you!"

"Oh, good..." Harm sighed, "Because I wouldn't want you to be labouring under the slightest misapprehension..."

**Tuesday 27 March 2001, 2107hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb s Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC, (280107ZMar01) **

Harm bent his elbow and reached up his hand to gently stroke Loren's hair where she lay with her head nestled into his shoulder.

"Dinner?" he asked softly.

"Nuh-huh," Loren gently shook her head, "Screw dinner."

"Oh... OK," Harm smiled and reaching down drew the comforter up over both of them and then closing his eyes he drifted gently off to sleep.

Loren lay fully content, listening to his heartbeat and his gentle breathing until her eyes too slowly closed

**Wednesday 28 March 2001, 1038hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (281438ZMar01) **

Harm felt much happier this morning, Staff Call had gone well, and although perhaps slightly more relaxed than when the Admiral chaired the meeting there had been no disruption and he had the gratification of seeing surprise on both Mac and Loren's faces when he had assigned them the case of Chief Petty Officer Thomas E Evans, who had been arrested the previous night by NCIS agents on suspicion of selling stolen computer peripherals from the Washington Navy Yard Stores.

In addition, Mac had come to him, still in her capacity of Chief of Staff, immediately after Staff Call, bearing with her not only her physical therapy schedule, which had just arrived but the results of the latest promotion examination results for Seaman to Petty Officer Third Class. Second from the top, in order was merit was the name of Seaman Elizabeth Hawkins.

Harm had looked in almost disbelief at Mac who had stared levelly into his eyes for a few seconds before she grinned, "Almost unbelievable, isn't it?"

"Well... If I hadn't seen it in print, I wouldn't have believed it, either!" Harm exclaimed, his face now set in a rueful grin as he shook his head. "What do you think, call her in and congratulate her in private, or..."

"Nah, make it a full announcement in the bull pen, Harm. She deserves the recognition!"

Harm looked again at the sheet of paper in his hand, "OK, her effective date is the day after tomorrow, so... I'll authorise frocking for her!"

Mac nodded in acknowledgement, "Thanks Harm... I know she's probably the biggest gossip in the whole of JAG, but she obviously worked hard to get that position and those marks."

"Yeah, maybe the responsibilities of her new rating will lead her to calm down a bit on the scuttlebutt front..."

"We can but hope," Mac grinned.

Accordingly, Harm and Mac had walked out to the edge of the bull pen, where Harm had called, "Attention on deck!"

The buzz of a busy working environment stilled as everyone rose to their feet while Harm waited for compliance. Once everyone was at attention, Harm continued, "Ladies and gentlemen, I have just received the results of the latest Seaman to Petty Officer promotion board, and I am sure you will all be as pleased as I am to find that one of our number, not only features in the results, but was placed second on the list in order of achievement."

Harm waited until the slight buzz had died down before he continued, "Attention to orders! With effect from Friday, March Thirtieth, Two Thousand and One, under the authority of BUPERS reference 1/A/3800/PS2699 dated March Twentieth, Two Thousand and One, Seaman Elizabeth Ann Hawkins is promoted to the rate of E4, Personnel Specialist Petty Officer Third Class." Harm paused. "Congratulations Personnel Specialist Third Class Hawkins!"

Harm waited for the ripple of applause that had greeted his announcement to die down before he finished his announcement, "Frocking is authorised with immediate effect!"

A grinning and blushing Elizabeth Hawkins could only nod and mumble a stifled "Thank you, sir!"

Harm grinned at the young woman's reaction and then released the assemblage, "Carry on!"

Harm returned to his office, commenting to Tiner along the way, "Now that is a part of this job that I like!"

**Wednesday 28 March 2001, 1142hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (281542ZMar01) **

On returning to the Big Chair, Harm had precessed the files and folders Tiner had deposited in his In-Tray before turning his attention back to the current budget proposal and to his satisfaction was managing to make a substantial inroad into the heavy file; no less than eight sheets from a legal pad were now covered in his spiky handwriting as he worked out the figures for the coining year. So it was with a grunt of irritation that he answered the buzz of his intercom.

"Yes, Tiner?"

"Sir, Admiral Chegwidden on line one."

"Very well, put him through! Good morning sir, how's the fishing?"

"I'm not fishing, Rabb, I'm at the base hospital at MCAS Yuma!"

"Are you hurt, sir?" Rabb asked, the concern in his voice plain to hear.

"No, I'm not hurt, Rabb," Chegwidden said heavily, pausing before he continued, "It's Galindez. Apparently we walked straight into an old-fashioned range war, and the Gunnery Sergeant got in the way of a bullet meant for Private Rivera. When I caught up to them, the Gunny was down, and Private Rivera was defending him with the Gunny's weapon. He could have run, but he stayed to protect a fellow Marine!"

"Yes, sir. How is the Gunny?"

"He took a through and through just off centre to the right of his navel. He's in surgery now, but the docs reckon he'll be OK, although they're not saying yet how long he'll be hors de combat. I've informed his family, it was a bit hard not too, considering that his sister, Maria, was my fishing guide, and she was with me when we got to him! It's a long complicated story, too complicated to tell you over the phone, but I'll give you a full briefing when I get back to Falls Church. But here's the thing, I've got to hang around and talk to the New Mexico State Police; I dumped the whole mess in their laps, it seems the Chiricahua County Sheriff is up to his ears in the whole sordid business."

Harm winced, "So what do you intend sir?"

"If I get to finish with the State Police in time, I'm heading back to DC tomorrow, with Private Rivera, we're on an C-One Forty One AMC flight out of Yuma at eighteen hundred hours Friday, due to arrive at Andrews at zero two forty hours..."

Harm groaned in sympathy.

"Exactly!" the Admiral said grimly We need transport from Andrews to McLean as soon as we get our feet back on solid ground!"

"Aye, aye, sir! I'll have someone from the motor pool there for you! But sir..."

"Yes, Rabb?"

"Private Rivera, sir, won't he need an escort to take him to the brig?"

"No, Commander, he won't! Private Rivera will remain as my guest until I can get an Article Thirty Two hearing convened, at which time he will be found not guilty of desertion! I shall then do my best to ensure that he is indeed awarded his Navy Cross for his actions at Chosin Reservoir! Is that clear, Commander?"

"As crystal sir!" Harem responded, but there seemed to have been enough confusion in his voice that Chegwidden was not convinced.

"Commander, when Private Rivera, who was still not quite eighteen years old, and barely spoke English, was discharged from the VA hospital where his wounds were treated, he was told he was discharged and to go home. He misinterpreted that to mean he was discharged from the Corps and not just from the hospital. There was no intent on his part to avoid service, therefore he is not guilty of desertion. Understood?"

"Sir, yessir!" Harm barked out, responding to the imperative in Chegwidden's voice.

"And to ensure that there are no misunderstandings at Private Rivera's Article Thirty Two, I will be his defence counsel. Is that also understood?"

"Sir, yessir!" Harm repeated, thinking that there must still be something outstanding about Private Rivera if he could fire the old man up like this in his defence!

"Good! If plans change, I'll let you know, but... before I hang up, anything happening back at Falls Church that I need to know about?"

"No sir, everything's running more or less smoothly. Uh... Commander Imes is prosecuting at a court martial at Twenty Nine Palms, I could have her and Lieutenant Barlow re-routed via Yuma so she can call in on the Gunny, sir?"

"Not a bad idea, Commander, but don't do anything in that line until I get back Saturday. I may be a little late, but I want you in the office first thing Saturday. Anything else?"

"Oh... yes, sir. The half yearly promotions for E-4. Seaman Hawkins made it, sir, second on the list in order of merit. Effective from Friday sir; I... uh... authorised immediate frocking, sir."

"A bit unorthodox, Commander, but then again... very well, let the order stand."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!"

"Alright Commander, I'll see you tomorrow after Staff Call!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Harm put the phone back on its cradle and considered his course of action as far as it concerned what the Admiral had just told him about the injury to Victor Galindez.. Rightfully, everyone who needed to know about the Gunny had already been told, but Harm shivered at the prospect of Meg finding out by any other means than being told semi-officially, and that meant that it would have to be he, Harm, who told her, as things stood, it was her and Loren that had any knowledge of the attachment between Victor and Meg. Sighing, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until the highlight bar rested over Meg's number. Hoping that she would still be in cell phone range at Rosey Roads he pressed the call button and waited to see what happened.

Muttering a curse in frustration as he heard the recorded message, "_The Cell Phone you have just called is not in service._" Harm closed his phone and pressed the call switch on the desk intercom, "Tiner!"

"Sir?"

"Get a line out and get in touch with Commander Austin at Rosey Roads!"

"Whereabouts in Rosey Roads, sir?"

"I don't know, and if you don't, find out and get me that line!"

Tiner blinked in astonishment, that was so not like Commander Rabb, he really must have got a mega-sized hair up his ass over something! "_Aye, aye, sir_!"

The next twenty minutes dragged past painfully slowly, until at last Harm's phone rang.

"Rabb!" he snapped,

"_Commander Austin for you, sir_!" Tiner said crisply.

Harm dragged a hand through his hair, "Put her through, Tiner!" he paused a second, "Hello, Meg?"

Thrown off balance by the unexpected informality of Harm's greeting, Meg floundered slightly, "_Yes, this is_ _Meg Austin..._"

"Hi Meg, it's Harm."

"_Whew_! _Hi handsome, everything OK? We should be finished here by secure tomorrow, we've got a good ID on one of the sailors and he's being interviewed by Commander Turner right now, and..._"

"Meg, Meg, Meg!"

"_Harm_?"

"Meg... no... everything's not alright..."!

"_Harm, what's wrong...?_"

"Meg, are you sitting down?"

"_No... yes... I am now... Harm, what is it? You're scaring me now_."

"Listen carefully Meg, it's not good news, but it's not all bad. OK?"

Meg's "_OK... Is it my mom_" was a bit tremulous.

"Good girl!" Harm said approvingly and hoped that his smile was being reflected in his voice, "Now listen carefully; Gunny went down to New Mexico on a Brig Chasing assignment, and somehow got mixed up in some sort of local affair. I don't have all the details yet, just what A J told me, so it's all a bit sketchy. The long and the short of it is that Gunny's been shot..."

"_Oh God! Harm! Is... is... is he..._"

"No, he's not dead, Meg. The Admiral and Gunny's sister pulled him out of the fire and he's in the base hospital at MCAS Yuma. He took a hit to the stomach, the Admiral has just called, and told me that Gunny is in surgery now. The medicos say he'll pull through. The Admiral is doing the Gunny's Brig Chasing job, and I'm about to call Carolyn at Twenty Nine Palms and re-route her through Yuma so she can look in on the Gunny, OK?"

There was a long silence on the other end and for a moment or two Harm was on the point of thinking that Meg had either passed out or had hung up.

"Meg?" he queried.

"_Yeah, Harm, I'm here... I'm OK... just a bit shook up is all..._"

"OK... well, I don't know yet just how we're going to work it, but we'll try and get you to Yuma so you can see for yourself that Gunny's going to be OK!"

"_We_?" Meg queried with a lilt of hope in her voice.

"Damn straight, 'we'," Harm replied, "We're friends, right? And friends help each other, right?"

"_Oh... Harm..._" Meg's voice caught on a sob.

"Hey don't you go all female on me Austin! You're supposed to be the big bad Texas cowgirl, remember?"

"_Yeah... well, cow_girl_, is the operative word, sailor_!" But Harm could now hear a choke of amusement in Meg's voice.

"Atta girl! We'll get something sorted!"

"_Yeah. We will... and... Harm?_"

"Yeah?"

"_Thanks_!"!

"De nada, Meg. 'Bye," Harm waited for Meg's reply and then with an expression that was half smile and half frown, toggled the intercom, "Tiner?"

"_Sir_?"

"Arrange for a car and driver to meet the Admiral at Andrews at zero two forty hours, Saturday, off an AMC C-141 ex Yuma."

"_Roger, sir, zero two forty at Andrews... uh... that would be straight home for the Admiral, sir_?"

"Got it in one, Tiner, thank you!"

"_Aye, Aye, si_r!"

"And Tiner pass the word for Colonel MacKenzie and once she's here, then pass the word for Lieutenant Singer, please. I need to see them ASAP!"

"Aye, aye, sir!

Harm's attitude must have conveyed a sense of urgency to the Yeoman. Either that, or he had been lucky enough to bump into the Marine officer the second he left his office, as it was less than a minute later that the expected rap came at his door.

"Come on in, Mac!" he called.

Mac opened the door and interpreting Harm's wide sweep of his arm, she sat in her accustomed chair, adjusting the hemline of her skirt as she did, so that it lay evenly across the tops of her knees. Cocking her head, she looked inquiringly across the expanse of the JAG's desk at her erstwhile partner. "Is there a problem, Harm?"

"Um... yeah, but it doesn't really concern you... No, that's not quite right... What I mean is that there is nothing either of us can do to alleviate it that hasn't already been done. This is more in the nature of a heads up. It seems the Gunny ran headlong into a shooting match down in New Mexico and came off second best..." he held up a hand to interrupt the question he saw forming on Mac's face, "No, he's not dead. I don't have all the details, but apparently he ran into the Admiral down there, and the Admiral and the Gunny's sister pulled his ass out of the fire, with the help of your Private Rivera, who was using the Gunny's side-arm to protect him from the bad guys when the Admiral found them!"

"Semper Fi!" Mac interjected, torn between pride in and surprise at Rivera's action.

"Semper Fi, indeed!" Harm nodded his agreement. "Anyway, Gunny took a hit and is in the base hospital in Yuma MCB, and the Admiral is taking over his Brig Chaser duties and will be returning tonight with Private Rivera!"

Mac couldn't help but grin, despite the news of Galindez's wound, "I bet the Admiral is the highest ranked Brig Chaser in USN history!"

"I'm not taking that bet, Marine!" Harm grinned back. "But a further heads up, the Admiral has decided to go for an Article Thirty Two hearing for Rivera, with himself as defence counsel!"

Mac blinked at that news, "I take it that the Admiral is convinced of Rivera's innocence?" she queried needlessly.

"So it would seem!" Harm agreed drily, "And he says he's going to push for the Navy Cross for Rivera's actions at Chosin!"

"Oorah!" Mac muttered.

Harm looked at her quizzically, "I thought you were determined to nail Rivera's ass to the wall?" he asked as he leaned back in his chair, a glint of amusement in his eye.

"Yeah, I guess I was..." Mac shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "When it seemed that he had deserted, but if the Admiral is so convinced he's innocent, then I'm just as happy to let that ride, and if he is innocent, then dammit, he deserves that medal!"

"Yes, Mac, yes, he does!" Harm said quietly but firmly.

Mac nodded, "What's happening with Gunny?" Mac asked.

"At the moment, nothing, but I'm hoping to have Carolyn Imes and young Barlow make a detour on their way home from Twenty Nine Palms, but I need to clear that with the Admiral first, otherwise. We'll need to think again!"

Mac nodded, "Is that all?"

"It's enough, isn't it?" Harm asked as his eyebrows towards his hairline.

"It surely is!" Mac agreed, "But if there's nothing else...?"

"Yeah, go on Mac, we're done here," Harm agreed, "Oh... and if Loren is outside, send her in please!"

Mac nodded, "Will do!"

**Wednesday 28 March 2001, 1942hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb s Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC, (282342ZMar01) **

Loren put the last of the plates and bowls in the drainer to the side of the sink and looked across at Harm who was engaged in washing out the two saucepans they had used in preparing their meal. Both had changed out of their uniforms and had showered before starting dinner, and both were now dressed in their usual style for lounging around the apartment, that is T-shirts and jogging pants, Loren had also loosened her hair from its somewhat severe on-duty bun and gathered it into a pony-tail, which made her, in Harm's opinion, appear to be not much over eighteen years old.

"You're taking a hell of a risk, you know," she cautioned him.

Harm looked back at her, his eyebrows starting to climb his forehead, "Why do you say that?" he asked in a surprised voice, his hands falling still.

"Hey, mister! Multi-task!" Loren chided him with a grin, nodding at the pan he was holding, "I know you're smart enough to walk and chew gum at the same time, so I know you can talk and scrub at the same time, too!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Harm replied crisply, grinning in his turn as he snapped off a salute in Loren's direction.

Loren was forced to bite her lip as his actions left a dollop of soap suds clinging above his right eye, and she just knew that he was going curse and jump around if (or when, rather) the soap ran down his forehead and into his eye.

"So... " Harm continued oblivious to his forthcoming discomfort and returning to the task of scrubbing the stuck-on residue of the sauce from pan – one of the perils of a cheese sauce - "What risk am I running now?"

"Sending Meg on leave so she can visit Gunny," Loren replied.

"Don't really see it..." Harm objected after a few seconds thought while Loren leaned back against the work top as she waited for his answer.

"No? What if the Admiral finds out what you've done...?"

"All I've done is grant, in my capacity of Acting JAG, a weekend's leave to a responsible officer, who will, no doubt finish, or hand off her duties before heading for Arizona, and will definitely be back at her duty station at zero eight hundred hours on Monday morning. Besides, how would the Admiral find out?" Harm asked in conclusion as he bent his head to more closely inspect the interior of the pan, and satisfied that it was now free of any vestiges of the cheese he handed it off to Loren to dry.

Loren remained silent for a few moments as her eyes traced the path being taken by the soapy dribble on Harms forehead as, its movements accelerated by his movements, it trickled down past the outer edge of his eyebrow and into the corner of his eye.

Harm's reactions were everything that Loren had anticipated.

"Shit!" he yelled, automatically cupping his stinging eye with his hand, but in doing so bringing more soap into contact with the afflicted organ.

"Shitshitshitshitshit!" he wailed as he almost hopped around the kitchen area, both eyes now screwed tightly shut and blindly groping for a towel.

Loren stifled her giggle, but the tremor in her voice nearly betrayed her, "Here, towel!" she managed as she thrust the cloth into his hand.

"Thanks!" Harem managed, as he blotted his streaming eye. That job done he glared suspiciously and red-eyed at Loren who was definitely having a hard time holding back her giggles.

"Something funny?" he growled.

Loren could only nod helplessly, "Yeah, you!" she admitted.

"Hell, it's not that funny!" Harm grumbled.

"Oh, not you getting the soap in your eyes, I know how that can sting, but the way you were skipping around the kitchen with your eyes shut!" Loren answered, "I know, I know, it's bad karma to laugh at things like that, but don't tell me if it had been me that you wouldn't have laughed!"

"Well..." Harm began in a self-righteous voice, "I wouldn't have..."

"I said don't try to tell me!" Loren objected, but still with the laughter in her voice.

"Oh, well..." Harm conceded, the beginnings of his own reluctant grin lifting the corners of his mouth.

"That's better!" Loren said pushing herself away from the work top, to which she'd retreated during Harm's gyrations, winding her arms around his neck and reaching up planted a gentle kiss on his lips, "There, mommy kiss it better!"

"That wasn't my eye!" Harm said as he pulled back slightly.

"I know, but you're too tall for me to reach your eye, and besides, isn't this more fun?"

"True!" Harm agreed before he turned his attention to enthusiastically returning her kiss.

"Wow! That's... enough...Mister Lover Man,!" Loren gasped, as she tore herself breathlessly from his arms. "Finish off those pans, while I put some coffee on, and then we've got a conversation to finish!"

Ten minutes later, both comfortably installed on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee on the table in front of them, Loren snuggled into the shelter of Harm's arm and picked up where she had left off, "Look, I whole heartedly approve of you letting Meg know about Gunny and where he is and what condition he's in... after all if she held back information about you if the situation had been reversed, then I'd be coming after her with blood in my eye! But... I am worried about what the Admiral's reaction might be... after all, according to you, he made it quite clear that he did not approve of a relationship between Meg and Victor!"

"Victor?" Harm enquired with a lift of his eye brow.

"Yes! Victor! And stop trying to change the subject!"

"OK, here's the thing, when the Admiral and I spoke, it was pretty obvious that he did have some sympathy for them. Amongst other things he said was that both were fine people – and he didn't just mean that they were good at their jobs – he was talking about their personal qualities, and even said that Meg would have to look long and hard to find someone who had all the qualities that Gunny has! But, his hands are tied. OPNAV instructions, and Navy Regulations leave him absolutely no room for manoeuvre when it come to officer-enlisted relationships. They are just not allowed."

"Which makes you sticking your neck out to help them even more risky!" Loren pointed out.

"Ah, so... I'm not allowed to take those sorts of risks, but you are?" Harm challenged her.

Loren wriggled free of his arm, sat up straight and turned troubled eyes on him, "What on earth do you mean?" she demanded.

"Well, if, and I say if, I am taking a risk, at least I am taking it on behalf of my friends, not some random and total stranger!" Harm declared.

"And when did I do something like that?" Loren asked incredulously.

"Lieutenant Maat?" Harm retorted triumphantly.

"Oh..." Loren resumed her former position snuggled up to Harm as she tried to form a coherent reply, "That was... different... And it wasn't so much Lieutenant Maat I was concerned about, but it was her daughter..." Loren replied quietly, letting her voice almost fade as she ended her sentence, but then she rallied, "Look, Harm, I've told you about my childhood, how my mother wouldn't or couldn't lift a finger to help me, well Isabel Maat did lift a finger, she turned to the legal system, and the legal system let her down. There was a connection... between me and her and her daughter..."

"Hush, sweetheart, hush..." Harm murmured as he gently stroked her hair. He had, or thought he had, heard a catch in her voice, "I didn't mean to upset you, I was just trying to figure why you thought it was OK to take a risk for a stranger, but it wasn't OK for me to take a risk – a much lesser risk, I might add – for a friend."

"Oh... It wasn't that much of a risk! Apart from the fact that no-one identified the blonde officer who supposedly helped Maat, and I have never claimed to have been that officer," Loren objected.

"Yeah, yeah it was that much of a risk. If Maat's husband hadn't lost it in the middle of the bull pen and shown his true colours by attacking Harriet Sims, Lieutenant Maat would have been guilty of UA and of contempt of court, and you, my brave little darling, would have been guilty of aiding a federal fugitive. So don't tell me it was only a little risk! And anyway, to get back to the original point of contention: Meg will be away for the weekend, how is the Admiral ever going to find out what she does on her own time?"

"Well, firstly, she's not on her own time, Harm! You know as well as I, that the Navy is a twenty four seven job, and secondly, how will the Admiral find out? Because, as you yourself said, he's the JAG!"

Harm winced and dropped a kiss on Loren's hair, "I hate it when you use my own words against me!" he grumbled.

**Thursday 28 March 2001, 0901hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (281301ZMar01)**

"As you were!" Harm rapped out as the few officers remaining at HQ scrambled to their feet in response to Tiner's announcement of Harm's presence.

Harm took his seat as the remainder also sat, and cast a jaundiced eye around the table. Mac sat at his right, still in the Chief of Staff's accustomed position, with Alan Mattoni on her right, opposite her sat Loren with Bud Roberts to her left and then Lieutenants Fairchild and Warren.

"Before we start, I have an announcement to make." Harm gave the assembled officers another sweeping glance. "As you may know, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez travelled to New Mexico on a Brig Chaser detail. It seems he wandered into the middle of some sort of range war, and is now in the base hospital at MCAS, Yuma, recovering from a GSW to his abdomen.. Private Rivera, the detainee he was escorting, is now in the custody of the Admiral, and they will both be arriving at Andrews in the very early hours of Saturday morning. So it behoves all of us, especially the senior attorneys, to stay within arms reach of Falls Church this weekend. I'm sorry if that disrupts already laid plans," he added swiftly as he saw Bud's face fall and Alan Mattoni open his mouth as if to object, "but that's the way it's got to be."

He relaxed slightly, "I know its rough, but look at it this way, it's better than being sent TAD to an on-board investigation at short notice!"

The wry grins he received in return to this statement were sufficient to let him know that any ruffled feathers had been sufficiently smoothed, or if not then the owner of those feathers had done as any sailor would and sucked it up.

"Now... onto business. Colonel, when Rivera gets back, he will nit be going to the Brig, but will be staying as the Admiral's house guest – and oh yes, the Admiral is taking on Rivera's case as defence counsel. Good luck Colonel!" he finished sardonically.

Mac, however, merely lifted an eyebrow, "Let him bring it on!" she said serenely, causing Alan Mattoni and Bud Roberts looking vaguely alarmed and leaving Harm to wonder what the Marine had discovered or had hidden away.

Giving a mental shrug, Harm looked at the folder in front of him and made a decision, "Alan, Lieutenant Helen Wilder, assaulted her CO, Commander Norman Kelly in the O Club at Andrews. She's in the secure accommodation at Anacostia. For what it's worth, this one is going to trial; Frank Childs, the SJA at Norfolk is prosecuting. Liaise with him though, and see if you can to some sort of plea bargain, otherwise I'll have Judge Morris' Legalman put it on the docket."

Mattoni reached out a hand for the file that Harm proffered, and placed it on the table in front of him while Harm continued.

"Lieutenant Roberts, Norfolk again for you. You'll lead and Lieutenant Fairchild, you'll assist. You need to speak to the base disbursing officer who thinks she has discovered a long standing leak which has been draining away funds at the rate of about one thousand per month for the last three years. See Tiner when you get out of here he should have a vehicle for you. I want to you to make a start on this today, and keep at it until it's resolved. I believe I'm right in thinking that you've got nothing major on your desk at the moment?"

"No, sir, just the last of the minors that the Admiral gave to Warren and Fairchild..."

"Good... Mister Warren, do you think you can handle those last few cases solo?"

"Yes, sir! And thank you for..."

"Yes, alright, Lieutenant!" Harm snapped, and then diverted his attention to the Marine officer, "Mac, once we're done here, join me in the Admiral's office please?"

Mac nodded her head in acknowledgement of the politely worded command, while Harm once again scanned the faces of the assembled officers, "Has anyone anything they want to bring to my attention regarding their current cases? No? Good. Dismissed!"

**Thursday 28 March 2001, 0942hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (281342ZMar01)**

"Come on in Mac," Harm invited her as she stopped to rap on the open door's door frame, "shut the door and have a seat."

Mac did as she was bid, and although she tried to keep an emotionless mask in place her evident curiosity was revealed by the gleam of interest in her eye as she sat, carefully smoothing her skirt beneath her as she did so, and then making sure that the hem was sitting evenly on her knees.

"I expect you're wondering..." Harm began

"Lots of things," Mac interrupted and causing Harm to frown momentarily. That was not something she would ever dared to have done with the Admiral."

"I was going to say, you were probably wondering why I didn't allocate you any new cases this morning." Harm said evenly, despite his flash of irritation.

"Well, yes, that had crossed my mind," Mac admitted.

"Simple really; the two cases this morning were not the type of cases that demanded your investigative experience in the first place, and secondly, I've still not received notification from Bethesda that you are cleared for full duty. But, thirdly, and more importantly we, this office, need to get in touch with the DC Attorney General's office and liaise with him about your testimony in the Bug... uh the Brumby case."

Mac made no response to Harm's words, and he felt distinctly uneasy at her silence, "You do still intend to testify, don't you?" he demanded, "Make Brumby pay for what he did to you?"

Mac remained silent.

"For God's sake, Mac, if you don't testify he walks, and let alone he deserves to pay for beating you, if he walks, what happens when he beats another woman, or worse kills her? Could you live with that?"

"No... of course I want him to pay... and of course I don't want him to hurt anyone else... but..." Mac replied, her hands fluttering helplessly.

"But what?" Harm enquired gently.

"It's going to be difficult for me... not just as any witness would find it difficult... but it will be like having it happen all over again, only this time I'll be conscious, and then... Harm, I'm a Marine, I do martial arts, I'm supposed to to be able to look after myself, and I'll be up there on the stand, telling the whole world that one man – and a damned squid, an Australian squid even – beat the crap out of me!"

Harm nodded, "Yeah, an Australian squid who is a successful amateur heavyweight boxer who has won I don't know how many fights in the ring, who is inches taller than you, and outweighs you by about eighty pounds! Mac, even if you were a guy that wouldn't have been a fair fight! Added to which you were in your home, off-guard, and with a man who you thought loved you, and should have been the first to defend you from attack, not the one to initiate one! Come on, think a bit, he sucker-punched you in exactly the same way he sucker punched me that afternoon in the bull pen, and if you remember, I went down like a house of cards, and I outweigh you by a good bit, so if he could do that to me when I was off-guard...!"

Mac nodded, "Yeah, you're right..."

"Of course I am!" Harm grinned, trying to lighten the conversation, "I'm the JAG! Well, until Monday, I am!"

Mac looked across the desk at him, a glimmer of humour finally returning to her eye, "You've been waiting all week for a chance to say that, haven't you?" she challenged him.

Harm let his grin spread across his face, "Guilty as charged, counsellor," he admitted.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" Mac asked, rising to her feet.

"No that's it... oh, no... just one more thing. Remember when you face Brumby in court, we'll be there for you. We intend to take a personal day and make sure you've got some visible support when you're on the stand!""

"We?" Mac asked, her brow furrowed.

"Yeah, Loren and I," Harm affirmed.

Mac nodded, "Thanks, Harm."

"Yeah, whatever, go on, get, dismissed, fall out, disappear!" Harm chuckled.

"Yessir!" Mac grinned.

As she closed the office door behind her, Harm sat back in the big chair and linked his fingers behind his head. It felt so good to be back on joking and gentle teasing terms with his long-time partner. Shaking his head to clear it or business, he leaned forward and picked up the file on the top of the stack waiting for his attention. His smile faded completely when he saw the notation on the file cover:

"People vs CDR A M Krennick, JAGC, USN"

Sighing deeply, he opened the file and with disbelieving eyes looked at the list of charges being preferred against her, but his thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of the intercom.

"Yes, Tiner?"

"_Sir, just a reminder that you have that eleven thirty meeting with the SecNav_," Tiner told him.

"Thank you, Tiner." He checked his watch, "I'll leave now and I'll be using my own car. If anything comes up that you need an instant command decision on, refer it to Colonel MacKenzie, anything else can wait until I get back!"

"_Aye, aye, sir!_"

Harm toggled the switch off and standing grabbed his brief case and cover.

**Thursday 28 March 2001, 1854hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC, (282254ZMar01)**

Loren turned away from the worktop, letting the knife drop onto the chopping board, and hastily wiping her hands on a dish towel as she heard Harm's key turn in the lock.

"Hey sweetheart," she said as she crossed the room towards him, her hands reaching out for him and her face raised for his kiss.

Harm let his brief case drop to the floor and tossed his cover in the general direction of the hall table that stood just inside the door, and ignoring Loren's proffered hands, he swept her into an embrace with his arms around her waist, leaving nowhere for her hands to go, other than clasped at the back of his neck as she tugged hi head down to wear she could reach his lips with hers, or vice-versa.

Breaking the kiss so that they could both draw a breath, she smiled up at him, "So... you got my message, then?"

"Yeah, sure did. and after this afternoon, I can't tell you just how much of a relief it was that I didn't have to drive back out to Falls Church, but I gotta tell you, it was a bit of a surprise to hear that Mac had offered you a ride home!"

Loren shrugged, "Well... we're gonna be working together, and she did make the first move towards burying the hatchet somewhere other than the back of my head, and she does only just live a few blocks away and..."

"OK, OK, I get, I get!" Harm grinned, as he dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Now, have I got time to shower and change before dinner?"

"Huh? Oh... yeah, of course..." Loren said, temporarily thrown off her stride by the sudden change of subject.

"Smells good too, Harm grinned as he unbuttoned his jacket, "what ya got cookin'?"

"Uh... it's a new recipe I got off the net. A South African dish, bobotie, but I've changed it to a vegetarian dish, I just hope it works!" Loren said rather shyly.

"Bobotie?" Harm queried.

"Yeah it seems like a cross between moussaka and meatloaf, but with dried fruit and soaked bread in it."

Harm grimaced, "Sounds a bit..." he hesitated as he saw Loren's nostrils flare, "different, but it's worth giving it a try, I guess," he finished.

"Good guess!" Loren told him flatly.

An hour later Harm pushed his empty plate away from him and took a mouthful of the chilled beer that Loren had served with the food, "You were right," he grinned appreciatively.

"Of course I was," Loren agreed placidly as she chased the last scraps of her meal around her plate, "but what was I right about this time?"

"About my guess being a good one," Harm answered enigmatically.

Loren's hand halted halfway between her plate and her mouth, and she scrunched up her nose in thought, "O...K..." she said slowly, "I'll grant you that you do occasionally make a good guess every now and then, but to which guess in particular are you referring now?"

"The guess I made that it was worth giving this meal a try."

Loren gave him one of her angry kitten looks which almost had the opposite effect to the one she desired as Harm had to fight down a chuckle.

"Is this your half-assed way of saying that you enjoyed the meal?" she demanded, her chin thrust out aggressively.

"Well, not just that," Harm demurred, "It was damn' good!"

"Of course it was!" Loren agreed, and then a suspicion cropped up in her mind, "Are you just playing nice to get out of the dog-house?"

"No, not at all. It was much, much better than it sounded from your description, and I'd be quite happy to see it on the table any time you want to make it. Of course, that you're a superb cook doesn't hurt either!"

Loren blushed pink with pleasure, "Oh... you really do mean that don't you?"

"Damn straight, I do!" Harm declared, as he pushed his chair back from the table, and standing walked around it to pull Loren to her feet. "You know, I'm one helluva lucky guy. I have a beautiful fiancée who I love to death, and not only is she beautiful, she's smart, clever, wise, and a fantastic cook!"

Loren stretched up and kissed him gently on the lips, "Yeah, and she's too damned smart to let you sweet talk her into letting you off with doing the dishes!" she grinned triumphantly.

"Damn! Busted!" Harm said mock mournfully.

"Damn straight!" Loren giggled.

Washing dishes with Loren wasn't at all hard labour and the joking and laughter that almost invariably accompanied the evening's worst chore did make it seem to go faster, so by the time Harm and Loren had collapsed onto the couch, each with a giant economy sized mug of hot chocolate they were quite happy to just sit and share each other's company, well, they were for some fifteen minutes, before Loren broke the silence.

"Harm, you seemed just a little wound up when you got home this evening?" Although phrased as a statement, the rising inflection at the end of the sentence made it into a question.

"A six hour meeting with the SecNav, even if it was broken by a working lunch is not something I enjoyed, want to enjoy, or even get accustomed to!" Harm responded with some heat.

"Was it that bad?" Loren asked, her eyes searching his as she twisted on the couch to face him.

"Yeah... I can't tell you what we discussed..."

"Of course not," Loren agreed.

"But I now have to write a report of all that was said for the Admiral, for when he gets back Monday morning."

"A summary of a six hour meeting?" Loren raised here eyebrows as she began to appreciate the enormity of the task facing her beloved. "Have you even finished with the budget proposal yet?"

"Nuh-huh," Harm shook his head, "I'll have to take a crack at finishing that this evening if I'm to have any chance of getting that summary done!"

"H'mm..." Loren thought for a moment, "Was the SecNav's admin assistant present?"

"Uh... yeah, of course... why?" Harm replied, not sure where Loren was taking this.

"Was she writing down the minutes of the meeting?" Loren persisted.

"Yes, she was, but why..." then the light bulb in Harm's brain began to glow, "Of course! Loren, you're a genius!"

"Well, I'm not just a pretty face," Loren said smugly.

"But even so," Harm said gloomily, "I'm still going to be damn' busy over the weekend. So... No Charlottesville this weekend, I'm afraid..."

"Oh, that's OK," Loren replied cheerfully, "I'm sure I can find something to occupy me instead of flying."

Harm regarded her dubiously, she sounded too cheerful for him not to feel uneasy about whatever plans she might be hatching.

**Friday 29 March 2001, 0907hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (291307ZMar01)**

"As you were!" Harm ordered as he burst open the doors to the conference room, before the assembled officers had even had a chance to react to his irruption.

"Firstly, my apologies for being late..." he paused and looked challengingly around the table waiting to see if anyone had the nerve to smirk or grin. Satisfied that decorum was being maintained, he nodded and then continues, "New cases... Mac, while we're waiting to find out what's happening with Private Rivera, I've a nasty one for you, and I'm afraid it's going to strike pretty close to home." He ran his hand through his hair, took a deep breath and continued, "First Lieutenant Marion Carpenter, XO of Bravo Company, Twenty Ninth Logistics Battalion at Camp Lejeune was found badly beaten near the BOQs in the early hours of this morning. She's now in the base hospital. Lieutenant Singer, you'll assist the Colonel."

Harm did his best to ignore the startled glances that Bud, Warren and Fairchild shot at him, Mac and Loren, while the latter blushed pink with pleasure, and shot him a covert but grateful look, while Mac just nodded and replied, "Aye, aye, sir! Lieutenant, see me in my office when we dismiss!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Loren said enthusiastically.

Harm nodded, "Mister Roberts, how was Norfolk?"

"There certainly seems to have been an unauthorised outflow of funds from the central disbursing office, and while I've had a look at the records, I think we're going to have to call on the services of a forensic accountant, sir. The trail is far too complex for me to follow."

"H'mm... any idea where we can find one?"

Bud gave a little shrug of his shoulders, "Treasury branch of the Secret Service have them in abundance, so does the FBI, but..."

"How about Finance Branch at the DoN, Lieutenant?" Mac suggested, "It means you'll have to go through the SecNav, Commander." she added as a caveat addressed to Harm.

Harm winced inwardly, after yesterday he was in no hurry to speak the SecNav again – ever!

"OK, Lieutenant, leave it with me," he sighed, and then taking a fresh breath asked, "Anything else? No? Good. Dismissed!"

Amidst the clatter of chair legs on the highly polished wooden floor, Loren took the opportunity to lean towards Harm, "Camp Lejeune? My Favourite!" she said with heavy sarcasm. "I'm gonna get you in the school yard for that!" she finished playfully.

"Yeah? And if you do, I'll dunk your pigtails in the ink well!" Harm shot back at her with an answering grin.

Their foolery was cut short by Mac's "On my six, Lieutenant!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Loren replied with a rueful grin as she turned to follow the Marine officer.


	42. Chapter 42

**42**

**Friday 29 March 2001, 1114hrs EDT, Admiral Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (291514ZMar01)**

"Tiner, get me Commander Imes on her cell phone. Please!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Harm sat back and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. The budget proposal as drafted at last, and he could now pass it on to Tiner for typing up and printing. Mac and Loren had left for Lejeune. Now he was free to turn his attention to other matters, specifically Gunnery Sergeant Galindez.

The ringing of his 'phone brought him forward, "Rabb!"

"_Sir, Commander Imes on line one_," Tiner told.

"Thank you, Tiner, put her through.

Carolyn's voice came through the wires, tinny after travelling all the way from California, "_Good morning Harm, is there a problem? We're just preparing to go into court..."_

"No, no problem, Carolyn... well, not in the way you mean it... When do you expect the verdict and sentencing on your case?"

"_Umm... possibly Monday, but more probably Tuesday, why_?"

"OK... Look, Gunny Galindez is in the base hospital at MCAS Yuma. No, don't ask! But this is a heads up. I'm going to ask the Admiral to OK orders to divert you from Twenty Nine Palms to Yuma on your way back here, so you can call in on the Gunny and let him know he's not been forgotten. So expect a change of movement instructions for your return trip."

"_OK... but what's he doing in he doing in hospital? Never mind what's he doing in Yuma in the first place?"_

Harm grinned at the curiosity in Carolyn's voice, "I said, 'don't ask'! Ill let him have the pleasure of telling you when you get there! Just stand by for new travel orders; I'll call you back if it's a no go!"

"_OK, Harm, will do_!"

Harm replaced the receiver in its cradle and thought for a moment, then picked the 'phone up again and waited for the Admiral's – well his, temporarily – Yeoman to answer.

"Yes, sir?"

"Tiner, can you get me the Admiral's cell 'phone, this time please?"

Once again Harm waited through the series of clicks and electronic whistles that told him the connection was being made, and then got his reward in the form of a gruff-voiced "_Chegwidden!_"

"Good morning, sir," Harm said cheerfully, "this is Rabb..."

"_Yes, Mister Rabb_?"

"Sir, I've been in touch with Commander Imes at Twenty Nine Palms, and given her a heads up about Gunnery Sergeant Galindez. She reckons that her case will be over by Tuesday at the latest."

"_H'mm... OK... but you realise that there's a chance that Galindez might be well enough to be evacuated back to Bethesda by then_?"

"Yes, sir. Unless we get definite news from the Yuma base medical facility concerning the Gunny's disposal, I propose cutting alternate movement orders for Commander Imes and Lieutenant Barlow, and then the orders they follow will depend the Gunny's situation."

"_H'mm... I don't like issuing conditional orders, Rabb_!"

Harm shrugged, knowing the Admiral couldn't see his lapse of protocol, "No more do I, sir. But without that definite news from the hospital, I don't see that we have much choice... unless you just want to leave the Gunny without any contact until he's reckoned fit enough to travel, sir?"

"_No, Rabb! Dammit! You know I don't want that_!" the Admiral snorted, and then sighed heavily, "_All right Mister Rabb, issue those orders_!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm hesitated a moment or two, "Sir, about your movement, any change?"

"_No! They remain as arranged, Just like I told you yesterday_!"

"Yes, sir! Tiner has volunteered to collect you at Andrews, he's signing out a motor pool vehicle later today, sir!"

"_Good! And I'll see you at JAG at ten hundred hours tomorrow so that you can brief me on what's been happening, while I've not been on leave_!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm listened for the click that told him that the Admiral had broken the connection and then replaced the handset back in its cradle. 'That went better than I thought it might!' he grinned to himself.

**Friday 29 March 2001, 1248hrs EDT, On Board a USN MH-60S Seahawk, Somewhere Over Virginia, (291648ZMar01)**

Loren grimaced as the clatter of the rotors, seemingly directly above her head and the roar of the helo's engines battered her eardrums, even through the cotton ear plugs she had pressed into her ears, and glowered at the seemingly unaffected Mac who had her own headphone-style ear defenders clamped over her ears. The other three passengers, all Marine Corps Officers bound for Lejeune, seemed similarly unaffected by the noise of the flight, increased by the, in Loren's opinion, unnecessarily open door next to which the crew chief squatted and placidly observed the countryside below.

Feeling the beginnings of a headache, Loren gritted her teeth. The two and a half hour flight couldn't end quickly enough for her liking.

Mac looked sideways at her companion and recognised the incipient symptoms of air-sickness – she was no stranger to the malady, 'but only in F-14s', she told herself. Opening her brief-case, she pulled out the slim file and nudging Loren with her elbow, she shouted above the noise of the flight, "Here, familiarise yourself with what we've gotten so far!"

It wasn't much, just a copy of the MP report and witness statement from the female Marine who had stumbled across the unfortunate Lieutenant, and a preliminary report from the base medical facility, all of which had been faxed to Falls Church, at Mac's insistence, and which had arrived barely minutes before they'd had to jump into Mac's 'vette and head for Andrews.

Slim the file might have been, but it served Mac's purpose. Concentrating on the file shifted Loren's mental focus from how she was feeling to the intricacies of the case. Finding it impossible to talk with Mac over the noise of the helo, without clueing in everybody else on board, Loren rummaged in her own brief-case for note pad and pen and jotted down the notes and queries she wanted to discuss with Mac, once they had found some privacy.

**Friday 29 March 2001, 1537hrs EDT, Commanding Officer's Office, 29****th**** Logistics Battalion USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC (291937ZMar01)**

Loren was uneasily aware of the sight she must present. Her summer whites were rumpled and definitely grimy, but she hadn't had been afforded the opportunity, or the time, to change into her peanut butters, even if they hadn't been left at home.

The helo ride had been bad enough, but the LZ had been unsurfaced and the downdraught from the helo's rotors had caused a miniature dust storm which had blown in through the open door and settled on passengers and crew alike.

The Marines in their BDUs had been the least affected, and even Mac in her khaki blouse and olive green skirt didn't seem to be too badly affected, but Loren's whites were, she reckoned beyond first line repair. And as if that hadn't been bad enough, the open topped Humvee that had been provided for their transport to the Battalion Headquarters had stirred up yet more dust before it left the LZ behind and turned onto the asphalt surfaced road

Now she was acutely aware of the critical gaze of the Logistics Battalion CO she and Mac marched into his office and halted in front of his desk.

"Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer, reporting as ordered." Mac snapped out.

The CO stood, "Good afternoon and welcome to the Twenty Ninth, Colonel, Lieutenant. I'm Lieutenant Colonel McMahon. Do you have your orders?"

Mac looked faintly surprised, although they always carried them, JAG officers were rarely asked to produce the orders that sent them on investigations, but...

"Yes, of course, if you'll bear with me..." Mac unclipped her brief-case and produced the manilla envelope containing her and Loren's orders.

"Thank you Colonel," McMahon said laying the envelope on his desk, "Please, both of you take a seat." He waited until both women were seated and then taking his own seat he leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, "I want whoever attacked Lieutenant Carpenter found. I want him, her or them charged, court-martialled and locked up for a very long time!"

"That's what we're here for, Colonel," Mac reminded him.

"Right!" McMahon looked slightly abashed, "Is there anything I, or my staff, can do to make your job easier?"

"A copy of Lieutenant Carpenter's SRB would be hand..." Mac broke off what she was saying as McMahon lifted a buff personnel file from his blotter and wordlessly extended it to her.

Mac smiled, "Thank you... Apart from what's in here," she tapped the folder, with a finger nail, "How well did you know the Lieutenant?"

"As for how long have I known her? About two years, ever since she rotated in. As for how well... well, that's a horse of a different colour. She was pretty much a private person, who it seemed didn't let anyone get too close... well, no-one in the outfit anyway. Oh, she wasn't stand-offish, or anything like that. She played her part in battalion activities both on and off duty. She was an infrequent attendee at the O Club, maybe a couple of times a month under normal circumstances, but she was always there at battalion or Corps functions. She was always pleasant, polite and friendly on those occasions, but there was something about her that discouraged any undue familiarity – she's a very attractive woman, so I guess she felt she need the barricades. But she was still a team player; she played second base for the battalion softball team. She was fit, and worked at it. In fact it looked like she'd been running the evening she was attacked. She was an assistant swimming coach in college as well as going through NROTC and I put her in charge of ensuring that all my Marines could swim confidently, and she did that. I would say she was hard but fair. She ran a pretty tight ship, I've had less discipline problems with Bravo company than any other since she took over as XO." He paused, "I've also had less complaints from Bravo than any of the others."

"That's a pretty glowing encomium, Colonel," Mac observed.

McMahon nodded, "Every word of it well merited, Colonel. When you look at her SRB you'll see that I've fast-tracked her for promotion! She is a dedicated, thoroughly professional Marine.

"So... pleasant, polite friendly, a good Marine... so why would anyone want to hurt her?"

"That Colonel, is what you're here to find out!" McMahon said pointedly.

"Indeed," Mac agreed, "So if you'll excuse us, we'll get going on just that!"

McMahon nodded, "But before you do, and I hope you don't find this offensive, but you and the Lieutenant might want to check in to VOQs and get freshened up a mite... just to insure co-operation. After all, appearance has an impact on first impressions and..."

Loren blushed deep red, she really didn't need some damn jarhead to point out that she was in less than fit for inspection, and she noted too that a faint blush had also appeared on Mac's cheeks. Mac opened her mouth to object but was stopped by McMahon raising a hand, "I'll have a driver take you straight over there."

**Friday 29 March 2001, 1611hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (292011ZMar01)**

Mac dropped her bag at the side of the bed in her room at VOQ and turning, crossed the hall to knock on Loren's door and waited for the blonde lieutenant's invitation before she entered.

She found Loren disconsolately staring at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the clothes' closet door.

"He might not have been the most tactful guy I've ever met," Mac said, not without sympathy, "But he was right, we do look pretty ratty!"

"All the fault of that damned helo," Loren grumbled, "If we'd driven down or flown in a decent airplane we wouldn't look half so bad. Look at these whites! They're going to need professional cleaning before they're fit to wear again!"

"H'mm.. It wasn't really fair of Harm to send you off like that. You haven't got a go-bag with you. What were you going to do for tonight or the morning?"

Ordinarily Loren would have fired up in Harm's defence, but on this occasion she wasn't feeling too charitable towards him, having already reached the conclusion that Mac had just voiced. So she contented herself with giving the other officer a darkling look before she replied, "I was going to hit the Base Exchange this evening... but I can't even go there looking like this!"

"No... you can't." Mac thought for a moment, "Look. I'll lend you some sweats, and I've now got the key to the Humvee.. and we can both go over and I'll help you put a go-bag together. You should be able to get some peanut butters there, among other things – and if you'll take my advice you'll get pants, not skirts – then all you'll have to do is transfer your bars and fruit salad from your whites!"

"Sounds like a plan, thanks, Colonel!"

"OK, I'll go get you those sweats!"

**Friday 29 March 2001, 1809hrs EDT, AMC Movement Control Check Point, NAS Jacksonville, FL (292209ZMar01)**

"Sturgis, thanks so much, you have no idea just how much this means to me!"

"My pleasure, Meg," the tall former submariner replied. "We got the abstract of evidence completed last night, all that's left to do is our covering report, and it doesn't take the two of us to do that!"

"I know," Meg Austin agreed, "but I feel so guilty landing you with it!"

"Never mind about that, you just get back home and make sure your mom is getting better!"

"Thanks, Sturgis, I will!" Meg agreed, but she had difficulty in meeting his eyes. She hated lying to him, saying that she needed an emergency leave weekend to visit her ailing mother, when she was not heading to Texas but to Arizona to visit Victor, and Turner's ready sympathy made the falsehood even harder to bear. But she could not, she dare not tell the somewhat stiff and ubendingly formal, hidebound, regulation-adhering Commander Turner that she was taking time off to visit a wounded NCO.

Fortunately Sturgis put her failure to meet his eyes down to her preoccupation with her mother's illness, and with an understanding smile he said, "Go on, Meg. Go get your flight!"

That had been another lie. Meg had been lucky enough to be allocated a spare seat on an AMC flight direct to Yuma, and had told Sturgis that she would then be able to get a connecting flight to NAS Dallas, where she could get a rental car to drive the last leg of the journey home.

She managed to salve some her conscience stricken pangs by rationalising that what Sturgis didn't know, couldn't hurt him, and so with a last grateful smile at her temporary partner, she hurried away to the check-in.

**Friday 29 March 2001, 1829hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb 's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington DC, (292229ZMar01)**

Harm let himself into the apartment, and although it was comfortably furnished and refreshingly cool and full of traces of occupancy, somehow, this evening, without Loren's presence it felt empty, sterile even. Giving himself a mental shake,'For God's sake, Loren was only a couple of hundred miles away, only in the next State and she'd be back in a couple of days! And you've got plenty to occupy you until she does get back!'

It didn't help.

He stalked into the bedroom and almost savagely wrenched off his summer whites, and then clad in his boxers made his way into the bathroom, to emerge twenty minutes later slightly pink from the heat of the shower he had taken and slightly calmer.

Pulling on a clean Tee-shirt and a pair of well-worn,almost threadbare and faded jeans he slipped his feet into a pair of flip-flops and padded back out to the lounge.

Slumping into an armchair, Harm scowled discontentedly around the apartment and irritably drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Shaking his head again, he sighed deeply and getting up, her crossed to the dining table, collecting his brief-case on the way, and settled down to re-read, and if necessary, amend his hand over notes for the Admiral.

It wasn't any good. After less than half-an-hour he threw his pen down in disgust, and shoving chair back so that it skittered across the hardwood floor, he mooched around the apartment, picking things up and then putting them down again.

Moving into the kitchen, he thought about his dinner; at least cooking, eating and clearing away should take up forty minutes or so. Opening cabinets and the fridge, he searched in vain through their contents for something that might tempt his appetite. Moodily, he gave up on that ideas and plucking the menu for a favourite neighbourhood take-away, he grabbed the 'phone and placed his order.

With a giant effort of will, he returned to the dining table and once more picked up his pen, but he was never more relieved when about twenty minutes later, the doorbell announced the arrival of his dinner.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he slumped into the couch, the pizza box open on his knees and a roll of kitchen towel on the occasional table in front of him and in the faint hope of finding something to divert his mind, he picked up the TV remote control and started channel surfing.

**Friday 29 March 2001, 1832hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (292232ZMar01)**

"That's the last of it – I hope!" Loren nearly giggled as she dumped another armful of packages onto her bed.

"Damn! " Mac said in near admiration, "You certainly know how to shop! Three sets of peanut butters, two pairs of brown shoes, Tee-shirts, sneakers, jeans, sweats, bras, underwear, towels, travel iron and ditto hair-dryer – not to mention a whole damn pharmacy, plus a new sea-bag!"

"Well a girl likes to look her best – especially after the way Colonel McMahon looked at me earlier!" Loren defended herself, "Besides I had planned to drag Harm out shopping tomorrow, and I reckon I would have spent more in DC than I have today!" As she spoke, a thought crossed her mind, "Why that dirty, double-dealing son of a..."

"What's the matter?" Mac asked in surprise as Loren lapsed into a fuming silence.

"I'll bet that damned sneaky shyster guessed what I had planned and sent me down here just so he wouldn't have to go shopping with me! And he knows just how much I love Camp damned Lejeune!"

"Oh... there's a story there! But, it'll have to wait. Get that iron plugged in and a set of peanut butters pressed, and then we can get started. At this time of the evening, I reckon the only place we'll get any sense is the Provost Marshall's office!"

Loren nodded and picked one of her new uniforms.

"And once we've done that," Mac added, "We can think about dinner!"

"Now, _that_ sounds like a plan!" Loren agreed with a grin.

**Friday 29 March 2001, 2114hrs MST, MCAS Yuma, AZ (300414ZMar01)**

Meg declined the offer of assistance from a young Air Force Lieutenant and hefted her sea-bag over her shoulder as she made her way out of the arrivals hangar on the Marine Corps side of Yuma International airport and after looking around she spotted a cab waiting in the pick up area. Making a bee line for it, she checked with the driver, "Howard Johnson, OK?"

The driver looked at her shoulder boards and rolled his unlit cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other," Howard Johnson it is, Commander!" he agreed.

Half an hour later, Meg emerged from the shower feeling at least one hundred per cent better having rid herself of the dirt and perspiration she had collected since showering that morning and a time zone ago. Roughly towelling her hair dry, she dragged a comb through her blonde bob, taming it into some semblance of order and once more making a mental note to buy a travelling hair dryer – a note she made every time she went on an investigation and then promptly forgot once she was back home. Home... she grinned, it had only been a matter of days since she'd moved into Harm's old apartment, and in many ways it felt strange to be there, full as it was of constant reminders of his occupancy, and yet... yeah... perhaps because of those reminders it did feel like home!

Smiling at her own foolishness Meg quickly dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Making sure she had her Navy ID in her pocket, and carrying a jeans jacket over her shoulder, she left the room and headed for the diner she had seen just down the street.

A small but perfectly seasoned Texas pizza and a beer later Meg flagged down a cab and headed for the MCAS Base Medical Facility. Her Navy ID got her onto the base with no problem, although she wondered how a non- ID'd family member, wanting to visit a sick relative, would fare at the hands of the unsmiling Marine MPs on duty at the gate, and the driver either knew, or found, the way to to the hospital, so it wasn't too much longer that Meg found herself at the main desk in the hospital lobby.

"Good evening, I've come to see Gunnery Sergeant Galindez," she told the young Corpsman Petty Officer manning the desk.

"Yes, ma'am, do you have any ID?"

For a moment Meg hesitated, it really wasn't in her or Victor's best interest for it to be known that a Naval Officer was visiting him, but then she smiled, "Yes, of course!" and dug her wallet out of her pocket, and showed her brand new Virginia Driver's licence to the young man.

"Thank you..." the Petty Officer glanced quickly at Meg's left hand, "Miss Austin..." his fingers flew over the keyboard, "Gunnery Sergeant Galindez is in room D-one two nine, that's three decks up. The elevators are just down the hallway to the right."

"Thank you," Meg smiled and turning, walked in the direction of the elevators, leaving the Petty Officer to watch her retreating rear with undisguised appreciation.

The elevator 'pinged' to a stop at D Deck and the doors swooshed open. Meg looked up at the directions on the wall facing her and turning to the left made her way down the hallway until she reached the door marked 129. Peering in through the observation window, she saw a twin bedded room, but with only one bed occupied.

With a grin she stepped back so that she couldn't be seen from the bed, knocked on the door and sang out, "Entrega para Galindez!"[1]

"Vale, entra!"[2]

Eyes dancing, and with heightened colour, Meg slipped into the room, "Hey, Jarhead," she said softly, "So, this is what happens when I'm not around to watch your back!"

Gunny, who had been resting, his eyes closed, tried to sit up as his eyes shot open, "Meg! What are... I mean, Commander! It's good of you to..."

"Shut up, Victor!" Meg said, crossing to the bed, and sitting on the edge of it, she pressed him back against the pillow, before she stopped his protest with a pair of soft lips pressed against his, teasing him by swiftly running her tongue along his lower lip, but then breaking the kiss before he could properly respond.

Meg pulled back slightly, but remained sitting on edge of the bed, her hand going out to gently cup his face, "Oh, Victor," she sighed, her eyes sparkling with moisture, "What have you been up to!"

"Never mind about that! What are you doing here? Are you crazy?" Victor demanded, his eyes flitting from Meg to the door in an agony of dread, waiting for someone to come in and discover them. "Look, I love it that you're here, but, it's too dangerous! We decided that we'd wait..."

"No, Victor!" Meg laid a finger on his lips silencing him, "You decided. As I recall you didn't give me much choice in the matter!"

"But Meg, the risk..."

"Calm down, Victor. As far as JAG goes, the only person who knows I'm here is Harm. He gave me the heads up that you'd been hurt – and we will be talking about that a bit later – I'm booked into a local hotel as Miss Austin, and I used my civilian driver licence as ID to get in here. No-one here knows that I've got anything to do with the Navy, so as far as anyone is concerned I'm Miss Megan Austin from the sovereign state of Texas!"

"Even so..."

"Victor!" Meg snapped with a hint of impatience in her voice, "Do you really think that I wouldn't come to see you as soon as I heard you were hurt?"

"No... I s'pose not," Victor conceded, "Pero voy a matarlo!"[3]

"No, no! Vas a decir: gracias Comandante!" [4] Meg corrected him with a grin that somehow conveyed that she wasn't all that amused.

"Ay! I give up!" Victor conceded with a reluctant smile, "With you speaking Spanish, how am I going to have any secrets!"

"You're not!" Meg's grin broadened in triumph, "Because we're not going to have any secrets from each other!"

"We're not?" Victor queried, just slightly anxiously.

"Nope, definitely not!" Meg chuckled at the look of dismay on Victor's face. "Now, tell me, just how did you-all get yourself into this fix?"

"I didn't exactly get myself into this fix," Victor defended himself, "All I did was to take on a brig-chaser assignment. What happened was..." and he went on to give Meg an account of what had happened from the moment he picked up Private Rivera. He skimmed over the bits where he was shot at and shooting back, and passed off his wound as no more than a scratch, "I'll be out of here Monday," he assured her, "Tuesday, tops!"

"Yeah, right!" Meg scoffed, "it's such a little scratch that you wince every time you draw a deep breath! You're not fooling me, Victor Galindez! You're not safe to be let out on your own!"

To her own surprise Meg's voice had lost its joking tone halfway through her sentence and had become rough with concern mixed with anger, and she finished with a sniffle and tears in her eyes as her worries caught up with her and turned into relief that Victor wasn't any more seriously hurt.

"Ah, sweetheart, don't!" Victor implored as, wincing with the effort, he sat up in bed and drew her into his arms, so that her face pressed into his chest and her tears dampened the front of his hospital gown.

Meg stopped crying after a few seconds, but stayed where she was just for the comfort of being held by Victor, but all too soon she was jerked back to reality by a cool, yet amused voice from behind her.

"This is all very irregular!"

Breaking free of Victor's arms, Meg hurriedly sat up and turned a flushed face towards the interloper, a Nurse Lieutenant Commander who had a clip-board tucked under her arm, a small plastic cup of pills in her hand and a tolerant grin on her face.

"Mrs Galindez, I presume?" she smiled as she advanced on the bed.

"No!" Meg denied and then blushed even more, "Well, at least not yet!"

"Por qué no?" the nurse asked in surprise.

"Well, because she hasn't asked me yet!" Victor chimed in, uneasily sensing a swiftly forming alliance between Meg and his nurse.

The nurse shook her head, and smiled even more, as Meg leaned forward and poured a glass of water for Victor so that he could take the pills the nurse handed to him.

"I know he's just a man, honey," she said in a confidential aside to Meg, as Victor swallowed his meds, "And they're generally a pretty sad bunch, but this one looks like he might just have potential, don't you let him get away!"

"Hey! I am still here!" Victor protested as his face darkened with embarrassment.

The nurse said nothing more, and with a broad wink, she collected the plastic cup from a seething Victor and left Meg and Victor alone once more.

They exchanged glances and couldn't help but laugh, which caused Victor to press his hand on his wound and groan.

"Are you in pain, does it hurt?" Meg asked anxiously.

"Only... when I laugh!" Victor gasped.

"So, don't laugh!" Meg told him, unconsciously repeating the old, old joke, which set them both off again.

Eventually their laughter died, and drawing a breath, Victor asked, "How long can you stay for?"

"Just until Sunday. I was on an investigation with Commander Turner, in Rosey Roads when Commander Rabb called me. I have to catch a flight for San Diego on Sunday afternoon, and then the red-eye to DC to be back at Falls Church on Monday."

"You were with Commander Turner?" Victor asked worriedly, "What did he say? What did you tell him?"

"Yeah, that's the bit where I feel like a louse," Meg admitted, not quite meeting Victor's eyes, "He thinks I'm visiting my sick Mom back home to Texas..." she trailed off uncomfortably.

"Meg, querida mia, I love it that you're here, but it's still too much of a risk... you should go now, tonight, back to DC."

"Nuh-huh. Not going to happen! The only tickets I could get were non-refundable and non-transferable, and I can't afford to lose that much money!"

Victor opened his mouth to object, but before he could say anything more they were interrupted by the same nurse who tapped lightly on the door frame and said gently, "I'm sorry, honey, visiting time's up... you're going to have to leave now."

Meg stood up, and then leaned over capturing Victor's face in her hand and dropping a gentle kiss on his lips, "I'll see you tomorrow, vaquero!" she grinned at him.

Victor shrugged helplessly, "Si, hasta mañana!" and managed a shame-faced smile at the grinning nurse as Meg walked past her.

**Friday 29 March 2001, 2027hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (300027ZMar01)**

"That was pretty much a bust!" Loren complained as she collapsed into the chair in Mac's room.

"Yeah," Mac agreed in a distracted voice as she delved into the large brown paper sack was giving off the tantalising odours that made hers stomach growl. "Here this is yours!" she handed Loren a smaller bag and a sealed drinks container, "Double burger with mushrooms and bacon, large fries and a cola."

Mac triumphantly opened her own bag, "Ah... sheer heaven..." she sighed as she took a bite from her double cheeseburger and almost simultaneously a slurp from her double thick chocolate milk shake.

"M'mm..." Loren agreed around a mouthful of burger, "But..." she swallowed, "It's a good job Harm isn't here to see this! He's wonderful, but he gets pretty intense about healthy eating!"

"He might have something, you know," Mac grinned, "I don't think I've ever seen you looking quite so... quite so..."

"Happy?" Loren asked, "That's because I've never been quite so happy!"

"Well... I wasn't going to say quite that, but, yeah, it fits." Mac turned serious eyes on Loren, "I'm happy for you, for you both. I am really, but I can't help feeling a little jealous, and a little angry – oh, at myself more than anyone else. I should have known better than to play stupid games with Harm..."

Loren shrugged, embarrassed, and not knowing how to respond she merely mumbled, something indistinct.

"Don't worry," Mac assured her, "It was all my own fault. I let myself get distracted by the shadow of the thing, and let the thing itself slip out of my grasp. Hey, these are good burgers, aren't they?" she offered in a complete change of subject.

"As good as Beltway?" Loren asked, a gleam of amusement finding its way back into her eyes.

"Blasphemy!" Mac exclaimed in tones of shocked horror, and after a brief chuckle at their foolishness the two women lapsed into silence as they concentrated on finishing their meal.

At length, food and drink finished and the wrappings crumpled up and bestowed in the trash, Mac reached for her briefcase. "OK, let's see what we've got... h'mm... not much more than when we arrived. The extract from the MP's blotter... they received a report of a female down at zero two eleven hours, called for medical back-up and taped the area off for forensics examination. No chance of getting a sight of that report until tomorrow."

"What about the caller?" Loren asked.

"A Corporal Maria Juanita Santiago of Charlie Company... says she was walking back to her barracks when she literally stumbled over the body..."

"The lieutenant was found between two of the blocks of BOQs... which raises the question of what was Santiago doing in officer country at that time of the morning, when if she wasn't on duty she should have been in her rack!"

"There are a couple of reasons come to mind," Mac said with a grimace of distaste, "She could have been breaking frat regs with an officer..."

"Female BOQs" Loren reminded her.

"Male or female... it happens," Mac reminded her, "Or she could have been involved in some other illegal activity, such as selling drugs, or she could have had an entirely innocent reason for being out there, that we haven't covered."

"True, but she could also have been one of the attackers, who got cold feet once she saw how badly Carpenter was injured," Loren suggested.

"Again, true. But we wont get a handle on her until we've interviewed her" Mac agreed and she was then taken by surprise as she suddenly yawned. "Oh! Excuse me!" she said.

"It's all right, I can take a hint!" Loren grinned, "And hitting my rack seems like the smart thing to do anyway, unless you've got anything else you want to cover this evening?"

"No. You go for it! I'll see you at zero six thirty ready for breakfast!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Loren said getting to her feet. Pausing with her hand on the door knob, she took a breath and a chance, "Goodnight,Mac."

Mac looked up in mild surprise from where she was already unlacing her shoe, "Good night, Loren," she replied.

Loren crossed the hallway to her own room and once inside toes off her new shoes and sat down on the bed groaning with relief and hoping that she wouldn't have to walk too far tomorrow. Stripping of her uniform she anxiously checked it for grease spots, and reassured on that account, briefly considered passing the iron over it again, but then remembering the humidity of North Carolina at this time of year gave a mental shrug. Once she had it on for more than about twenty minutes no-one would be able to tell she had worn it for a couple of hours the previous evening.

The decision made, Loren pulled on a Tee-shirt, Loren lay back on her bed and with a smile, picked up her cell 'phone and pressed speed dial #1.

"_Rabb_."

"Hey, sailor. Miss me?" Loren asked softly.

"_You bet your sweet six I do_!" Harm said and Loren could hear his grin as he spoke.

"Yeah, I miss you too!" Loren replied, and then her tone hardened into mock severity, "But that doesn't stop me being mad at you!"

"_Mad at me? Why? What have I done_?" Harm demanded in dismay.

"You only sent me off on an investigation without a chance to pack my sea-bag!" We flew down here in a Seahawk, and by the time I got here my whites were filthy. In fact they're so dirty I'll probably never get them clean again! And the way the CO here looked at me! I've never felt so ashamed of my appearance, not ever! And I didn't have so much as a toothbrush with me! I was so dirty I couldn't even go to the BX! Luckily, Mac loaned me some sweats, so I was able to buy a couple of uniforms as well as overnight necessities! I spent a fortune!"

There was a long silence and for a few seconds Loren feared that she had gone overboard in her complaint and that Harm had hung up on her. She was just about to say his name, when she heard him draw breath.

"_Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. Its just that Mac and I have been so used to keeping a packed sea-bag in our cars that I didn't even think for a moment that you wouldn't have one packed_."

Loren was partially appeased by his words, but thought she picked up a certain tremor in his voice. "Are... are you laughing at me?" she demanded incredulously.

"_N... no... not laughing..._" Harm practically stuttered, "_D... definitely n... not... laughing_!" he managed to get out.

"Oh! You're impossible!" Loren exclaimed, breaking into laughter herself, "You are so lucky... I actually spent less here than I had planned for tomorrow. I was going to take you Mall shopping with me! But you guessed that, didn't you? That's why you sent me down here on a Friday, wasn't it?"

"_No... I honestly had no idea that was what you had planned, although I was slightly worried when you said you had plans. But I couldn't have gone with you anyway. The Admiral and I spoke earlier, and he wants me in the office tomorrow morning to hand over to him!_"

"Ooh! That man's impossible!" Loren fumed. "Isn't he supposed to be on leave until Monday morning!"

"_Yeah, he is. But he's the JAG..._" Harm shrugged and then felt slightly foolish, realising that Loren couldn't see him. He needn't have worried, Loren just knew that he had.

"_So... how's the case coming on_?" he asked.

"Slowly," Loren admitted. "We haven't managed to get hold of the forensics report or the full medical exam report yet. But we have located the witness that found the lieutenant, and we'll be speaking with her tomorrow."

"OK... well... take it easy down there amongst all those crazy jarheads, and try and keep Mac from going too gung-ho!"

"Yeah, right. Like I could ever manage that!" Loren chuckled.

"_Hey! I have every confidence in you, Lieutenant! But seriously, take care, and remember I love you._"

"I love you too, sailor..." Loren said softly.

"_Yeah. I know. Goodnight sweetheart_.

"Goodnight," Loren breathed into her cell phone, and with a regretful smile she pressed the off-switch.

For a few minutes she lay still, a soft smile on her face as she thought about Harm and then with a sigh, she levered herself off the narrow bed and headed for the shower.

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 0810hrs EDT, Battalion Headquarters, 29****th**** Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC, (301210ZMar01)**

Mac parked the Humvee in a designated 'Visitor' parking slot and she and Loren crossed the road and started up the steps to the Battalion HQ building, only to come to a halt as the door opened, and two men in dark suits started down the steps. Loren gave them a cursory glance and then did a double take, "Agents! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed in surprise

Agent Gomez barely stopped himself from coming to a brace, "Lieutenant Singer!" he said in surprise and then noticing Mac's rank added a respectful, "Ma'am!"

"Oh... Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, Agents Adams and Gomez, NCIS," Loren introduced them. "I was working with them on the missing motor parts investigation. Is that what brought you down here?" she returned her attention to the two agents, "I thought you said that the case had moved further up the food chain."

"Yes, it has, Lieutenant," Adams answered, "but there's quite a bit on the NCIS plate at the moment, and it's been kicked back downstairs for us to handle!" he grimaced. "We came down here to speak with the officer who first reported the losses, but we've just been told she's in hospital, severely injured."

"Lieutenant Carpenter?" Mac queried with a frown.

"Uh... yeah... how did you know?" Adams asked suspiciously.

"Because we've been sent down here to investigate the attack on her!" Mac replied sharply,while Loren waited for the storm. She knew Carpenter's name had seemed familiar, but she hadn't been able to place it. In fairness to her, she hadn't had a chance to see the joint NCIS/JAG file on the missing motor parts since Harm had detailed her onto the Carpenter inquiry, but still, she reprimanded herself, she should have made the connection.

Adams and Gomez exchanged glances, "You think there might be a connection?" Gomez asked slowly.

"If there isn't, it's one hell of a coincidence," Mac replied, "But let's keep an open mind on this, hey, fellers?"

Adams nodded, "Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt to compare notes, keep each team, in the same loop..."

"Agreed!" Mac nodded, "The Lieutenant and I need to see the Sergeant Major and/or Battalion XO. Then we've got a couple of interviews to carry out. What say we meet up at lunch time in the mess hall and we can compare notes?"

Adams pursed his lips and nodded judiciously, "Sounds good to me. Gomez?"

"Fine by me." his partner agreed, "Do you still have our numbers?" he asked Loren.

Loren thought for a moment, "Yeah, yeah I do... you still got mine!"!

"Sure do!" Adams said with a grin.

Loren looked at him carefully, remembering what Harm had said about Adams being creepy. No, he wasn't being creepy Loren decided, but there was certainly an interested light in his eyes.

"Well, we'd best get going, ma'am?" Loren suggested to Mac, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"Yes, you're right, Lieutenant. Agents, we'll see you at lunch time!"

Mac and Loren opened the door into the HQ building and as they walked down the hallway Loren said in an urgent undertone, "I'm sorry about that ma'am. I should have remembered Lieutenant Carpenter's name; I should have made the connection!"

"Yeah, maybe you should have!" Mac agreed, "But you didn't, and there's no use crying over spilt milk. Just learn from the experience. Nobody expects you to get it one hundred per cent right, first shot. Lord knows, I didn't!" she confessed with a half-grin.

"No, ma'am!" Loren breathed, feeling relieved that Mac apparently wasn't going to make a big deal out of her lapse.

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 0952hrs EDT, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301352ZMar01)**

"Good morning, Gunny!" Harm greeted Gunnery Sergeant Waters as he signed in at the CP, noting as he did so that the Admiral had arrived five minutes before he had.

"'Morning, sir," Gunny Waters replied. He took in Harm's blue button down shirt and grey slacks and raised an ironically amused eyebrow. "New uniform of the day,sir?"

"Well, it's the weekend, so I figure I might get away with it," Harm grinned, "Besides, it might give a hint to the Admiral that I don't want to be here all day!"

"Yeah, good luck with that, sir!"

"Well... I knocked on wood three times this morning Gunny, that might help!" Harm laughingly tossed over his shoulder as he turned towards the elevator.

Two minutes later he tapped on the Admiral's door frame, "Good morning, sir!"

"'Morning, come on in Rabb!"

Harm walked into the office and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He'd guessed correctly, the Admiral had chosen to wear civilian clothes too and Harm, despite his relief, had to blink. Chegwidden wore a dark red plaid shirt and a pair of well worn jeans.

The unexpected sight caused Harm to look more closely at his chief. The Admiral's face seemed a little browner than it had before he went on leave, but still, to Harm, he looked pale under his tan. Well that was with the exception of the top of his head, where his scalp showed distinctly pink. More than just a touch of the sun, there, Ham thought with a twinge of sympathy.

Still... the Admiral didn't look as if he had benefited much from his break from the office, he still looked tired, although that may have been due to a lack of sleep last night. But he looked somehow older too.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Harm concluded it would be wiser to keep his thoughts to himself, as the Admiral looked up at him and said sharply, "Well! Shall we get started? I haven't got all day!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm agreed, and at the Admiral's gesture, he pulled up a chair and sat down. Turning the in-tray towards him, he lifted the first file and giving it a quick glance he said, "The budget proposal, sir. I used last year's request as a boiler plate and adjusted for the annual rate of inflation plus three per cent, to give us a cushion. It will allow the SecNav to cut us back without cutting into the actual amount we need, sir. Provided of course he doesn't cut too deeply!"

"Right. It sounds good. But I'll check it out on Monday before I sign off on it."

"Yes, sir. Now..." he took the second file, "Thursday's meeting with SecNav..."

Chegwidden eyed the thick file with disfavour, "Just how long did that meeting go on for?" he asked sourly.

"Six hours, sir," Harm said non-committally.

"And did anyone say anything worthwhile?" Chegwidden grunted.

"Not really sir. The SecNav complained that investigations were taking too long and the courts were moving too slowly to clear the back log..."

"And your reply?"

"I told him that we didn't have enough attorneys, judges, money or facilities to move any faster than we were already."

"And?"

"The SecNav remarked that if we couldn't cope then maybe he ought to be looking for better staff," Harm said blandly.

"The hell he did!" Chegwidden snorted, "If it wasn't for his insistence that even the slightest infraction was studied to make sure nobody's rights were trampled on, then we could concentrate on what this office was set up for. To deal with major, precedent setting cases, and leave minor cases for SJAs and Jags afloat to deal with by Article Fifteens!"

"Yes, sir," Harm said neutrally.

"Relax Rabb , I'm not fixing to rope you into a mutiny!" Chegwidden grinned mirthlessly, "I'll study this next week – and then I'll organise a rebuttal."

"Yes, sir. He... uh... also noted that too many attorneys, and JAG staff in general, have been in the same billet for too long."

"He did, did he? And your answer?"

"That we didn't have enough spare staff to cover reading in periods while staff are moved between billets."

Chegwidden nodded, "You weren't... ah... cheeky, were you?"

"I... uh... might have pushed the envelope on that, but only slightly, sir!" Harm defended himself.

Chegwidden eyed his subordinate bleakly, now knowing he could expect to receive a comprehensive complaint from the SecNav regarding one Harmon Rabb's behaviour and attitude during the JAG's absence on leave, together with a strong recommendation that someone else take the big chair the next time Chegwidden had to absent himself from the office.

"Very well," Chegwidden sighed, "Now let's look over the current cases and assignments..."

Yes, sir! Commanders Austin and Turner are en route back from Puerto Rico. They will be back in the office on Monday morning with their report and recommendations. Commander Imes and Lieutenant Barlow are still at Twenty Nine Palms, and as I mentioned when we spoke yesterday, Commander Imes believes the case will wrap up on Tuesday at the latest, so we expect them back on Wednesday, or Thursday. We'll have a better idea once we find out what time the trial ends, and whether or not Gunny is to stay at Yuma...Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer left for LeJeune yesterday to investigate a serious case of assault and battery..."

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1312hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29****th**** Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp LeJeune, NC (301712ZMar01)**

Once they had loaded their trays Mac led Loren to the far corner of the mess hall. Fortunately from their point of view, being a weekend the hall was pretty much at less than half capacity and none of the marines using the facility seemed inclined to sit too near the two JAG officers.

For fifteen minute they ate in silence, until Mac pushed her plate away with a satisfied sigh, and in reaction to Loren's raised eyebrow defended herself, "Hey, after a month on a liquid diet, even mess hall chow tastes pretty good!"

"Yeah, I kind of figured that!" Lorn grinned with a pointed look a Mac's plate, almost scraped clean, with the exception of the bones that were all that were left of two sizeable pork chops, mashed potato and collard greens.

"Well you didn't do too bad yourself!" Mac observed, "You practically inhaled that tuna bake!"

The two women grinned at each other, "Did not!"

"Did too!" Mac replied. "I'll got get us some coffee... ah... and here comes NCIS!"

"Don't be too long, please," Loren asked.

"Is there something wrong, Loren?" Mac asked, freezing as she was standing up.

"No... nothing I can put my finger on," Loren prevaricated, "I just don't feel too comfortable around Agent Adams."

Mac said nothing but gave the two agents a cool look as she passed them on her way to the coffee machine.

Returning to the table, she found that Loren had placed their empty trays on an adjacent table and that the two agents having helped themselves to coffee on their way in were patiently waiting for her to rejoin them.

"OK, let's pretend that I know nothing about these missing motor parts," Mac invited them, "and take it from the top."

"OK, Colonel," Gomez agreed. He stared into the middle distance for a few moments as he marshalled his thoughts, "A few weeks ago, the Battalion command was informed that there was a discrepancy in inventory, between what was shown on the books and what was on the shelves. At that point the CO called in NCIS. Adams and me were the lucky stiffs who got landed with the case. Because of the disciplinary implications, and recent events involving Marines at Quantico our Director decided to bring in JAG at the earliest opportunity so that the two agencies didn't come into conflict over the same investigation again..."

"Harm, Commander Austin and the Gunny" Loren interrupted quietly.

Mac nodded as Gomez flashed Loren an irritated look, "Just so. Anyway we came down here, poked around, got a list of the missing parts, and reported our findings up the food chain and to JAG. It was Lieutenant Singer who first noted that all the missing inventory were parts for Humvees, and that sufficient quantities of the missing parts were taken to start the build of six milspec Humvees, including scarfe rings for mounting fifty calibre Brownings. We've checked with the manufacturers and they tell us that the missing parts are sufficient to convert one of the standard models of Civilian Hummers into military type vehicles.

"To date we don't where the parts have gone, or who might be using them and for what purpose. One obvious use is by a militia group or groups, and the thought of them running around the countryside with fifty cals mounted on Humvees is pretty disturbing."

Mac nodded, vividly remembering the more extreme type of militia group she an d Harm had encountered in West Virginia, who had constituted a kangaroo court to try Lieutenant Rivers for what they saw as a murder, and the thought of groups like that with access to heavy weaponry sent shivers down her spine.

"However, a more sinister thought is that they, whoever they might be, intend to disguise themselves as members of the services and use the vehicle to gain access to a military base or bases." Agent Adams picked up as Gomez paused.

"Again, why would they do that?" Mac asked.

"Theft of arms and equipment is the obvious answer to that Colonel," Gomez replied, "But we can't rule out the possibility of the vehicles being used for a large scale heist on a bank or similar..."

"Anyway," Adams picked up the thread, "We became aware of a slight anomaly... The initial report was filed by Lieutenant Carpenter, but as a Company XO, she had no real business checking inventory anyway, and we wanted to speak with her to find out why she had done so in the first place. It wouldn't be the first time an informant has turned out to be neck deep in a criminal plan."

"On the other hand," Loren broke in, "It seems that Lieutenant Carpenter was well thought of by her marines, and it may be that one of them drew her attention to the missing parts, and that she merely verified the situation for herself, before she passed the report on up through the chain of command. It might be that she thought she had discovered something else to add to that report. Loren shrugged, "It might go some way to explaining what she was doing up and about at that time of night."

"Well, we won't know that until, or even if, Lieutenant Carpenter wakes up, will we, Lieutenant!" Adams said with a patronising smile.

Loren bristled, but before he could say or do anything, Mac spoke. "You seem to be remarkably well informed on the lieutenant's condition, Agent Adams."

"It's not quite the first assault case I've investigated, Colonel," he pointed out, "And I've seen enough head injuries to make me wonder if Lieutenant Carpenter will wake up, and even if she does, whether she will be able to remember what happened to her, or even what happened earlier!"

Mac nodded. She had been about to rebut Adam's supposition, but decided for the moment to keep quiet. She based her silent disagreement on the interview that she and Loren had just conducted with Commander Frazier, the surgeon who had admitted Lieutenant Carpenter to the base hospital, carried out the initial examination and continued to monitor her progress, and who had cautiously expressed herself satisfied with the lieutenant's recovery.

Loren's idea, no matter how incompletely expressed, that Carpenter might have been doing some investigation of her own accord, had merit, and was possibly supported by the absence of any sign of sexual assault, "We ran a rape kit, of course," Frazier had told Mac and Loren, "and thankfully that came back clean. There wasn't even any sign of recent sexual activity, but that leads me to wonder what the lieutenant was doing up and about at that time of night."

"Yeah... but... there's no way of telling at what time the assault took place, is there?" Mac had queries.

"No... not really... but the lieutenant's clothing wasn't damp, and there was a heavy dew that night," Commander Frazier pointed out.

Mac blinked. That was the first time anyone had seen fit to mention that fact.

But... back to the here and now, "Well, you do have a point, Agent Adams," she conceded, "but the medicos remain cautiously optimistic. They say it's too early, given the savage nature of the lieutenant's beating to make any sort of meaningful prognosis, either way."

"So... where do we go from here?" Agent Gomez asked.

"Well, we want to interview Corporal Santiago," Mac said, "We'd like to know exactly what she was doing out of bed and in officer country that time of night! And then, if Lieutenant Carpenter doesn't wake up, we'll just have to interview every marine in Bravo Company and find out if one of them did tip her off!

"How many interviews would that mean?" Gomez asked.

"About one hundred twenty, one hundred twenty five," Mac said off-handedly.

"You've got to be kidding!" Adams protested.

"Do I look like I'm joking, Agent Adams?" Mac said fixing him with a level stare.

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1341hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29****th**** Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp LeJeune, NC (301741ZMar01)**

Mac and Loren waited as the two NCIS agents put their notepads away and excusing themselves left the two officers t their table. Loren turned round to collect their dirty trays from where she had deposited them, while Mac put her own notes and the case-file back into her brief-case.

"Well, what do you think?" Loren asked.

"I think you were right to be uneasy around Adams, there's a certain glint in his eye when he looks at you. Does he know you're engaged?"

"Yeah, Harm let him know in no uncertain manner when he was at JAG the last time. But that wasn't what I was asking about. Do you think that Carpenter's assault is linked to the missing motor parts."

"It's a hell of a coincidence if it isn't, Loren! And I don't like coincidences. And I don't like people who go around beating up on women!" Mac said savagely.

Loren kept her face expressionless as she winced inwardly, 'Harm was right, this is hitting close to home for you!' she thought

**xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx**

**Translation:**

[1] "Delivery for Galindez"

[2] "OK, come in."

[3] "But I'm going to kill him!"

[4] "No you're not! You are going to say 'thank you, Commander'!"


	43. Chapter 43

**43**

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1345hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29th** **Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC (301745ZMar01)**

Mac led the way out of the mess hall and across the road to where she'd parked the Humvee, settling herself behind the wheel, she looked across at Loren, "Now, where exactly do we find Charlie Company?"

Loren opened her shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper on which a basic black and white map of the 29th Battalion's area had been printed. Looking at for a minute she decided, "H'mm...down to the end of this street," she indicated with her thumb to the left, "and then take a right and Charlie Company's barrack blocks are the second and third buildings on the left after the parking lot."

"OK..." Mac checked her mirrors and then reversed the Humvee out of the parking spot, almost taking up the full width of the road as she swung the wheel to get it facing in the right direction.

Two minutes brought them to the parking lot alongside two rows of identical brick buildings, and after checking her map, Loren indicated one of the buildings with her chin, "That one there, ma'am."

The two officers mounted the three steps leading to the door at the gable end of the building to find themselves in a lobby, the far door of which was guarded by a table at which sat a Marine PFC in BDUs. He looked up as Mac and Loren entered and seeing Mac's oak leaves, he nearly did himself an injury as he leaped to his feet and came up into a brace, "Ma'am! Private First Class McNamara, ma'am!"

Mac nodded in recognition of his introduction and with a puzzled frown said, "At ease, Private, I thought this was the female barracks?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am! On the second floor ma'am!" he flicked his eyes to his left, drawing Mac and Loren's attention to a flight of stairs.

Mac nodded again, "Thank you, Private," and turning to Loren added, "Let's go!"

The pair climbed the stairs to find themselves in a second lobby, or rather given that it was the second floor, landing would be a better term. But it too had easy access to the door protected by a table on which a telephone and behind which sat a female Marine. Like her male counterpart on the first floor, she was wearing BDUs, she dropped the graphic novel she was reading when she saw the two officers, and like her male counterpart she leaped to her feet, "Ma'am! Lance Corporal Mojica, ma'am!"

Mac eyed the Latina NCO severely, "What are your orders for this post, Lance Corporal?" she demanded.

"Ma'am! I may not allow any male personnel entrance to the female barracks. The only exceptions being the Officer of the Day, the Company Commander or his XO, or the Commanding Officer or his XO. I may not, eat, drink, smoke, or sleep at my post! I may not leave my post unless and until properly relieved, ma'am!"

"But you are allowed to read?" Mac asked disapprovingly.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" The young woman hesitated, "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

Mac's eyebrows rose slightly, but she nodded, "Permission granted."

"Ma'am, this is a twenty-four hour duty, split between two of us, to allow for meals and... and visits to the head. And at weekends, other than when my partner shows up, I could sit here for eight hours at a time and see no-one. So the First Sergeant cleared it with the OIC that we are allowed to entertain ourselves as long as the entertainment is quiet, ma'am! Some of us read, some study, others play solitaire, or checkers, left hand against right hand... and... and..."

"All right, Lance Corporal, at ease. Now, I'm Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, JAG Corps, this is Lieutenant Singer, likewise JAG Corps. We're here to speak to Corporal Santiago."

Yes, ma'am. The Corporal's bunk is the second door on the right, ma'am!"

Mac nodded her thanks and walked past the table, pushing open the door to enter a short corridor with two doors on either side, before it opened up into four squad bays. Lorn followed her and could barely resist a smile as she heard the Lance Corporal behind her heave a sigh of what Loren could only assume to be relief.

Mac rapped sharply on the Corporal's bunk door to be answered by a "Yeah, come in!"

Mac looked at Loren, a half-smile on her face and then opened the door and stepped through.

Corporal Santiago was dressed in sports bra and gym shorts with sneakers on her feet. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail and she was sweating profusely. Looking up from her braced arms press-up position, she swung easily and athletically to her feet. Pushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, she came to attention and asked politely, "Yes, ma'am?"

"Corporal Maria Santiago?" Mac asked.

"Yes, ma'am!" Santiago gave Mac and then Loren a swift visual inspection, "You're from JAG ma'am?" she asked Mac, "The Lieutenant's mill-rindes..."

"We are," Mac agreed, and if you've been expecting us, then you've probably got a good idea why we want to speak with you?"

Santiago picked up an olive drab towel lying across the foot of her bed and dabbed at the sweat on her face and throat before giving her arms a rub down, pausing for a few seconds as she answered, "Yes, ma'am, but I don't know what I can add to the statement I gave the MPs, ma'am. I was on my way back to barracks and I almost stepped on Lieutenant Carpenter. I checked for vital signs and found a pulse. I called the MPs and told them where I was, that I had found an injured female, and she needed medical help. I stayed on the scene until the MPs and the Corpsmen arrived. Then they took me to the Provost Marshal's office and I wrote out and signed my statement, ma'am."

Mac nodded, "OK, that sounds pretty reasonable. But we do have one or two further questions... Sit down, please Corporal, and we can go over your statement and see if you can remember any other details."

"Yes, ma'am!" Santiago sat on her bed, and indicating the wooden folding chair, she said "Please, take a seat too, ma'am... I'm sorry, Lieutenant, there isn't..."

"That's OK, Corporal," Loren said, leaning against the door and crossing her arms over her chest, while Mac settled herself on the chair, opened her brief-case and pulled put a pencil and legal pad. "I'm going to make notes of the questions I ask and the answers you give, Corporal. Just be honest with me; remember you are not in any trouble."

"Yes, ma'am."

"OK, first off, what were you doing in officer country at that time of the morning?"

"I'd been baby-sitting for Master Sergeant Halloran, ma'am, and I was on my way back here."

"That's kind of late for a school night, isn't it Corporal?"

"Yeah, kinda, but I'd grabbed a couple of hours shut-eye on the couch once I'd settled the kids, so I wasn't too tired."

"Uh-huh..." Mac scribbled a note, "And why did you cut through officer country, isn't that usually off-limits to enlisted personnel?"

"Uh... yes, ma'am it is. But it's between base housing and the battalion area, and it's the quickest route; going 'round by the road adds maybe twenty minutes to the walk." Santiago shrugged, "It was so late I didn't think anyone would see me, so I took a chance."

"What does your CO think of that?"

"He wasn't too impressed ma'am. I was on office hours yesterday morning, half-pay for two weeks, ma'am."

"Office hours?" Loren queried.

"Yeah, Article fifteen, equivalent to a Captain's Mast," Mac explained. "Now, Master Sergeant Halloran... I suppose he can verify your alibi?"

"Uh... well... he can for about half an hour after twenty hundred hours ma'am, and again for about fifteen minutes at zero one forty, forty-five, ma'am. But I was alone in his house, except for his two kids, between those times."

"How old are the children, Corporal?"

"Umm... Brideen is nine and Ramón is seven."

"I see... and where can we get in touch with the Master Sergeant?"

Mac had been expecting Santiago to say Battalion Headquarters, or Charlie Company Office, but instead the answer surprised her, "He's with the Second Force Recon, ma'am."

"Just what is your connection with Master Sergeant Halloran? How did you come to be baby-sitting for a Staff NCO from another outfit, Corporal?"

"Not him so much ma'am, but his wife, Josefina, is my mom's cousin."

"The Corps a family tradition?" Mac asked.

"No ma'am. Just myself. Josefina's being married into the Corps is just coincidence."

Mac nodded, "OK... Now, you say it was pretty dark that night?"

"Yes ma'am, there was no moon, and there were no street lights around the area where I found Lieutenant Carpenter, ma'am."

"Weren't you concerned being on your own, if it was so dark?" Loren asked.

"No ma'am. I can pretty well handle myself, and I had my cell phone with me."

"How does that make sense?" Mac asked.

Santiago shrugged, "I was using it as a flashlight, ma'am."

"So how come you didn't see Lieutenant Carpenter until you... uh... stumbled over her?"

"It's not a beam, like a regular flashlight, ma'am. It sort spreads like a pool, just enough to see the ground a couple of feet ahead..."

"But you didn't see the Lieutenant?" Mac pressed.

"No ma'am, she was wearing dark clothes, a sort of leather version of a jeans jacket, and dark sweats..."

"Did you know who she was?"

"Not right off, ma'am. It was only when the Corpsmen arrived, they checked her over and found her dog-tags."

"How come you didn't ID her? She's an officer in the same battalion." Mac challenged.

"Yes, ma'am, she is. But she's not in my Company. I seen her around of course and I guess I might have recognised her, but... she... she was such a mess ma'am; where she wasn't bruised, she was covered in blood. I reckon it took a lot of hate for someone to do that to her ma'am!"

"I see, thank you, Corporal. Anything you want to ask Lieutenant?"

"No ma'am!" Loren answered.

Mac put her notes away and stood, closing her brief-case, "Well, thank you Corporal. I don't think we'll need to speak with you again, but if we do, we'll let you know through your command."

"Yes, ma'am!"

The two officers turned to quit the bunk when Loren stopped, her forehead wrinkled in thought as she turned back toward Santiago, "Oh, just a couple of more things, Corporal, what were you wearing that night?"

"Uh... a blue button down shirt, a black sweater, jeans and sneakers, ma'am."

"Where are those clothes now?"

"The MPs took 'em ma'am, to let their forensics people check 'em out for whatever..."

"OK, thanks again, Corporal!"

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1352hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC**** (301752ZMar01) **

Harm dumped the three sacks of groceries onto the kitchen table and heaved a sigh of relief. He switched on the coffee maker while he unpacked and made a start on putting away the groceries, until a loud gurgle alerted him to the fact that his coffee had brewed.

Pouring a cup of coffee for himself, he hitched himself onto one of the bar stools (imported from his old apartment) and considered the debriefing that the Admiral had conducted that morning.

Admiral Chegwidden had kept him nearly two and a half hours, grilling him about every decision he had made during his few days in the Big Chair. He had been particularly persistent in inquiring into Harm's reasons for partnering Colonel MacKenzie with Lieutenant Singer.

Chegwidden had listened patiently enough, for him anyway, to Harm's explanation. The only facet of his junior's decision has been to Harm's presumption that Mac couldn't be deployed before she passed her PRT.

"There are physical training facilities aboard LHDs, Commander," he'd said, "and she will be going as shipboard JAG, not a member of the amphibious assault group. I'll decide on whether or not she's capable of performing her duties afloat, not you! Understood?"

"Yessir!"

"Good! Now, what made you decide to partner her with Lieutenant Singer?"

Harm resisted the temptation to shrug as he answered, "More a matter of Hobson's Choice, sir. With Commander Imes and Lieutenant Barlow in Twenty Nine Palms, and Commander Austin needed to temper Commander Turner's rigidity, Mattoni is, despite his court room performance, most definitely not an investigator, that only left Lieutenant Roberts, Lieutenant Singer and the two newbies from which to choose. Roberts had his hands full mentoring Fairchild and Warren and dealing with that wrongful arrest and detention case. I thought it best we nip that one in the bud before it made the scandal sheets. So, when this case came up at Lejeune it made sense to send the Colonel and Lieutenant Singer."

"OK... I'll accept your reasons for sending Singer, but in light of Mac's recent past, you weren't worried that the case might be a little too... personal."

"Yes, sir, I did take that into consideration, but I figured if she could handle this then it was proof that she was back in the saddle." Harm paused, "And if I may speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead, Commander!"

"Sir, there aren't that many cases when Mac, when Colonel MacKenzie, doesn't take it personally. Aviators, other women, dependency fuelled cases, abuse cases, discrimination cases... they all push her buttons, sir."

"H'mm... if I thought that were true, Mister Rabb, I would have had her re-assigned – permanently – long ago." Chegwidden said reprovingly.

"Yes, sir!" Harm said, marvelling at Chegwidden's ability to overlook Mac's past behaviour.

But that was all done with now, for better or worse. If the Admiral considered he had screwed the pooch, then he would just have to live with the consequences however fair or unfair he might think they are, after all life didn't come with a fairness guarantee! Besides, there were still dry goods to be stowed away and then, maybe, at last he could consider lunch!

In the meantime, as he opened one of the kitchen cabinets to put away the tinned goods he had bought, he wondered how Loren and Mac were getting on with their case, and possibly even more importantly, how they were getting on with each other.

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1425hrs MST, Base Medical Facility, Camp Lejeune, NC, AZ (301825ZMar01) **

Mac tapped lightly on the door and as the office's occupant looked up she said, "Good afternoon, Commander, how's the patient today?"

"I do have rather more than one patient, Colonel, but if you mean Lieutenant Carpenter, there's no change I'm afraid." Lieutenant Carpenter's physician was a petite brunette in her early to mid thirties with a figure that caused many men, and a few women to give her a second look, and who gave off an air of bustling efficiency. Her face with large brown eyes, full lips and a determined jaw-line was attractive and framed by a shortish bob that the Marine Corps would have declared too long for its 'medium length' classification and too short for its 'long hair' definition. Her hands were ring-free; on duty she wore her wedding band and engagement rings on a slender gold chain around her neck, not visible when in peanut-butters and white lab-coat as she was today.

Doctor Frazier smiled to take any sting out of her words, as a Lieutenant Commander, she was outranked by Mac, only one step, but rank was still rank, and although doctors could bend a lot of navy regulations in the performance of their duty, insubordination was still insubordination. "Come on in Colonel, and you Lieutenant, and take a seat," the doctor indicated the two plastic chairs that stood in front of her desk.

Loren eyed them with disfavour,she had sent too many hours in those instruments of torture sitting by Mac's bedside. At the thought she cast a curious look at Mac, wondering perhaps if this case wasn't too close to the other officer for her comfort. Mac caught Loren's eye and raised an eyebrow in return but otherwise remained impassive. Frazier noted the looks and wondered what sort of history the other two officers shared.

"I can't give you details of Lieutenant Carpenter's injuries yet," she began. Mac and Loren both nodded. They were neither family nor senior to the Lieutenant in her own chain of command. The only times Frazier could break patient confidentiality would be when the patient gave her permission to do so, or less happily, if the patient succumbed to her injuries or slipped into a permanent vegetative state.

"But she's still unconscious and totally non-responsive. I'm beginning to consider shipping her to Bethesda for a more comprehensive neurological examination than I can mount down here." Frazier sighed and looked at Mac and Loren in turn. "I just don't have the same sort of facilities that they do in Bethesda, and we don't have a neurology specialist on strength."

"But you're not transferring her yet?"

"No... I'm still hoping that she'll start responding as she begins to recover from her injuries. She was pretty badly beaten and traumatised, and sometimes the body retreats into itself to allow itself time to begin the healing process." Frazier sighed, "Over two thousand years since Hippocrates, and there is still so much we just don't know about how the body works. And anyway, her family just arrived this morning, I figure giving them a few hours with her might help. She maybe will sense their presence and react to it. But if she still hasn't reacted to anyone or anything, then on Monday, I start making arrangements to move her."

Mac nodded, "Thank you doctor," she said as she started to stand, "If you've no objections, we'd like to see Lieutenant Carpenter for a few minutes?"

Frazier nodded in her turn,"Yes, it can't hurt, Colonel." she paused, "Colonel get the sonsabitches that did this to her!"

Mac looked the doctor straight in the eye, "We will, Doctor, we will!"

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1345hrs MST, Base Medical Facility, ****MCAS Yuma, AZ (301945ZMar01) **

"Hey Jarhead, howya doin'?" Meg asked softly from the door to Victor's room.

Victor dropped the paperback he'd been trying to interest himself in and looked up, a grin flashing across his face for an instant before he scowled at his visitor, "I thought I told you to go back to DC!" he growled.

"And I told you it wasn't going to happen!" Meg responded with an unrepentant grin. She crossed the room and perched on the side of the bed, eyes twinkling with amusement, "Well, do I get a 'hiya sweetheart' or maybe even a kiss, or are you just going to slump there like some sort of grinch?"

"I do not slump!" Victor said indignantly, but nevertheless making an effort to slide up in bed .

"Of course not," Meg said indulgently, her smile playing about the corner of her lips, "But am I going to get a kiss or not?"

"If I do, are you going to stop bugging me about it?"

"Oh, yes! Of course!" Meg said happily, with her widest-eyed, most innocent expression.

Victor eyed her suspiciously, "Why don't I feel that I believe you?" he asked.

"Why, Victor Galindez, how ungallant of you-all!" Meg exclaimed happily in a fake southern-belle accent.

"Oh, come here, then!" Victor grinned.

Meg luxuriated in the feeling of being in Victor's arms, even if she had to be careful how tightly she held him in return, and it was to her regret that after a couple of minutes that she felt Victor's hands on her shoulders as he gently pushed himself away from her.

"I just realised, it's not visiting hours yet! How did you sneak in early? Not that I'm not happy to see you!" Victor asked.

"Yeah?" Meg demanded cynically, "Then how come the first words you said to me were that I should have gone home?"

"Ah, Meg, mi corazón, it is only because I worry about you... if anyone who knows us sees you here with me, then your career is just so much dust in the wind!"

"And what about your career?" Meg asked, "Doesn't that matter? So, if you're worried about anything, worry about your own career and let me worry about mine!"

"Nope, not going to work!" Victor shook his head and reached out to take one of Meg's hands in his, "I already told you, my career is done. I am not going to re-up at the end of my hitch... That's if they let me serve it out!" he finished.

"What do you mean?" Meg asked intently, her eyes wide open with anxiety.

"Well, like I said, this..." he indicated the area of his lower right ribs, "Is really just a scratch, but it brings up a question mark over whether I'll be able to stay in the Corps! And stop deflecting! You haven't told me how you got in here so early!"

"Oh, that nice Lieutenant Commander let me slide in," Meg said impatiently, "And I'm not the one who's deflecting! Now you-all just stop bee-essing me, and explain what you mean by maybe not being able to stay in the Corps! And remember, no secrets!" she added indignantly.

"You'd best tell her, Gunny, or I will!" said the 'nice Lieutenant Commander' from the doorway.

"Not fair, ma'am! You're ganging up on me! And what about patient confidentiality?" Victor protested.

"Tell me honey," Lieutenant Commander Winters asked Meg, "Is he always this stubborn?"

"Only when there's a 'y' in the day!" Meg managed a smile in spite of her worry.

"Ah hel... uh... heck, you might as well tell her then!" Victor surrendered with as much grace as he could muster.

"OK," the nurse pulled out one of the ubiquitous, blue, plastic and very uncomfortable chairs and lifted Victor's notes from the foot of the bed.

"Gunnery Sergeant Galindez was admitted with a gunshot wound to his abdomen. He was a very lucky Marine. The bullet didn't penetrate the gastric tract, and he avoided peritonitis. But the bullet did penetrate the lower lobe of the liver and the upper lobe of the right kidney. The penetration of the liver caused moderately heavy internal bleeding, and the Gunny was in shock when admitted. Not helped, "she said in a severe aside, "by the length of time it took to transport him from the back of beyond to this facility! Surgery was needed to remove part of the liver and part of the kidney, but the prognosis is good, and he should be able to live a normal life once he's recovered, although a decision as to his suitability to continue his service will have to be made by a medial review board. We've already started on his post-op recovery regime, and if all goes well, then we should be able to send him on hospital leave by the end of the week!"

"Recovery regime?" Meg queried, both alarmed and relieved at the news of Victor's injury and the prognosis.

"Yeah, we got him out of bed this morning, and had him take a gentle stroll down to the day room and back," Winters replied, "and the boy done good!"

Victor scowled again, not amused at being described as a boy by a woman whom he judged was about the same age as himself, "Yeah, an' it hurt like a bitch!" he grumbled.

"Well the more you do it, the less it will hurt!" Winters grinned, "So I'll take you for another little stroll before dinner!"

Victor closed his eyes and sank back on to his pillow and Meg could almost swear that she saw his silent lips form the word "Shit!" but decided to let that pass, instead, she turned towards Winters, "Thank you, Commander!" and then could have bitten her tongue. She must remember, she told herself, not to appear too familiar with navy or marine ranks and insignia.

Fortunately Winters didn't seem to notice Meg's observance of her rank, and with a smile she got up to leave her patient and his visitor alone, "Happier now?" she asked Meg.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks."

Meg waited until the nurse had left the room , and then with a severe expression on her face she turned back to Victor, "And just when were you planning to let me in on the details of your 'little scratch'?" she demanded fiercely

"I... uh... well... It was... Umm..."

"Yeah! I thought so! Now you just listen to me Victor Galindez...!" Meg started, and then handed him, as he would in later years admit, one of the most comprehensive and thorough reamings-out he'd ever had during all his years in the Corps, and then, when she'd finished, she burst into tears, once more burying her face into his shoulder, and letting him murmur soft Spanish endearments into her ear while he rubbed comforting circles on her back.

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1617hrs EDT, Base Medical Facility, Camp Lejeune, NC**** (302017Mar01) **

Mac and Loren spent only a few minutes at Lieutenant Carpenter's bedside. The grief, worry and anger on the faces of her mother, brother and sister were a little too much even for the bad-ass Marine that Mac liked to think she was.

All three were tall. The brother Loren guessed possibly even taller than Harm, but lacking the JAG Attorney's years of physical training he was much more slender, willowy, Loren though or even skinny. The sister, younger again, although at least as tall as Mac, but slimmer through bust and hips, barely looked old enough to have completed college; her hair was the same rich, chestnut-brown that escaped from the bandage around her sister's head and splayed across the pillow, and if she looked anything like her sister, then, Loren thought, the injured Lieutenant wasn't just attractive, she was truly beautiful, although with the bruises and stitches that covered her face, together with the burst lips and the swollen shut eyes it was impossible to tell what Lieutenant Carpenter had looked like, or might look like once the physical effects of her beating had worn off.

Mrs Carpenter was tall, although not as tall as her children. She seemed to be in her early fifties and was dressed smartly but unpretentiously in an open necked shirt, which showed a single strand of pearls around her throat, tucked in to tailored slacks. Her hair, worn short, was neatly brushed and showed just the beginnings of greying. All in all she reminded Loren of Harm's mom, having much the same look about her.

All three had stood as Mac and Loren entered the room, their faces all lightening with hope, which as Mac made the introductions soon faded.

"Mrs Carpenter, I know this is hard for you..." Mac began once they had all seated themselves.

"You know nothing about how hard this is!" the Lieutenant's brother interrupted harshly, fixing Mac with a hard stare and ignoring his mother's protesting "Robert – manners!"

"Actually, Mister Carpenter," Loren broke in ignoring Mac's furious gaze, "The Colonel does know a little about it. Six weeks ago, she was in your sister's position, and from exactly the same cause!"

"Lieutenant!" Mac warned her.

The angry young man had the grace to blush, waited until Mac switched her hard eyed gaze from Loren to himself and then with an obvious effort met her eyes and apologised, "I'm sorry, Colonel, I had no right to assume that..."

"It's all right, Mister Carpenter... or may I call you Robert?"

"Yes... and thank you,Colonel!"

"No thanks needed, you're worried, and angry, all of you, and it's natural to lash out when you're scared or angry, I'm sure nobody can blame you for that. I certainly don't!"

"That's more than generous, Colonel," Mrs Carpenter spoke quietly and evenly, but her hands were clenched so tight around the strap of her purse that her knuckle shone white.

"As I was about to say," Mac continued with a half-smile of acknowledgement at Mrs Carpenter, "I do know... or rather I have some idea of what you're feeling, but I'm afraid I need you to answer a couple of questions. At the moment we are going ahead with our investigation on the basic assumption that the cause of the attack on your daughter was something that happened here on base, or in connection with her military duties, but I have to ask if you are aware of anyone outside the military, in your daughter's personal life, maybe, who might have felt they had reason to attack her?"

Mrs Carpenter thought for a few moments and then shook her head, "No... she never mentioned that she was dating anyone. Sure she used to write and 'phone saying that she's danced with so and so at the O Club, or that she'd had a drink with another officer, but I can't ever remember her talking about the same guy more than once..."

"Mom! Peter Warrender!" Jennifer Carpenter broke in.

"Peter? Oh no!" Mrs Carpenter repeated in a shocked voice. "No! He could never do that! He was good boy! Besides that was over and done with years ago! You were still a freshman when they... when they..."

"When Marion threw his ring back at him after he hit her when she refused to sleep with him!" Jennifer said furiously.

Loren glanced anxiously at Mac as the she winced, that scenario was all too familiar to her, but when she spoke her voice stayed calm, "Where is this Peter these days, does anyone know?"

"I think he went back home after Marion called off the engagement," Mrs Carpenter said in a very uncertain tone of voice.

"And where was his home?" Mac asked

"Phoenix... or maybe Flagstaff, anyway one of the big towns in Arizona..."

Mac thought back to her read-through of Lieutenant Carpenter's SRB, "And your family is from Idaho, how and where did your daughter meet this guy?"

"At college, they both went to UCLA... they started dating in Marion's sophomore year, Peter was in his junior year at the time..."

Mac nodded and then as Robert who had been wearing a look of concentration on his face said, "You know, Mom, I'm not so sure he did go back to Arizona... I thought I'd seen him around a time or two..."

"Even if you did, Robert, it's a very long way from Pocatello to here!"

Before a family argument could start, Mac stepped, in. Closing her brief-case, she stood and said, "Thank you all, you've all been very helpful. I agree with you Mrs Carpenter, that Peter Warrender does not look like a likely suspect, but we'll run a check on him, even if it is just to rule him out!"

Loren waited until Mac had finished and with an encouraging smile added, "It's plain that you are all very worried, but Marion is in good hands here, and although her injuries are extensive, she'll get the very best of care, and I hope she'll be back with you in next to no time at all."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Mrs Carpenter replied, "We can hope too – and pray."

"Yes, ma'am," Loren agreed as she became aware that Mac was holding the door open and waiting for her.

Mac stayed silent until they had left the facility and had climbed into the Humvee before she turned to Loren, "What the hell did you think you were doing in there Lieutenant?" she asked furiously.

"At what point, ma'am?" Loren pokered up. She wasn't aware that she had done anything wrong, but this was definitely Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie talking to her, and angry Colonel at that, and not the Mac with whom she had gone shopping and been on such easy terms the previous evening.

"When you disclosed my medical history to a bunch of strangers who definitely didn't need to know!"

"If I overstepped, then I freely apologise, ma'am. But in my opinion they did need to know. The hostility and suspicion they felt towards us was rolling off them in waves, I chose a method that I thought would blunt their anger, make them see you, particularly, in a more sympathetic light, and become more co-operative," Loren explained.

Mac regarded her junior, still seething, but at least thinking over what the blonde had said, after some long moments, she nodded her head and said grudgingly, "All right, it worked this time. But next time – if there ever is a next time – choose another method, or at least give me a heads up so that I don't sit there for ten minutes with my mouth opening and closing like some sort of damned goldfish! Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Good, when we get back to the VOQ, you can call Falls Church and have Gunny check out this Peter... Oh, damn! You can't! Gunny's not there, is he?"

"No, ma'am, and it is Saturday, ma'am!"

"Damn!" Mac swore again, and starting the Humvee's engine, she rammed it into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" Loren asked as she clapped a hasty hand over her Garrison Cap which was threatening to lift off her head, due to the speed Mac was driving at.

"Provost Marshal's office! I want to see the full forensics report!"!

"Yes, ma'am! But you might want to watch your speed, or the only thing we'll see there is a ticket!" Loren cautioned her.

Mac glanced sideways at her passenger, "Did you just tell me to slow down, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Loren agreed risking a grin.

"Then damn you too!" Mac said in frustration as she eased her foot off the gas.

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1922hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC**** (302322ZMar01)**

It took Harm no more than a few minutes to wash the pots and dishes after his solitary dinner, and grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge on his way past, he picked up the handful of travel brochures he'd harvested from a couple of travel agents, and settled himself on the couch to start planning his and Loren's honeymoon.

"Decisions, decisions, decisions," he muttered to himself after half an hour. He wanted to go somewhere warm, somewhere off the beaten track, but all the destinations he'd looked at so far were all too... commercialised. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of the couch and started to look through the brochures for a second time. Five minutes later, just as he'd started to make a list of possibles and non-starters, the phone on Loren's desk shrilled.

With a disgusted "Typical!" he hauled himself to his feet and crossed the room, "Rabb!" he said curtly.

"Well... that's a pretty snappy welcome!" an amused voice said at the other end of the line.

"Oh... uh... hi, Frank..." harm said, feeling a bit on the foolish side, "Yeah, sorry about that... What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing much, just thought I'd give you a heads up. Your Mom and I are going to be in the DC area next week for ten days or so. She's got some sort of deal coming up... I think she wants to open another gallery somewhere in the DC, Virginia, Maryland area. She's getting a lot of interest from a new crop of artists based on the east Coast, and the cost of shipping their work is higher than the returns she's getting on it."

"That's great Frank! Oh, I don't mean about Mom's costs, but that you'll be out here for a while."

"Yeah,I know what you meant, Harm!" Frank chuckled before he went on, "But you didn't sound so happy when you picked up the 'phone, what's biting you?""

Harm sighed, "It's the honeymoon... everywhere I like is too expensive and everything that isn't too expensive is... kinda tacky..."

"Are you short of cash, Harm?"

"No... no, not at all. I've barely touched my pay for months now, apart from rent and Sarah. Loren and I are happy eating the same kind of stuff, and since we moved in together, our overheads have shrunk... it's just that it's two weeks... and the prices are just..."

"Harm! This is a once in a lifetime deal! Are you really such a cheapskate?"

"Huh? No... of course not!" It hadn't even occurred to Harm that his thinking could be interpreted in that way.

"And you want the best for Loren, right?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well then the right honeymoon is worth every penny it costs!"

"Yeah, I s'pose so... No, I mean yes, you're right, of course!"

"Good! Now what did you have in mind?"

Harm counted off the criteria he had set himself for the honeymoon and Frank listened without interruption until Harm had finished.

"You know..." he said thoughtfully, that sounds just like the place I took your mom about three years ago?"

"You mean...?" Harm began.

"Yeah, just that!" Harm could even hear the grin in his stepfather's voice.

"Thanks Frank, I'll certainly check that option out."

"You do that, son. And your Mom and I will see you next week!"

Harm replaced the receiver in its cradle and bent over the coffee table to tidy up the sprawling pile of travel brochures, but before he had even laid a finger on them, the phone rang again.

Shaking his head in bafflement – how had it known to ring at just the right moment for maximum inconvenience he wondered, and then grinned at the absurdity of that conceit.

Picking up the phone for the second time that evening, he said "Rabb," but this time the amusement in his voice made it far more welcoming.

"Hey, Mister Lawyer man, you busy? I've been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes!"

"Oh, Frank called. He just wanted to tell us that he and Mom will be in the DC area next week for ten days or so."

"Oh, that's great... I really need to get to know your mom better!"

"Loren, don't worry about Mom, she already likes you. And even if she didn't, she's not the one who's marrying you!"

"Good job too!" Loren chuckled, "Can you imagine the Admiral's face if I told him that I was marrying your mom?"

"I druther not imagine the Admiral's face under any circumstances right now!" Harm said with possibly a little more force than he'd intended.

"Bad day, huh, want to tell me about it?"

"Nope, I druther forget all about it!"

"OK... but tell me, how come it took Frank twenty minutes to tell you that he and your Mom were visiting."

"It didn't... we got to talking about my favourite subject!"

"Oh... and what's that?"

"You." Harm said simply.

"Oh!" Loren's gasp was clearly audible and Harm waited for her answer.

"Damn it, Harm! That wasn't fair, catching me off guard like that. At least when we're face to face I can usually tell when you're going to say something impossibly sweet! Makes me feel like I ought to catch a red-eye straight back to DC, except that Mac would probably write me up for being UA!"

"No probably about it, sweetheart! But I feel the same way. I miss you, Loren Singer."

"And I miss you too, Harmon Rabb, and I love you, and I'm going to hang up right now, 'cos I don't want to start crying!"

"I love you too, Loren Singer! Good night!"

"G'night Harm!"

**Saturday 30 March 2001, 1949hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (302349ZMar01)**

Loren had just finished pressing a new set of Peanut Butters for the morning when a knock came at her door. Crossing the room she peered through the Judas Hole, and seeing, to her mild surprise, Mac in what appeared to be civilian dress.

"Ma'am?" she asked politely.

"I just wondered whether you were in the mood to eat this evening, Loren?"

"Uh... yeah... what did you have in mind, ma'am?"

"That's Mac," Mac said hoping to make it clear that she was entirely over her snit from that afternoon, "And what I had in mind was dinner off base." She grinned conspiratorially, "I've been getting some intel on local places, and the best I've heard is a Mongolian Grill in Jacksonville. Apparently they do great steaks, and it's a ten-dollar eat all you want deal!"

"Ohhh, I am so going to have to do some serious working out when we get out of here! You are a bad influence on me!"

"Yeah, I know. But it's fun to kick over the traces once in a while!"

"I dunno, Mac, I mean all I've got are jeans and a sweat shirt."

"Have you looked at what I'm wearing?" an identically dressed Mac asked, "come on, I'll phone for a camp cab!"

Loren still looked dubious.

"Come on, I won't tell Harm if you don't," Mac promised.

"What happens at Lejeune, stays at Lejeune?" Loren queried.

"Damn straight!" Mac grinned.

Loren shook her head, she had never seen the by-the-book Marine so relaxed and so... so... girlish before. For a moment the thought crossed her mind that Mac had been drinking, but then she shook her head, Mac was a recovering alcoholic, and in all the time Loren had known her, she had never slipped off the wagon.

"Oh... all right then, I could use some dinner!" she admitted, as she threw the last of her objections to the wind.

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 0633hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311033ZMar01)**

Loren opened bleary eyes and flailed her hand about until it found the annoyingly persistent cell phone ringing on the night-stand next to the bed. Forcing her eyes to focus, she saw it wasn't an incoming call, but the alarm that she had set the night before after returning from the restaurant with Mac. And it was entirely Mac's fault that she'd set the alarm for the middle of the night. After that huge meal, and yes, Mac had been given good intel, the steaks _were_ to die for, she needed to make a start on running off some if the excess calories.

"Damn you, Harmon Rabb!" she grumbled as she stripped off her T-shirt and gym shorts, "This is all your fault for making me suddenly health conscious!"

Shivering in the early morning chill, Loren hastily pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a fresh T-shirt, and sitting on the edge of the bed she bent to tie her shoe laces, and as she did so, casting a glance out of the window and up at the clear blue sky. Chilly it might be right now, but Loren was familiar enough with the North Carolina climate to know that once the sun had climbed a little into the sky the day would once again turn out to be hot and humid.

With that in mind, Loren decided that forty minutes would be long enough for a run today and setting the timer on her wrist watch for twenty minutes, she pulled her hair back into a pony tail and securing it with a rubber band, trotted out the door and using the steps to the building, she carefully stretched her leg muscle before starting the timer.

It seemed to her that she had barely started to breathe deeply when she became aware of hurrying footsteps behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw a determined looking Mac closing her down. Slowing her pace slightly Loren waited for Mac to catch her up, but instead of falling into step with Loren, Mac pounded on past at a speed that was out of Loren's grasp for more than a hundred yards or so, flinging a cheery, "Good morning, Loren" over her shoulder as she forged ahead.

Loren shook her head. Mac had torn into her food last night, even going back to the buffet for a refill. By Loren's reckoning Mac must have wolfed down about two pounds of rib-eye steak with sides of mushrooms, tomatoes and peas, as well as a large bowl of coleslaw and a heaped platter of fries. Loren had consumed rather less than half that amount, and here she was feeling heavy, sluggish and slow, yet Mac had sped off ahead as if she'd only just nibbled on a green salad and a slice of low-calorie bread. 'Life just isn't fair!' Loren huffed to herself as she gritted her teeth and tried to pick up her pace.

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 0637hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (311037ZMar01)**

Harm bounced out of bed at the first chirp of his alarm clock, and throwing open the drapes he cocked critical look at the sky. Pursing his lips, he considered what he saw, and then nodded judiciously. His decision made, he stepped out of his boxers and yanked his tank top off over his head. He pulled on gym shorts and a sweat shirt, and then stepping into jogging bottoms, he grabbed his keys and headed for the Lexus.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at Duke Ellington Bridge, and stripping off his jogging bottoms, he went through a five-minute warm up exercise before he turned and jogged up the Rock Creek Park Trail, gradually increasing his speed until after about fifteen minutes he hit a pace that he knew he could comfortably keep up for ten miles or so. As he ran, he found his mind drifting to thoughts of Loren and he smiled as he imagined her tucked up warm and bed with that rosy-faced, sleepy Sunday morning look that she had and which he loved so much.

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 0748hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29****th**** Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311148ZMar01)**

"Oatmeal!" Mac declared in disgust as she looked at Loren's breakfast choice.

"Sure. It's a good filling breakfast, a good source of roughage, and a good counterbalance to all that fat and cholesterol I got through last night!" Loren defended her choice and looking askance at the bacon, sausage, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and hash browns on Mac's plate, and the side plate with two sugar-coated jelly doughnuts on it.

"Hey what can I say?" Mac smiled as she intercepted and interpreted Loren's look, "That run this morning gave me an appetite!"

Loren shook her head, "How do you do it! I try to watch what I eat and have to be really careful – you know the old saying, a second on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, but you... you have probably the world's worst diet, and you stay as slim as a damn twenty-year old!"

"I just have a great metabolism," Mac protested, and I'd be dumb not to take advantage of it!"

"Great?" Loren muttered, "Unbelievable, I'd say!"

"Hey, I heard that!" Mac grinned.

"Good, you were meant to!" Loren shot back across the table at her.

Mac merely grinned and concentrated on her breakfast.

At last with plates and bowls cleared, the two sat back to enjoy what the Mess Hall called coffee, and Loren taking a sip was vaguely comforted that it wasn't as bad as Pop Walchowski's purple poison, and asked Mac, "What's the plan for the day?"

"Well, Battalion HQ should be manned if it's only by a telephone orderly. I need a desk I can sit at, and a power socket for my lap top. I want to get started on our preliminary report while the details are still fresh in my mind, and I want for us to go over the statements and reports we got together yesterday to see if there are any anomalies, and then I want to make a call to Second Force Recon, see if we can't track down Master Sergeant Halloran.

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 1017hrs EDT, Somewhere on the military reservation, Camp Lejeune, NC, (314178ZMar01)**

"This a friggin' disaster!" the older man growled at the four younger men squatting on the ground and listening to him. "You friggin' pussies, didn't have the balls to finish the job!"

"Hell, we thought she _was_ finished!" one of the others spoke up in defence of himself and his companions.

"Anyway, it weren't supposed to be like this!" one of the others complained. "All we wanted to do was sell a few Humvee parts and make a little extra cash. No-one said nothing about killing no officers!"

"Well, I'm sayin' it now! Y'all got a problem with that – pussy!"

The younger man blanched at the ferocity in the older man's voice, and at the inherent threat in his words.

"No, I ain't sayin' it's a problem. I'm jest sayin' that we..." he looked around for support that wasn't forthcoming, "that I didn't expect it to come to this!"

"Yeah, well, once that bitch got to snoopin' she was getting' too close fer comfort, and she had to be... dissuaded!"

"Yeah, mebbe so, but now we got damned NCIS crawlin' all over the place, an' they've sent two hot-shot JAG lawyers down from Washington to do their own snoopin'," a third younger man broke into the conversation.

"Lawyers? What kind of lawyers?" the older man sneered,

"Two wimmen. One of 'em's a Navy Lieutenant, the other is a Light Colonel!"

"Layers an' wimmen? Hell, I could take 'em down my own self!"

"Might not be a good idea," the blonde guy objected, "Take down a Light Colonel, an all hell is gonna break loose!"

"Yeah, we might be better off putting a... a temporary hold on things until the trail goes cold."

"Nope. Not goin' to happen. My guys still want all the Humvee parts they can get. An' none of you ain't come up with a plan to get hold of them fifties yet, neither!"

"That jest ain't gonna happen, neither!" the sandy-haired man objected, "We've said before that there's no way, no how that any of us can lay our hands on half a dozen Ma Deuces, an' it's too damn risky to try an' bring anybody else in. Not now that Lieutenant's in hospital! There's jest too much damned heat!"

"Is that so?" The older man hissed through his teeth. "Now listen up you pussies, if you don't come up with a plan to get those fifties, then I'm gonna be keepin' all the profit from our little bit of private enterprise, an' there won't be any of you in a position to argue about it or even ask for your share. Got it?"

The four looked at each other, each one clearly understanding the threat. "Yeah got, it" replied the sandy-haired individual.

"Good. Now, as fer that bitch lyin' in hospital, how difficult can it be fer one of you to slip into her room and hold a piller over her face fer a minute or two, or pump an empty syringe into an IV?"

"Damn' difficult!" the oldest of the four objected. "She's in intensive care, that means there's doctors and nurses swarming all over the place twenty-four seven! There isn't one of us has got an excuse to go in there, we aren't in her company, so we can't even pretend to be concerned Marines asking about our officer!"

"Friggin' negatives again!" the rapidly becoming exasperated older man snarled. "Jest like them friggin' weapons! Listen pussies, stop thinkin' up reasons why stuff can't be done, an' start thinkin' up ways to make 'em happen! Now, get outta here!"

He stayed where he was for a good ten minutes after the others slipped out of the clearing, listening for the sound of their car engine. He grunted in satisfaction as he heard it, but even then he backed out of the little clearing, and made a wide circle around it as he checked for the presence of anybody else. Eventually he gave a grunt of satisfaction and slipped almost silently through the undergrowth to where he had parked his truck.

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 1142hrs EDT, Battalion Headquarters, 29****th**** Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311442ZMar01)**

Mac's prediction had been right. Battalion Headquarters was manned by a Lance Corporal performing the duties of telephone orderly. He had sprung to meet their requests, stipulating only that he didn't have the authority to use on of the private office, and would they please not mind using the general office. He would respect their privacy as much as he was able.

He had been very helpful, even coming up with a trailing power led to allow Mac's lap top to be plugged in at the wall socket which was otherwise too far from the desk to be accessible, and then just under half an hour ago he had produced a tray bearing two mugs of steaming hot coffee that he swore was fit to drink.

In the interval, Mac and Loren had carefully gone over the various reports gleaned from the MPs and the Medical Facility, as well as the witness statement from Corporal Santiago, which had now been supplemented by the questions Mac had asked her.

Mac had grunted in satisfaction as she read the report on the forensic examination of Corporal; Santiago's clothing. There was a small patch of blood on the right cuff of both sweat and shirt, as well as on the right thigh of her jeans. All consistent in the forensic examiner's opinion with her turning the body over as she checked for vital signs.

"Something good, ma'am?" Loren asked adding the honorific in recognition of the Lance Corporal's presence at the far end of the office.

"Yeah, the forensic report backs up Santiago's statement and the answers she gave to my questions." I had a good feeling about that marine, and I'm glad the evidence points away from her!"

"So far," Loren corrected politely.

"Yeah, so far... but I still have a good feeling about her!" Mac declared.

"On the subject of evidence pointing away or even to someone, what about this ex-fiancé, seems from what the younger Carpenter daughter was saying that he has a tendency to violence towards women?"

"Yeah. Damn Gunny for getting shot... I really could do with someone to do some digging..." her voice trailed off as a thought crossed her mind, "OK, he hasn't got the law enforcement network that Gunny's got, but what he has got is computer smarts... They might work just as well in this case!"

"Who's that?" Loren demanded

"Bud... Lieutenant Roberts," Mac said with a cheerful grin.

"Roberts?" Loren exclaimed in open disbelief, "That... that duffer...?"

"First off, don't let Harm hear you call him that! He counts Bud Roberts as a friend and he's damn' proud of the progress Bud has made. Secondly, don't underestimate him as an attorney, he might just hand you your head on a plate in court one day. He's learned a lot from Harm. Thirdly, despite his apparent geekiness, Bud Roberts is one very smart man. And as far as his skill with computers goes, I reckon he could give the so-called experts at Langley a damn good run for their money!"

"You are kidding, right?" Loren asked in surprise.

"No, I'm not kidding at all. I realise that you and Harm have been wrapped up in each other, and that you don't seem to care for either Bud or Harriet, and I know that we've all been pretty busy at work, but take the time to look around you when you get back to the office, see how Harm treats him – and her. Don't forget that Harm is also Godfather to little A J Roberts, and until pretty recently we, Harm and I, were frequent guests at their place!"

Before Loren could reply, the Lance Corporal at the other end of the room covered the mouthpiece of the telephone he'd answered while the two attorneys were talking, and called out, "Colonel, ma'am! There's a call for you!"

Mac raised her eyebrows as she looked at Loren, but quickly stood, "Thank you, Lance Corporal!" Stepping quickly to the phone, she took it from the young NCO, who as quickly stepped back to give her privacy.

"MacKenzie," she announced herself

"_You one o' them fancy lawyer ladies that come down from Washington_?"

"I'm an attorney, yes," Mac agreed furrowing her brow, whomever was talking to her was making an effort to disguise his voice. She made an urgent 'come here' gesture to Loren, and then pumped her fist in the air to indicate the need for speed.

"_Yeah, but is you one o' them tryin' to find out who hurt that Lieutenant Lady_?"

"We are, yes," Mac agreed, tilting the ear piece slightly away from her head so that Loren could hear the voice on the other end too.

"_Yeah, well. There's some fellers who ain't jumping for joy that she ain't dead, an' the word on the street is that they're fixin' to try to finish her off – real soon!_"

"Who are you?" Mac demanded.

"_Don' matter who I am, you bin warned_!" the voice said and then Mac heard the click in her ear that told her that the call had been ended.

"Did you get that?" she asked Loren.

"Yes!" Loren replied.

"Good, Lance Corporal get me the number for Intensive Care at the base hospital! Quick! And once you've done that, get me the duty officer at the Provost Marshal's office!"

"Yes, ma'am!"


	44. Chapter 44

**44**

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 1158hrs EDT, Battalion Headquarters, 29th Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311442ZMar01)**

While Mac had been issuing orders over the 'phone, Loren had packed away their files, notes and Mac's laptop and was waiting by the door as Mac finally put the phone down and hurried towards her with a brief, "Thank you, Lance Corporal," thrown over her shoulder to the bemused marine.

Once again Loren was forced to clap her hand to her head in order to prevent her Garrison Cap flying off in the wind as once again Mac floored the gas pedal as she headed for the base hospital.

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 1207hrs EDT, Base Medical Facility, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(311607ZMar01) **

Slamming the brakes on Mac left burnt rubber on the surface of the parking lot just to one side of the main entrance and at a brisk walk, almost a trot, she led Loren through the hallways straight for the ICU department.

"Doctor Frazier, where's Doctor Frazier?" she demanded of a startled nurse, who at the two JAGs eruption onto the scene had nearly dropped the kidney dish of soiled dressings she was taking for disposal.

"Uh... I'm not sure, ma'am... she's around somewhere, but..." the nurse, a Lieutenant (JG) stammered.

"Find her, and ask her to meet me in Lieutenant Carpenter's room!" Mac directed as she continued on her headlong way.

"Aye, aye, ma'am... but who shall I tell her..."

"Tell her Colonel MacKenzie!" Loren paused briefly to tell the nurse before she hurried after Mac.

Mac and Loren slowed down, so not to alarm the Carpenter family if they were still at the Lieutenant's bedside, as they approached the door to the Lieutenant's room, Mac muttering a 'tsk!" almost under her breath as she noted that the MP she had demanded had not yet arrived.

So it was with mixed feelings that Mac saw that the two Carpenter children were away, leaving only Mrs Carpenter sitting, holding her daughter's hand.

Mrs Carpenter saw the look that Mac had cast at the two empty chairs. "I sent them to get some lunch and a breath of fresh air," she explained with the ghost of a smile.

"I see..." uncharacteristically Mac hesitated, she didn't want the Carpenters upset more than they were already, but there could be no hiding the presence of a guard at the door to the injured woman's room.

Her hesitation caught Mrs Carpenter's attention, and looking at Mac with fearful eyes, she said quietly, "But you didn't come back just to ask where my children were, did you, Colonel?"

"No, ma'am, we didn't," Loren stepped in, "Look, we don't want to alarm you, and we are looking at Peter Warrender, but the Colonel and I are more certain than ever before that the attack on your daughter is connected to her duties here at Lejeune. Whoever did this to your daughter, showed a lot of hate... and it is possible that now news is out there that she survived the attack, that they might try to get in here and make sure that when she does wake, they'll to make sure she doesn't wake and be able to identify her attackers."

"You said 'when' she wakes, Lieutenant, are you sure of that?" A flicker of hope shone briefly in Mrs Carpenter's eyes as she reached for the one shred of comfort in Loren's words, but was as quickly extinguished when Loren shook her head, but also as if she didn't recognise the threat of danger that Loren had just tried to explain.

"No, I am not sure; like yourself, I can only hope and pray, but I am certain of God's mercy," she said regretfully, ignoring the look of surprise that Mac gave her.

"Thank you for you honesty, Lieutenant," Mrs Carpenter said dully, her eyes dropping once more to her daughter's face.

"So..." Mac resumed, after another curious glance at Loren, "Because we are concerned for your daughter's safety, we've organised for a guard..."

"Have you?" asked a cool, unimpressed voice from the doorway.

Mac and Loren both turned to see Doctor Frazier eyeing them dispassionately, "A word if I may, Colonel?"

"Of course, Commander," Mac replied, and turned briefly back to Loren, "This shouldn't take too long!"

Mac joined Doctor Frazier in the hallway, and the latter indicated that they should move away from the door. Mac didn't argue, she felt the need to set the boundaries in the care and treatment of Lieutenant Carpenter, and she didn't want any hint of controversy reaching the family's ears. Accordingly she waited until they had moved a dozen or so paces away from the entrance to Lieutenant Carpenter's room, before she stopped at looked down into the hot eyes of Doctor Frazier. "I take it you heard what I said to Mrs Carpenter about having the Lieutenant's room posted?"

"Yes, Colonel, I did!"

"And I take it from your tone and expression and that you dislike, or even disagree with the idea?"

"I do! A hospital, never mind an ICU, is no location to have guards stationed all over the place! Apart from which I, as Chief of Section, and probably Captain Ewart, the Chief of Medicine, should have been consulted!"

"In an ideal world, Lieutenant Commander Frazier, you would have been consulted!" Mac deliberately pulled rank on the other officer to remind her that this was not a strictly medical matter, and that the doctor had no reasonable professional grounds for querying a superior officer's orders, "Believe me I did not request a guard be placed on the room out of some capricious whim or other. This is not a medical matter and is outside your remit, and time did not allow for consultation; it is less than thirty minutes ago that I received information that the persons responsible for the attack on Lieutenant Carpenter are likely to make an attempt to finish off the job they started the other night, and that attempt was imminent! Now, I have every respect for your medical judgement, but I too have a responsibility towards the Lieutenant, and if in light of the information I had received, I had failed to have her room posted and some further injury or even her death was to occur, then my superiors would quite properly hold me to account for being derelict in my duty. This time around it is my call!"

Mac took a breath, and then continued in a slightly more conciliatory manner, "Besides which, Doctor, the guard will be for the protection of yourself and your staff quite as much as for the protection of Lieutenant Carpenter. We have seen the results of a vicious attack on the Lieutenant, what do you think would be the outcome if one of your nurses, Corpsmen, or even yourself you disturbed an intruder while he was attempting to finish the work he'd started. Doctor, you must know better than anyone how little time it would take to kill a helpless person, and have it look like an accident, so even without the risk to yourself or your staff, surely you can see that Lieutenant Carpenter is completely vulnerable?"

Doctor Frazier drew a deep breath as if about to refute Mac's contentions, but then as her initial flare of anger died down, she allowed the sense of Mac's words penetrate her mind, and let that breath out in a long, slow, even exhalation. Mac waited patiently for the doctor's reply as she saw that her message had gotten through.

"All right, ma'am, I'll accept that I over-reacted and that you had the best interests of my patient and my staff – and even myself – at heart!" the doctor admitted still somewhat uncomfortably, "But I still don't like the thought of guards on my ward!"

"No more do I, Doctor," Mac lapsed back into a less formal mode of address, "But I like even less the thought of Mrs Carpenter being handed a folded flag if there was anything I could do to prevent that!"

Doctor Frazier nodded, her face solemn, "I can accept that, Colonel... but it's a hell of a world we live in!"

"Ain't that the truth!" Mac agreed, and then with a conciliatory half grin, "Shall we?" and she indicated the direction from which they'd come.

"Yes, ma'am," the doctor replied.

Their arrival almost coincided with the arrival of two Marine MPs, their covers still on their heads to indicate that they were under arms, and Mac noted that both wore holstered pistols on web belts over their Alpha Dress uniforms.

Both came to attention as Mac and Doctor Frazier approached; the stockier of the two marines snapped, "Corporal Ruiz and Lance Corporal Todd reporting for duty as ordered, ma'am!"

"At ease, Marines!" Mac ordered and waited until the two assumed the position of parade rest, "What are your orders for this post, Corporal?"

"We have no formal orders, ma'am. All the orders we have received were verbal, and that we were to post this room and allow no-one but authorised personnel access. We were to be under arms at all times and that we were authorised to use deadly force in the execution of our duties." He took a breath, "I also assume ma'am, that the normal orders for guards and sentries apply: We may not eat, drink, sleep or smoke at our post. We may not quit our post unless and until properly relieved. We may only speak with other personnel in the performance of our duties, ma'am!"

Mac pursed her lips and nodded judiciously, "Good. Very good. You've just about hit the nail just about on the head, Corporal. The only thing that worries me is: do you know who access authorised personnel are?"

"No ma'am. Not yet. We anticipate you giving us a list, ma'am!"

"Good answer, Corporal!" Mac allowed a hint of a grin to cross her face, "So I'd best get busy and get one printed out for you!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Mac turned to Doctor Frazier, "Have you got a computer with a printer that I can borrow for ten minutes, and it would help if you could furnish me with a roster for the ICU?"

"Certainly, Colonel... if you'll follow me?"

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 1303hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29th Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(311703ZMar01) **

"Hardly a pot-roast is it?" Mac remarked glumly as she looked at the handful of fries and two hot-dogs on her plate, both items partially covered by a ladle-full of Sloppy Joe.

"That's what happens when you're late to the mess hall table on Sunday lunch," Loren remarked with spurious sympathy as she gave a nod of approval to her omelette and salad.

"Huh, it's all right for those actually like rabbit food!" Mac sniffed as she dug into one of the hot dogs with the side of her fork and then conveyed the morsel to her mouth, chewed and swallowed, "Oh! well... actually it's not too bad!" she remarked in surprise.

They ate in silence for the few minutes it took to consume their scanty lunch, until Mac pushed her plate away, having wiped up the remnant of the Sloppy Joe with a torn open bread roll while Loren got to her feet and headed for the coffee dispenser.

Mac nodded her appreciation as Loren put a cup of coffee at her elbow. Having loaded it with creamer and sugar Mac stirred the resulting concoction and looking across the table at Loren said, "OK before we get down to some serious analysis, I was wondering about what you said back in the Lieutenant' room, to her mother, about trusting in God. I never figured you for a churchgoer."

"Well, you never figured me right, I'm not," Loren replied, arching an eyebrow as she took a sip of her coffee.

"But... why the God speak?"

"Because I figured Mrs Carpenter _was_ a regular attendee at church. Maybe you didn't notice, but while she was holding the Lieutenant's hand, both of their hands were resting on a Bible. So I figured that a reference to her faith would help her."

In truth, Mac hadn't noticed the Bible on the bed and although she was quite impressed with Loren's eye for detail – an eye which was invaluable to an investigator – she passed the incident over with a brief, "Well spotted!"

Taking another mouthful of her coffee, she swallowed and then frowned. "I don't think that chasing this ex-fiancé will be productive, but we should do it anyway, just to cover all the bases."

Loren nodded, "Yeah, that warning we got more screams that the attack had something to do with her being at Camp Lejeune, and wasn't the work of a jilted boyfriend."

Mac had already reached the same conclusion, but taking another sip of her coffee she merely asked, "How do you figure that?"

"Because the warning came to us."

"Go on

"That has to mean that whomever called knows who we are and why we are here," Loren paused, "and even more significantly knew exactly where we were when he made the call."

Mac nodded her agreement. She wasn't quite sure how she felt at the moment. On the one hand she was pleased, as any mentor would be, with the quickness of her trainee, but on the other hand there was a degree of resentment that Loren seemed to be picking points that either, she Mac, had missed – the Carpenters' Bible being one such point – and that she seemed to be taking to investigation like a duck to water.

Something of her feelings must have shown in her face as Loren looked across the table at her. "It's nothing much... I'm just trying to make up for missing the obvious link between the missing vehicle parts and the assault in the first place."

Mac nodded again, "OK, what have we got? A tenuous link between two apparently separate investigations. What does that suggest to you?"

"That Lieutenant Carpenter got too close for comfort to the person or persons who were stealing those vehicle parts?"

"H'mm... person or persons... I think we can go for more than one person," Mac said, more thinking out loud than anything else, "If there had been just one attacker, then Carpenter could have and probably would have called for help..."

Mac unclasped her brief-case and pulled out the case-file, and flipped to the medical report, "H'mm... no sign of defensive wounds on her hands, and her arms are too badly bruised to indicate what caused the bruises... still, she could have been held immobile, and that would definitely point to more than one attacker."

"Unless she was surprised and knocked out with the first blow..." Loren said uneasily, eyeing Mac significantly as she did so, "After all that's what happened..."

"To me?" Mac asked evenly. "Don't sweat it, I know what happened when Brumby hit me... I remember seeing a blaze of white light and then... nothing..." Mac fell silent and to Loren it seemed that she had drifted off into some sort of reverie.

"Colonel?" No answer

"Colonel?" Loren repeated, and then "Mac? Ma'am?" she stretched out a hand and gently shook the non-responsive marine's wrist.

Mac jumped, "Huh? Oh... sorry, I was just thinking... I don't want to alarm you, but if we've been identified by a gang who have no compunction about attacking female officers, then it might be as well if we were to go armed."

Loren' eyes widened, "You think?" she asked.

"Not got quite the right amount of scepticism and sarcasm in that!" she commented as she gathered the wreckage of her meal and got to her feet.

"That's because I wasn't being sceptical or sarcastic!" Loren said with a twisted grin as she followed Mac's example. "Where are we headed now?"

"The Provost Marshal's office to see the Officer of the Day – again!" Mac sighed. "He's about the only man on the place who can get us weapons today!" A thought struck her, "You can shoot, can't you?"

"Oh yeah, farmer's daughter!" Loren said, surprising herself at the sudden surge of bitterness that she felt. "I'm not saying we went supper-less to bed if we didn't bring supper home with us, but we were definitely encouraged to hit what we aimed at and not waste expensive ammunition!" Even as she said it, Loren couldn't help a shudder as the memory of her father's method of 'encouragement' surfaced.

Mac gave her an odd look. Whatever the blonde recalled, it obviously wasn't pleasant, but of more significance was the fact that Loren Singer, notoriously reticent and with a reputation for jealously guarding her privacy, had actually mentioned her background.

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 1453hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (311853ZMar01) **

Mac threw her pistol belt down on her bed with a curse, "Of all the pig-headed, chauvinistic, stubborn, unreasonable, obstinate... cavemen I have ever had the misfortune to meet, that one takes the top prize!" And then remembering that she had a witness to her outburst, she turned to Loren and said, "And you did not just hear me criticise, out loud, a senior officer!"

"Didn't hear a thing ma'am," Loren said obediently as she unbuckled her own belt.

The two officers stared at each other and Loren started to grin. Mac resisted as long as she could but her own face split into a grin and she uttered a sound that she hastily cut off by ramming her knuckles into her mouth.

Loren stared at the Lieutenant Colonel of Marines in utter disbelief. "Did... did... you... just giggle?" she demanded incredulously.

"No, of course not!" Mac denied hotly, "Marines laugh, chuckle, chortle, guffaw even but they do not giggle – ever!" and then promptly giggled again.

"I don't blame you, ma'am," Loren offered, "the way he acted was like a bad impersonation of John Wayne!"

"Oh I know," Mac agreed as she sat on the edge of her bed and waved Loren to take a seat in the only chair in the room. "Thank God we were of an equal rank, otherwise what I said to him could – and probably would – have landed me smack in the brig!"

"Well, you probably shouldn't have called him a wooden-headed, fossilised dinosaur..." Loren started to say but was interrupted by Mac.

"No, I should have known better." She sat in silence for a few seconds and then added, "As a palaeontologist I know that dinosaur fossils don't have wooden heads!"

"Maybe so," Loren replied straight-faced, "I wouldn't know, but he should have known better than to call you 'little lady'!"

"Oh, God, don't remind me! You'll start me off again!"

Both lapsed into silence, Mac still half fuming at the treatment she and Loren had received at the Provost Marshal's Office. The Officer of the Day had felt unable to authorise issuing side-arms to the two visiting attorneys, and had politely but firmly declined to do so until he had spoken to his CO.

The CO had turned out to be a deeply tanned, silver haired Lieutenant Colonel, who wore two hats. Firstly as the CO of the resident MP battalion and secondly as Camp Lejeune's provost marshal. He had been slightly older than usual for his rank, and resistant even after all the years that women had been accepted into the Corps, to the idea that female officers could be armed and could look after themselves.

He had, at first point-blank refused to entertain the idea that Mac and Loren should be issued weapons, and had scoffed at the idea that they were in any danger. He had backed down in the face of the evidence of the attack on Lieutenant Carpenter and had attempted a compromise whereby he would provide the pair with armed escorts.

Mac had patiently explained that there were certain activities that could not be performed in the presence of an escort, male or female, and that she and Loren need instant access to the means to defend themselves every minute of every twenty-four hours they spent on the base.

It was at that point that Lieutenant Colonel Baxter had attempted to calm down the increasingly irritated Mac and had made the mistake of addressing her as 'little lady'.

Mac had nearly erupted in public, but had remembered almost too late the circumstances, and it was with a major effort she had turned to Loren and the MP Officer of the Day and in icy tones had asked them to quit the room.

The two junior officers had waited outside, and although the decibel level of the conversation inside had risen markedly, they had been unable to distinguish exactly who had said what to whom.

The upshot however was that Colonel Baxter had flung out of the room in a raging temper, and snapped to his subordinate, "Damn it! Give them the damned side-arms! With any luck they'll manage to shoot themselves!"

Remembering the MP Officer's exit and the still angry but somehow smug look on Mac's face as she'd followed him to the outer office, Loren asked curiously, "What did you say to him to make him change his mind, ma'am?"

"Well... we had a free and frank exchange of our opinions as to each others parentage, intelligence, attitudes, competence... oh... all the usual compliments, and then I told him that he was headed for a charge of sexual discrimination!"

Loren winced.

"Yeah, he didn't like that, and tried to give me chapter and verse on Marine Corps regulations, and I had to remind him that I was a JAG and knew the regulations probably better than he did." Mac shrugged, "He caved at just about that point!"

"We're not making many friends down here, ma'am!" Loren commented, thinking back to their reception by the 29th Battalion's CO.

"No... we're not." Mac agreed, "Notes to selves: Never come on an investigation without a side-arm!"

Loren thought for a few seconds and then replied, "Sounds like a plan. But it could be tough selling it to the Admiral."

Mac nodded, "Yeah... I'll have to work out how to get him to buy-in to the idea."

"You... uh... realise what these mean?" Loren indicated the bundle of belt and holster which lay on her lap.

"Well... I've a pretty good idea in general," Mac replied.

"Means we can't go off base to eat this evening ma'am, and after lunch, I'm really not too keen on eating my Sunday evening dinner in the mess hall."

"No... you're right..." A sudden spark of humour flared in Mac's eyes, "But there is a Domino's pizza on base!"

"It would be easy just to order in..." Loren said dreamily.

"Now who's corrupting whom?" Mac laughed

**Sunday 31 March 2001, 1520hrs MST, Skywest Flight Number 5392, Yuma International Airport, Yuma, AZ ****(312120ZMar01) **

Meg Austin gritted her teeth and briefly closed her eyes as she leaned back against the head rest of her seat. She had, by dint of many 'phone calls managed to get seats on flights that would get her to Dulles in time to make Staff Call tomorrow morning, but it was going to be a brute of a flight, or flights, she bitterly reminded herself. She opened her eyes and pulled the ticket wallet out of the inside pocket of her casual jacket and checked her flight details for the millionth time, as if the re-reading of them would change them, or make the facts any more palatable. The first leg was on this twin-engine turboprop Brasilia 120, a thirty passenger commuter plane heading to Los Angeles, the second leg from Los Angeles to JFK, New York would be a Boeing seven fifty seven, but there she would have to suffer a more than a five hour lay-over before the final leg to Dulles, where she would arrive at zero six fifteen EDT on a Canadair BRJ jet.

Ah well, mom had told her there were going to be days like this, she tried to comfort herself.

Still, it had all been worth it, even if the cost of getting back to DC had put a dent in her bank balance. She had gotten to spend time, precious time, quality time with Victor. The nurse had been very accommodating and once she'd found out that Meg would be flying back to the East Coast, she had smilingly drawn the blinds to Gunny's room, and said, "Now, I should be throwing you out honey, visiting hours are past and gone, but if you stay as quiet as a church mouse, I'll make sure that no-one comes to disturb you until I bring his afternoon meds in. But you both behave yourselves, do you hear there?"

Meg had nearly betrayed herself at that point, but Victor stepped in quickly enough to cover any error she might have made with a crisp, "Aye, aye, ma'am... and thank you!"

As a result Meg had managed to stay at Victor's bedside until the end of evening visiting hours, when she had reluctantly torn herself away, and returned to her hotel room where after indulging in a burst of tears she started the process of mentally preparing herself for a return to Washington, where the last two days had to remain a memory, and a closely guarded one at that.

**Monday 1 April 2001, 0511hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (010911ZApr01)**

Harm blinked his way to semi-consciousness and stretched out his hand flailing for the alarm clock before his sleep-fuddled mind correctly interpreted the message from his ears, and groaning he turned on to his side and groped for the insistently ringing cell phone, "H'lo?" he mumbled into the mouthpiece

"Harm... I'm sorry to wake you so early..."

"Huh? Meg?" Harm sat up in bed, "Wassamatter, is Gunny..."

"No, no, calm down a minute. Gunny's fine – well as fine as can be expected. No I need a favour. I need picking up at the airport, I'm at JFK and..."

"JFK? That's New York, that's a four, maybe five hour trip each way..."

"Harm! Will you please shut up... uh... will you please let me finish what I'm trying to say, please?"

"Huh! OK, I can do that I suppose!" Harm huffed, "But telling someone to shut up is a damned funny way of asking for a favour!"

"It is, and I'm sorry for for that, but I don't have much time... I'm waiting at JFK for a connection to Dulles. My ETA at Dulles is zero six fifteen hours, that's just over an hour away... Can you pick me up and give me a ride home, please?"

Harm was about to make a snappy come back when he heard the fatigue in Meg's voice. "OK, Meg, I'll be there. What are your flight details, and what terminal are you due to arrive at?"

Meg gave him the required information and then with a little break in her voice she said, "Thanks, Harm, thanks for everything this weekend, not just for the ride from the airport. I don't know what..."

"Hey, no big deal!" Harm protested swinging his feet on to the floor. I'll see you at Dulles, OK?"

"Yeah. Oh... I've got to go, they're calling my flight!"

Harm heard the click as the line went dead, and with a rueful grin he tossed the phone onto the bed and headed for the shower

**Monday 1 April 2001, 0748hrs EDT, Mess Hall, 29th Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(011148ZApr01) **

"Ma'am, the... uh... CO would appreciate you calling in to see him... as soon as you've finished eating, that is... ma'am."

Mac looked up in surprise and hastily closed the file she had been re-reading, the cause of the nervous Lieutenant's ability to approach undetected.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Mac said coolly enough, although she was mentally flaying herself for letting herself be taken unawares. OK, it was perfectly harmless this time; on another occasion, particularly when she had already decided that there was a threat, she might not be so lucky.

"What was that all about, ma'am?" Loren said as she returned to the table carrying two cups of coffee.

"Colonel McMahon wants to see us as soon as we've finished breakfast," Mac replied. That young man's got to be his dog robber for the day!"

"Any idea why, ma'am?"

"Well it might just have something to do with the e-mail I sent him last night after we ate. I gave him a broad-brush picture of what we had done, what we had found out, and what we think happened, so far."

"But we've got time for our coffee, right, ma'am?" Loren grinned as she noted that Mac had made no attempt to return the file to her briefcase and was idly stirring the sugar into her cup.

"Huh? Oh... yeah... we'll drink our coffee and then we can trot over to Battalion HQ and make nice with the Colonel!"

"Sounds like a plan," Loren agreed, and she took a sip of her coffee, "But do we have to finish our coffee?" she asked plaintively as she pulled a face at the taste of the brew, "This is almost as bad as Pop Walchowski's purple poison!"

Mac grimaced and nodded as she tasted her own drink, "Yep... pretty bad! So maybe we don't have to drink it, but I reckon we can still sit here for another five minutes or so!"

**Monday 1 April 2001, 0802hrs EDT, Meg Austin's Apartment, ****Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC ****(011202ZApr01) **

Meg almost stumbled out of the passenger door of the Lexus, "Thanks Harm! I can take it from here!"

"Are you sure Meg? I mean, are you fit to drive? 'Cos you look like hell!"

"Aw, gee, thanks Harm! You certainly know how to boost a girl's ego! G'wan, git. I'm going to be late, but there's no call for you to be late too!

"If you're sure...? I can wait for you... call in and let the Admiral know..."

"And raise all sorts of questions which we don't really want asked, and the answers to which would mean we would have to lie? I don't think so! Now, stop worrying about me, and get your six back to Falls Church!"

Harm shook his head but surrendered, "OK, I'll get going once I see that you are safe inside!"

Meg almost succumbed to the temptation to stamp her foot, but by biting her lip she managed to confine her reaction to a frustrated, "Ohhh! You... you... you... man! You!"

Abandoning an attempt to glare at Harm she spun on her heel, and with garment bag in one hand and sea-bag slung over her shoulder, she stalked towards the old warehouse building's door.

Harm waited until he saw that she was safely inside, and then with a satisfied smile he engaged the Lexus' gears and pulled out of the old alleyway. His smile changed subtly as he drove, reflecting an element of irony, he had thought that never again would he have to drive the well-remembered route from this neighbourhood of DC back to Falls Church at this time of day!

**Monday 1 April 2001, 0807hrs EDT, Commanding Officer's Office, 29th Logistics Battalion, USMC, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(011207ZApr01) **

"Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer, sir!" Captain Bailey, the Battalion S-1 announced Mac and Loren as he held open the door to the CO's office.

Lieutenant Colonel McMahon stood to receive his visitors, "Good morning Colonel, Lieutenant, take a seat, please."

Both women replied "Good morning, Colonel," before sitting. Colonel McMahon waited until his visitors were seated before he retook his own seat, "I see the report I that was waiting for me this morning was correct, as was the scuttlebutt I heard last night, but then again, scuttlebutt usually is!"

"Colonel?" Mac inquired.

"You are both under arms."

"Correct, Colonel." Mac replied flatly.

McMahon clasped his hands, rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward slightly, "I don't know that I'm particularly happy about having two officers wander around my battalion area with pistols – and I assume they are loaded?"

"Not much use if they aren't, Colonel!" Mac answered.

McMahon managed a half-smile, "Work with me on this one please, Colonel. As I was saying, I'm not particularly happy with the idea, but you managed to persuade the Provost Marshal to issue you with side-arms, and from my knowledge of that officer, you must have had a pretty cogent argument. Would you oblige me by just going over the item headers in that argument?"

Mac exchanged a quick glance with Loren before looking back at McMahon. "Very well, Colonel. We would have asked to see you to present a progress report a bit later in the day anyway... "

Mac then recounted all that she and Loren had discovered, including the probable link to the on-going NCIS investigation into the missing Humvee parts and most significantly the warning message they had received, together with its implication that she and Loren were under surveillance – at least some of the time – by unfriendly eyes.

McMahon heard them out in silence, nodding as he took on board each point made and when Mac had finished her report he grunted in satisfaction, stood and turned to look out of his window, his hands behind his back, in so similar a fashion to the pose so often adopted by Admiral Chegwidden that both Mac and Lorn were hard put to restrain their grins.

"All right, Colonel, I'll accept that you have grounds to be concerned for your safety to the extent that you feel that being armed is a necessary precaution. You are a Marine and therefore I will assume you are pistol qualified, but..." he spun suddenly fixing Loren with a penetrating stare, "How about you, Lieutenant?"

"I can shoot, sir!" Loren replied.

"That wasn't the question, Lieutenant." McMahon reminded her.

Loren nodded, "I qualified Sharpshooter on my last quals," she admitted.

McMahon nodded again. "OK, so we'll assume that with the ability to shoot comes the ability to know when and when not to shoot. So, keep your side-arms, but don't let me down on this, please!"

"I don't believe that decision lies within your purview, Colonel." Mac remarked coolly.

"That's where you're wrong, Colonel," McMahon contradicted her politely. "This is my battalion, and my battalion area, everything that happens within that area is not only within my purview, but is my responsibility. If anything, God forbid, should happen, within my area of responsibility, to you or that requires you to draw and use your weapons, then I will undoubtedly be held responsible."

Mac nodded, "Fair point,Colonel!"

"Thank you. I'll let the Provost Marshal, and the Commanding General know that your being armed has my support."

"The Commanding General?" Mac queried.

"Yeah... it seems that our Provost Marshall also copied his report to the General." He paused and looked down at the report on his desk blotter while he considered how best to articulate in a diplomatic manner his concerns, but eventually looked up at Mac once again, "The General is... how shall I put it... of the older generation of military men."

Mac nodded. She understood perfectly that McMahon meant that the General Commanding Camp Lejeune was one of the older officers who opposed the idea of women in his Corps, or in any of the services probably. She winced inwardly, a common term for such officers, who in her opinion should have been retired long ago, was 'dinosaur' and recalling that she had used that self-same term to the Provost Marshall's face, she could only hope that he hadn't included it in his report.

"I see you take my meaning, Colonel!"

"Yes, I do. And now unless we need to discuss anything more, I'd like to get on with trying to find who attacked Lieutenant Carpenter."

McMahon nodded, "Understandable, and I wish you a speedy success! But, Colonel, purely to satisfy my curiosity, unless and until Lieutenant Carpenter recovers consciousness, what exactly are you planning to do?"

"From here on in? Go down to Bravo Company's area, and starting with the Company Commander, interview every marine in the company and see if we can't find anyone who might be able to point us in the right direction."

McMahon pulled a face, "That's going to take some time, Colonel."

"Yes it is, but the NCIS agents are working their way through the motor pool detachment, and hopefully we'll be able to cross-fertilise each others investigation."

"Well, good luck, Colonel. I'll call Captain Harriman and let him know you're on his way!"

"Thank you," Mac said, mildly surprised by McMahon's apparent shift to a more helpful frame of mind.

"Nothing to thank me for Colonel. I will not interfere with, and I will not let anyone in my command interfere with or obstruct your investigation. I want whoever is responsible for the attack on Marion Carpenter behind bars! All I ask is that you keep me in the loop!"

"I'll do that!" Mac agreed, and turning to Loren said, "Lieutenant, let's go!"

Loren waited until they had left the building and had settled themselves into the Humvee before she turned to Mac, "A bit of a change in attitude there ma'am?"

Mac thought for a moment before she replied, "No... I don't think so. I'll admit it took me by surprise, considering our reception when we first got here. But he was right then. We were barely fit to be seen in public. But even then he was helpful, he had Carpenter's SRB to hand and he said back then that he wanted the perps caught. Maybe we took away the wrong impression because he gigged us slightly about our presentation."

Loren thought and then nodded as Mac turned the key in the ignition, "Yes, ma'am, could be."

In his office, Lieutenant Colonel McMahon called "Enter!" in response to a double tap at his door, and then looked up and grinned at his visitor, "Well, Sergeant Major?"

"The Colonel looks like a switched-on Marine, sir! I made some calls to buddies at Quantico and Pendleton. Intel has it that she's a damn good attorney, and a good investigator who sometimes goes off half-cocked but she does get results." The Sergeant Major paused to add slight emphasis to his next words, "In either role she has a habit of rubbing folk up the wrong way."

"I can handle that Sergeant Major, as long as she comes up with the goods!"

"She has that reputation, Colonel!"

"Thank you, Sergeant Major!"

**Monday 1 April 2001, 0857hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA (011257ZApr01)**

Harm grinned in relief as Meg opened the door and slipped into an empty chair beside him. His grin broadened and he made a gesture of wiping sweat from his brow as she returned the smile. She still looked tired but freshening up and a change of clothes into a clean fresh uniform helped.

"You still don't look top-line," he whispered to her, "But you do look a hell of a lot better than you did an hour or so ago. And at least you made it on time – just!"

Meg looked sideways at him, grinned and then let a short-lived gurgle of laughter escape her.

Sturgis Turner, sitting opposite Harm in Mac's usual; place raised an eyebrow, "Something you'd like to share, Commanders?"

Meg shook her head, "No I don't think so."

"Aw, come on Meg, if we don't tell Sturgis, with his preacher's sons suspicions," Harm ignored the glare that Sturgis sent across the table at him, "he'll only put two and two together and come up short."

"Yeah, you may be right. Sturgis, I had to catch a later flight back than I'd hoped and it was routed via JFK. And then the connecting flight was delayed. I didn't get into Dulles until gone seven and then I had to call Harm to come and pick me up. That's all... oh except that when he did he had no compunction about telling me I looked like crap!"

"Ah... OK... and, I'm sorry, how's your mom?"

"Oh it was a bit of a false alarm. She had a touch of bronchitis is all. I gave her hell for scaring me like that!"

Sturgis frowned slightly, there was something that just didn't sit right with what he was hearing and Meg's body language. He was too experienced an attorney not to sense when he wasn't hearing the whole truth, but what if anything he was about to say was lost and forgotten in the bustle and scrape as everyone rose to their feet as Tiner threw the door open and called out "Attention on deck!"

Admiral Chegwidden strode into the conference room and glowered at the lack of faces. "Where the hell is everybody?" he demanded.

"Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer are still at Lejeune, Commander Imes and Lieutenant Barlow are still tied up with the Court Martial at Twenty Nine Palms and Lieutenant Roberts has a meeting with the DoN forensic accountants at the Pentagon." Harm replied, but mentally taking note of the Admiral's expression and the way he was holding himself. He was still pale under his tan and he still looked tired. If anything he looked worse than Meg.

"H'mph! Looks like I shall have to have another meeting with the SecNav! I haven't yet had a chance to look over your budget proposal Commander, did you ask for funding for an additional couple of attorneys?"

"No sir, but I could..."

"Good! On my desk by twelve hundred today!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

A J scanned the faces left and then fastened on Meg, "Are you fit for duty Commander? You look like hell! I warned all of you what would happen if you turned to unfit for duty because of recreational pursuits!"

"I'm fine sir, just a little tired from travelling. It was pretty rough flight, sir!"

Chegwidden glared at her for a long moment, and then switched his gaze to Sturgis Turner. "The flight doesn't have seemed to have affected Commander Turner all that much!"

"No sir," Meg agreed docilely.

"Fine! Let's get on with it! Commander Rabb now you're out of the big chair it's time you did some legal work!" Chegwidden said, acknowledging, at least to Harm's mind, that the JAG spent very little time on bread and butter legal affairs.

"Yes, sir," Harm acknowledged, but thinking that with the now required amendment to the budget proposal he was going to be a very busy sailor.

"I'm glad you agree Commander. Tiner?"

The yeoman handed Rabb a hefty pink file folder, which to his surprise was marked with the DoN Seal and not with that of JAG, "Sir?" he queried.

Chegwidden smiled grimly, "Fourteen years ago Captain Abel Richardson, a key member of the then Pentagon Strategic Planning Group was convicted of espionage on behalf of a foreign power. He was sentenced to life without parole. The key piece of evidence against him was a series of pictures showing him in a series of meetings with a woman of Asiatic appearance. In some of those photographs Richardson and the woman can be seen exchanging unmarked brown envelopes.

The ONI who were running the investigation asserted that the envelopes handed to the woman by Richardson contained classified information concerning US defence policy, particularly those policies concerning Taiwan should China launch an attack on that state." Chegwidden paused and again smiled in a grim fashion, "Sound familiar, Commander?"

"Yes, sir. It does," Harm replied intercepting a concerned look from Meg as he did so.

"The ONI also assert that the envelopes passed from the woman to Richardson contained cash in payment for his information. Substantial amounts of cash.

Richardson always claimed that he had merely been helping the woman, whom he understood to be of mixed American and Korean blood to track down her father. An individual that her mother had told her was a US Navy Officer.

"The ONI produced further evidence that Richardson held an account in an off-shore, tax-free shelter, and despite not being able to gain access to the bank records, and despite Richardson's claims that he had never opened such an account, the evidence was deemed admissible. On the strength of that evidence, and particularly because Richardson's counsel couldn't produce the woman, he was found guilty.

"His conviction and sentence were upheld through all appeals procedure. Right up to the Supreme Court."

"If that is the case, sir, why has it come back to us after all this time?"

"During the original court martial, defence counsel challenged the ONI to produce in court the woman in the photographs, who ONI claimed was a Chinese agent. ONI replied that as best as they could figure out, she had been whisked out of the country by the Chinese Embassy under the guise of routine staff rotation, and when asked about her the Embassy denied ever having seen or known about her. On Friday evening, NCIS got a telephone call from GW hospital, a woman of Asian appearance had been admitted to the ER after having been involved in a vehicle/pedestrian collision. She was in a bad way, but kept demanding to speak to and I quote, 'A Navy investigator'. An NCIS agent was duly sent to interview her and recorded what proved to be a death-bed admission. It's pretty hesitant and halting, but she claims to be the woman in the case and not to have been employed by the Chinese embassy, but was half-Korean and an illegal alien part-coerced and part-bribed by the ONI to subvert Captain Richardson, and that the only documents she received from him were de-classified portions of the records of US Navy personnel who had served in Korea or in Korean waters in the two years before her birth, and the only envelopes she gave Richardson were the envelopes containing those same documents that she returned to him per his request. A story that coincides with Richardson's testimony on the stand during his court martial."

"It seems simple enough sir, and I don't understand why it's come to us. It should be easy enough to identify the ONI operative responsible for what looks like entrapment at least, and possibly perjury and false indictment, and get the original verdict and sentence overturned."

"So it would be Commander, if the woman could have come up with a name other than 'Captain Smith', it will be your happy duty to liaise with ONI and find out the identity of this officer. If he is still serving, or within five years of resigning or retiring I want him court martialled and Richardson released from Leavenworth and reinstated. Good luck Commander!"

"Yes, sir. Thank you!" Harm replied, the slight edge to his answer bringing a hard look from the Admiral, who however declined to comment.

Instead, Chegwidden turned to Tiner, "Next one!"

Tiner pulled two of the more usual, blue file folders from his archive box and handed them to the Admiral. Chegwidden popped his reading glasses onto his nose and swiftly scanned the front page of one of the two slim files.

"Commander Turner, Commander Austin: Lieutenant Velasquez is charged with DDO, insubordination and fomenting a mutiny. He was watch officer on the USS Cumberland, an LA Class sub. While dived, he disobeyed an order from his Captain to take the boat down a further five hundred feet. He pointed out that the new depth was deeper than the boat's pressure hull was rated for and apparently told the skipper to 'court martial me on the surface'. The skipper relieved him of duty and confined him to his cabin, and then assumed the Watch Offer's duties. He then ordered the planesman to dive the boat, and when the planesman protested the order, he held an immediate Captain's mast and confined him for three days on bread and water. The replacement planesman did as he was ordered, and the dive was completed. However when the Cumberland returned to port and the log was submitted COMSUBPAC ordered an ultra sound scan of the hull. At which stage cracks were found in the pressure hull. It is my understanding that COMSUBPAC as convening authority is preferring charges of wilfully and needlessly hazarding his vessel against the skipper, but wants this trial completed before any proceedings are started against the skipper. So...you'll prosecute Commander Turner, Commander Austin, defence.

"Lieutenant Warren. How is your case-load?"

"Just one DDO pending sir, I have plea-bargains for the rest, all ready for you to sign off on them sir!"

"What's the hold up on the outstanding case? And which case is it?" Chegwidden demanded.

"Uh... It's the Corporal Bowen case, sir and I'm waiting for the defence counsel to come into the office top sign off on it sir. I only hammered it out with my client on Friday, and defence counsel is away from the office on an investigation, sir."

"H'mm... Lieutenant Fairchild, I presume?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, grab hold of him as soon as he sets foot in the building and get him to sign off, or come back at you with a counter offer ASAP!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Commander Mattoni, how's your assault case going?"

"Log jam at the moment sir. No chance of a plea bargain, both sides are as obdurate as the other. Looks like this one is going all the way to trial. Sir. And sir, it's going to be a black eye for the Navy if it goes public."

"Oh? I thought it was a slam-dunk, a public assault on a senior officer?"

"Yes, sir. But the Lieutenant pleads gross provocation, in that she makes a counter claim that she was sexually assaulted by her CO, in the moment before she struck him."

"Oh for God's sake! Has she any proof or witnesses?"

"The Lieutenant has handed over to me a copy of a photograph she had a nurse at Portsmouth take of her left...uh... buttock, sir. It shows a bruise, but unfortunately the photograph wasn't taken until forty eight hours after the alleged assault, and while the colour and degree, according to medical opinion is consistent with the alleged age of the bruising, it is unfortunately too diffused to allow the medicos to form a firm opinion as to the cause of it."

"So... part from the dubious nature of the photograph, it's a case of he said, she said?"

"Not quite, sir!" Alan Mattoni looked gloomy, "There's still the matter of the public assault. There is no ambivalence about that, sir!"

Chegwidden closed his eyes momentarily, "Try and wrap this one up quickly and quietly Commander. The Navy does need another black eye!"

"No sir, but with respect sir, in the light of events at Colorado Springs, do you really want to risk being seen in the same light as the Air Force Academy leadership?"

Chegwidden glared at Mattoni for several long seconds while that officer sent his past career to pass in mental review. At length the Admiral growled, "No, of course not. If there was a sexual assault, then the officer concerned, whoever he is will face charges! Damn them! Have these people learned nothing over the last ten years! Tell me at least Mattoni, that he is not from the Aviation Community!"

"No sir, surface warfare – both accused and accuser!"

"Let us thank God for small mercies!" Chegwidden said.

Harm had been inclined to bristle at the admiral's mention of aviators, but then in fairness he had to admit that it was aviators that had given the navy not one, but two black eyes over the 1991 Tailhook convention. Harm had not attended that convention; he had been in hospital recovering from the effects of his ramp strike. All the same he felt a degree of relief that it wasn't anybody from naval aviation involved this time around.

He was roused from his reveries by the admiral's gruff, "That is all, dismissed!"

Harm joined the rest of the group on the scramble top their feet as Chegwidden, trailed by Tiner left the room.

**Monday 1 April 2001, 1845hrs EDT, Female VOQs, Camp Lejeune, NC, (012245ZApr01) **

Loren gratefully unbuckled her pistol belt and rubbing the welt it had left on the side of her waist, she slumped into the chair that Mac had waved her to.

Mac grinned as she noted Loren's hand rubbing at her side, "Chafed a bit, Lieutenant?"

"Yes ma'am, not too much, but enough that I'm happy enough to unstrap it!"

"You get used to!" Mac informed her, as she too unbuckled her pistol belt.

"Ma'am , with respect, if I'd wanted to get used to wearing a pistol, I'd have joined the Marines!" Loren almost snapped, remembering at the last second to power down, but obviously not far enough as Mac narrowed her eyes.

"Tone, Lieutenant!" she reminded her junior.

"Yes, ma'am, sorry ma'am!" Loren said although she was fuming inside at her own slip.

Mac waited until she judged that the blonde had simmered down a mite and the sitting on the end of her bed, she bent to unlace her boots.

"So... anything useful from your interviews? I got nothing from mine, nothing, zero, zilch, nada!"

"You could add nichts to that litany, ma'am," then Loren's forehead creased as she fought to recall something that had struck her as odd at the time she'd been told, "Although... there may be a beam of light peeping over the horizon..."

"Go on..."

"Well..." Loren opened her breast pocket to pull out a field note book, "Lance Corporal Feldman says that he thought that he recently saw Lieutenant Carpenter in conversation with Private Ormond. He said he was surprised because Ormond was a screw up who normally tried to stay out of the way of NCOs and practically ran and hid from officers. But on a couple of occasions he said that Ormond appeared quite active in the conversation instead of her usual practice of standing at attention and only saying 'yes, sir,' or 'no, sir' – or ma'am, as the case might be."

"Well that's something we can look into tomorrow. Ormond's on your half of the roster isn't she?"

"Yeah, I've got her down as fifth on my list for the morning."

Mac considered, "Well, in the best interests of her safety we don't want to draw any undue hostile attention to her, so we need to carry on as we have done to-day. I wonder though, is there any way you can draw out those first four interviews until just short of lunch, telling you to take a break would give me a reasonable excuse for breaking on you, there are a couple of questions I'd like to put to Ormond myself!"

"Maybe, but I'm thinking that if she can tell us anything it will probably lead back to the missing parts."

"That would be something, after all, we haven't heard from NCIS all day! What's that grin for?"

"I was just remembering back at Falls Church, when the Admiral first assigned me to work with NCIS, he asked me if I had a problem with that, and I said no, no more than I would have of working with any other incompetent and the Admiral slapped me down PDQ!"

"And?" Mac prompted.

"And it looks like I might be having the last laugh after all!" Loren grinned.

After a thunderstruck moment, Mac couldn't help but join in Loren's amusement.

"But..." Loren sobered quickly, "I'm surprised at Gomez. He's ex Navy, and with his previous rate and rating – he's a former Master Chief Master at Arms – I would have thought he'd be more prepared to co-operate with us!"

"H'mm... curious... but isn't Adams the lead investigator? And does he strike you as the kind to co-operate fully, no matter what instructions he might have received?"

"Well... he did in DC... but..."

"But that was when you were checking paperwork. You weren't in the field involved in an investigation that impinges on his, were you?"

"No... but do you think he'd sabotage our investigation just to make himself look good?"

"I think, from what little I've seen of him, he is very capable of doing just that, particularly if it looks like he might be outshone by a pair of women!"

"You might be right, ma'am, but unless you've got an urgent need of me for anything else, I'm not going to even think about that until I've had a chance to take a shower and 'phone Harm before I even think about ordering in for tonight. It's my turn, so, burgers, pizza or Chine..."

Loren's sentence was cut off by a thunderous knocking at the door. Mac and Loren exchanged a look and without saying a word, both grabbed their side arms. Mac signalled for silence and slid off to one side of the room to where she could get a clear shot at anybody standing in the doorway. She called out, "Yes, who is it?" and gave Loren a three-count signal to open the door wide.

"Lieutenant Cartwright, ma'am, twenty-ninth Logistics Battalion Officer of the Day!"

As the Lieutenant finished speaking, Loren yanked the door open and a startled African American Lieutenant found himself facing the business end of a pair of nine millimetre pistols. He gulped convulsively and raised his hands to signal his pacifistic intentions.

"How may we help you, Lieutenant?" Mac asked, not lowering her guard or her weapon one inch.

"Uh... Colonel McMahon's compliments, ma'am and would you join him, directly, in the Battalion Ops Room, ma'am!"

"ID, Lieutenant!" Mac demanded

Mac carefully examined the proffered ID that Cartwright had gingerly, using only forefinger and thumb, extracted from the breast pocket of his Service Dress Alphas. Mac examined it equally carefully, looking particularly for any sign that the laminations had been tampered with. Satisfied that it was the real thing and had not been altered in any way she handed it back to the Lieutenant. "What's this all about Lieutenant?" Mac asked, applying the safety on her M-9. "Oh, and you can put your hands down!" she added

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't tell you that!"

"Can't tell me because you don't know, or because you've been ordered not to tell me?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Cartwright replied unhelpfully, "I have a vehicle waiting outside ma'am," he offered as if that might compensate.

"No need, Lieutenant, we have our own vehicle and we know the way to Battalion HQ. Please return there, present my compliments to Colonel McMahon, and tell him we'll be with him as soon as I've pulled my boots back on!"

Cartwright looked down for the first time and noticed that Mac was in her socked feet.

"Yes, ma'am. Is that word for word ma'am?" he risked a slight smile.

Mac responded to his humour, "Hell, why not, Lieutenant? Now the sooner you get going, the quicker I can get my boots back on!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Cartwright saluted and turned making for the door at the end of the hall.

Loren sighed, made safe her pistol, and restoring it to its holster, slung the pistol belt around her waist once more.

**Monday 1 April 2001, 1913hrs EDT, Battalion Operations Room, HQ 29th Logistics Battalion USMC,Camp Lejeune, NC, (012313ZApr01) **

Mac and Loren were surprised to see that the Ops Room had been posted and even more so when the young, armed marine sentry politely asked for their IDs. He checked their names off against a list before he allowed them to pass, while Mac and Loren exchanged further inquiring looks.

"Good evening, Colonel, Lieutenant," Lieutenant Colonel McMahon stood in front of a display board on which had been pinned a map and as Mac drew closer she could see that it was a map of the Camp Lejeune military reservation, near the boundary of which had been placed a red map-pin.

"Thank you for coming so promptly," McMahon continues as he waved Mac and Loren to a seat.

"You know nearly everybody here..." he indicated the half a dozen or so others ion the room. Mac nodded, recognising two of them as Company Commanders, a third as the Battalion XO and then the Provost Marshall, Lieutenant Colonel Baxter, and finally a tough, seasoned looking man wearing the chevrons of a Sergeant Major

"I've asked you to attend because at secure this afternoon, a Humvee was reported missing. It was noted as having been signed out by Corporal Hunter and Private Schmidt, who had been detailed to assist NCIS agents Adams and Gomez in their investigations. Neither the two marines nor the NCIS agents answered their radio or their cell phones. A second vehicle sent to their supposed destination found no trace of the missing Humvee, either at the destination nor anywhere along the route leading to it. I called in a favour and asked the CO of MHA 214 to carry out an aerial sweep. The pilot spotted a Humvee right over at the reservation boundary, and I ordered the second vehicle to that location. The commander of that vehicle, Gunnery Sergeant Anderton, reported that the missing Humvee appeared to have been hit and disabled by an IED and that there were four bodies lying in and around it; my two missing Marines and the two NCIS agents. All seemed to have suffered blast and shrapnel injuries, but according to the Gunny, who has seen his share of fighting and wounds, all four had also received a close-range shot from a large calibre weapon to the base of the skull."

He stopped and breathed heavily. "That's not all. One of my marines seem to think that that particular vehicle had been fitted with an M-2 fifty calibre. It was not found with the vehicle. I am having an armoury inventory check carried out even as we speak"


	45. Chapter 45

**45**

**Monday 1 April 2001, 1918hrs EDT, Battalion Operations Room, HQ 29th Logistics Battalion USMC,Camp Lejeune, NC, (012318ZApr01) **

"What we are about to do," Lieutenant Colonel McMahon continued, "is to carry out a sweep of the area around the crash site. The immediate vicinity should have already been taped off by Colonel Baxter's MPs, ready for a nose in the grass forensics examination as soon as it becomes light enough to see. In the meantime, all three companies are to deploy and sweep the area between the crash site and the perimeter fence. Each Company will deploy two platoons up and a third platoon back, covering the interval, not that there should be any interval, I just want to copper-bottom this. The fourth platoon from each Company will remain mounted in Humvees and will act as a mobile reserve under the command of Major Greenway, the Battalion XO. Major Sifuentes will remain at this location and will co-ordinate the sweep. Lieutenant Hillier is organising radio sets as I speak.

"A Company will direct the course and speed of the sweep, with the its right hand platoon at co-ordinates 531864. B Company in the centre extending the line to C Company. Six feet spacing between men is the absolute maximum unless the terrain dictates otherwise. All platoons will be accompanied by a dog-section from Colonel Baxter's K-9 Platoon. Any platoon losing contact with its neighbour is to halt, and call in to report the fact. All call signs if they hear the lost contact report will halt and remain where they are until directed to resume the advance by Call sign zero – that is Ops, this room, right here.

"Every marine is to carry a loaded clip on his weapon and a further two loaded clips in his or her pouches. Rules of engagement: Whoever attacked the Humvee has shown themselves prepared to kill. I already have two letters to write, do not make me write any more! If anyone fires on your men, they are at liberty to return fire. If anyone attempts to evade your men, they are at liberty to bring them down by any and all means available, including that of lethal force. Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, any comments on those ROEs, from the legal side?"

Mac thought furiously for a few seconds, the ROEs were brutally simple, but on the other hand they only applied within the military reservation, and the perimeter fence was posted at frequent intervals warning trespassers that they might be met with deadly force.

"A bit on the tough side, Colonel, but legally within acceptable limits."

"Thank you, Colonel. You and your Lieutenant... Singer, isn't it? Will ride with me. Hopefully you can keep me out of trouble!" He paused for the obligatory chuckles to subside.

"Gentlemen, ladies, the clock is ticking, let's move!"

There was a general scraping of chairs as the assembled officers left the room and then the building, the company commanders could be heard calling for their platoon leaders and First Sergeants as they did so.

But despite McMahon's urgency, it still took time to mobilise the battalion and Major Sifuentes and his Ops team had ample time to set up the board and their communications links before the first company reported that they were ready to move.

McMahon retreated to his own office during the delay and sat at his desk. Drawing a deep shuddering breath, he picked up his telephone dialled Operator Assistance. When the Operator answered, McMahon said "Get me the Duty Officer at NCIS Headquarters, Washington Navy Yard."

**Monday 1 April 2001, 2008hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (020008ZApr01) **

Harm swore softly in disgust, for the last fifteen minutes he'd been trying to call Loren but all he received by way of a reply was the recorded message, "The number you have dialled cannot be reached. It may be out of service, or the cell phone may have been switched off."

Thinking up die punishments for Loren for having forgotten to keep her phone switched on for their regular evening call, he thumbed Mac's number in order to get her to tell Loren to call him. His frustration only increased when he received the same message in response to his attempt.

Not only did his frustration increase, a little niggle of worry began to gnaw at him. Turning to his computer he booted it and logged in, and then searched for 'Camp Lejeune', he was rewarded, as he had expected in this new 'digital' age to find a Camp Lejeune Home-Page giving contact details including a telephone directory showing all units currently on-base.

Tracing a finger down the screen, Harm stopped at the appropriate line and made a note of the number. He left the screen live while he turned to his land line and dialled the number. He heard the 'phone at the other end ring four times before it was picked up, "_Twenty Ninth Logistics Battalion, Corporal de la Cruz, speaking, sir!_"

"Corporal, good evening. This is Commander Rabb at Navy JAG HQ. I'm trying to reach either Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie or Navy Lieutenant Singer, neither of them seem to have their 'phones switched on. Can you get a message for either or both to call me please, ASAP!"

"_I'm sorry sir,_" the young woman on the other end of the 'phone replied, "_I believe those two officers are in a briefing with the CO and cannot be disturbed_."

"I see, OK, thank you Corporal..." then Harm's brain caught up with his ears and he shot a suspicious glance at his watch. "What's going on that your CO needs to hold a briefing this time of night, Corporal?"

"_I'm sorry, sir. I can't discuss that with you_. _This is an open line and I only have your word that you are who you say you are, sir_!"

Harm bit back a curse, the Marine Corps NCO was perfectly correct on both counts. "OK, I guess I'll have to accept that, but will you please pass on my message as soon as you can?"

"_Aye, aye, sir! Will there be anything else, sir_?"

"No... no thank you. Goodnight Corporal!"

"_Goodnight, sir_!" Corporal de la Cruz rang off and made a careful note in the pristine, new Operations Log, recording the time and duration of the call, the caller's identity, and an outline of the conversation, making a careful note that the caller's ID was unverified but that the call came from a Washington DC land line. She also made a careful note on a message pad and folding it, wrote 'Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie' on the back.

**Monday 1 April 2001, 2056hrs EDT, Battalion Operations Room, HQ 29th Logistics Battalion USMC,Camp Lejeune, NC, (022056ZApr01) **

"Sir," Major Tomás Sifuentes turned from the Operations Plotting board, "All companies report ready to move."

"About time!" McMahon grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. All in all it had taken less than two hours to call in every member of the battalion have them draw weapons and ammunition and report to their companies ready in all respects for whatever he decided to throw at them "How many unaccounted for?" he demanded.

"Just eleven unaccounted for, Colonel, plus twenty three on leave and off station!"

McMahon grunted again, this time in satisfaction, the total missing from the muster was less than five per cent of the battalion strength. "OK, let's roll! Colonel, Lieutenant with me!"

Mac and Loren followed McMahon out into the hallway and headed for the building's front door, only for Mac to be stopped momentarily by a "Ma'am?" from a hovering Latina Corporal.

"Yes, Corporal?"

"Phone message came in for you ma'am!" de la Cruz replied as she passed Mac the folded message.

"Thank you!" Mac took the message and read it as she almost scurried after McMahon who hadn't seemed to notice that the two JAGs had stopped for a moment or two.

"From Harm," Mac said to Loren, "He wants one of us to call him ASAP!"

Loren shook his head, "I guess he'll have to wait ma'am. He's probably just getting a bit twitchy 'cos he can't reach me." She saw Mac's expression, "Not the right time nor place to have a cell phone switched on, ma'am." She used the honorific out of consideration for the plethora of USMC ears in the vicinity.

"No," Mac agreed, "it's not. Mine's off too!"

"If I get a chance I'll send him a text saying too busy right now... You know if he gets a whiff of what's going down here, he'll fly into super-saviour mode!"

"Lord, yes!" Mac grinned, "It took me about two years to break him of trying to protect me! Mind, there have been a few occasions when I was glad he did!" Mac was forced to raise her voice as the first of a long column of MVTRs roared past, each packet of half a dozen trucks shepherded by a quartet of Humvees. All the 7 ton trucks, Loren and Mac noted, had 7.62mm machine guns on pintle mounts atop the cab, while each of the Humvees was armed with a .50 calibre Browning.

"Loaded for bear, Colonel." Mac observed as she and Loren rejoined McMahon as he stood next to the second of a line of four Humvees.

McMahon nodded grimly. "I suspect that whoever attacked that Humvee is long gone, but just on the off-chance that they aren't... it's like I said in there," he jerked a thumb in the direction of the headquarters building, "I've already got two letters to write; I don't intend to write any more, and if that means using air and artillery to keep my marines safe, then by God, I'll damned well use them!"

Mac nodded, after their sticky start, she was beginning to like and admire the CO of the 29th Logistics Battalion. Her train of thought was derailed when as Alpha Company's trucks departed, McMahon took advantage of the momentary comparative quiet before Bravo Company started to move by calling out, "Captain Grover, Sergeant Major, Gunnery Sergeant Hooke!"

The three named individuals double timed the few yards to come to a halt facing their CO, "Colonel you already met Captain Grover, my S1; this is Sergeant Major Bascombe, and Gunnery Sergeant Hooke. The Gunny commands my CPG. Gunny, two men from your squad to shadow Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer, and then we can move out! Sergeant Major you'll take point, then myself then Captain Grover and finally the Gunny. Any questions?"

A chorus, of "No sir!" rang out and after a two second pause the group split up, as individuals double timed away to their vehicles. Less than a minute later two marine ran up to the CO, "Sir...!"" one of them began.

"Hawkins, Lincoln, good to see you. You are to shadow these two officers, keep 'em safer and sound, if either of 'em come back with so much as a hangnail, I'll charge you with Dereliction of Duty myself!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Lincoln, an immense African American grinned with a flash of white teeth, "We'll surely keep 'em nice an' safe, Colonel, suh!"

"Less, of your God-damned insubordination, Lincoln!" McMahon grinned in return before he raised his voice again, "All right people – mount!"

McMahon settled himself into the front passenger seat and checked that everyone was safely aboard, before he picked up the radio Microphone, "Hello Zero, this is Six, moving now, out to you! Hello Six Charlie this is Six, move now!"

"Six Charlie, roger, out!"

The Sergeant Major's Humvee rolled out in the direction taken by Alpha Company and the other three Humvees followed on.

**Monday 1 April 2001, 2103hrs EDT, Commander Megan Austin's Apartment****, ****North of Union Station, Washington DC (020103ZApr01)**

Meg put down the file folder she'd been trying to read and rubbed her eyes. It was no good, she just could not concentrate. Between fatigue and the way her mind kept drifting towards a temporarily bed-ridden figure in Yuma, the page she had been looking at for the last twenty minutes failed to make any sense whatsoever. With a sigh, she closed the file and replaced it in her brief-case and hauling herself to her feet, she threw a glance at the dirty pan and dish waiting for her attention on the work-top next to the sink, and then with a shrug of her shoulders she muttered, "The hell with it, they can wait for the morning."

Five minutes later, Meg stood under the shower, the shower nozzle adjusted to its gentlest spray, and for about the twentieth time since she'd moved in, she reminded herself to call a surveyor to check the floor and then once the OK had been given, get a proper tub plumbed in. An unexpected yawn netted her a mouthful of water, and coughing an spluttering she hastily turned off the flow of water and grabbed a towel.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she adjusted her alarm clock before climbing under the comforter and reflected on the events of the day. She was the first to admit that she hadn't shone today, she had been so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open, and her lack of concentration hadn't been helped by Sturgis Turner's persistent inquiries as to what she had actually been doing over the weekend. Something must have raised his suspicions, he patently wasn't buying into her story of visiting her ailing mother, and she had been forced on several occasions to defect his questions, until at last somewhere about mid-afternoon, her temper had worn thin.

"What the hell is it with you Turner?" she had demanded, "I've told you where I was and what I was doing. Now, if you choose not to believe that, then that is entirely up to you! I am grateful that you finalised the report and let me get away early on Friday, but I have had it up to _here_ with your niggling little questions, 'What was the weather like in Texas,' or 'how long did it take you to drive home?' None of those are any of your never mind, and all you're doing is disrupting my concentration. So unless you have anything case-pertinent, I suggest you get the hell out of my office, get back to your own, and worry about your damned business!"

Turner had been so taken aback by Meg's outburst that he almost fled her office, and his state of mind was not helped as he passed Harm at the copy machine, when the former aviator grinned and said, loud enough for her to hear, "You know, Sturgis, if you'd asked, I could have told you that Meg has a temper!"

He had waited until Sturgis had brushed past with an inaudible reply and then, turning to look t Meg he dropped one eyelid in a broad, slow-motion wink.

Meg hadn't been too impressed at the time, but now as she pulled the comforter up over her shoulder, she smiled at the memory – it was after all, such a Harm-like thing to do!

A last quick thought of Victor broadened the smile, and with a sigh she reached out an arm and turned off the lamp on the night-stand, and within seconds was sound asleep.

**Monday 1 April 2001, 2132hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (020132ZApr01) **

Once again Harm couldn't settle. The apartment really did feel empty without Loren here. He had tried channel surfing, and had even taken one of Loren's 'Sharpe' DVDs and tried (and failed) to get interested in that. If it had been Hornblower, he mused he might have been able to interest himself in it, but within a few minutes of watching the action on screen he came to the conclusion that either the original author, or the screenwriter hadn't done a very good job of characterisation, the eponymous hero was entirely unconvincing as an early nineteenth century British officer, and was only a twentieth century man wearing funny clothes. With a short, sharp exclamation of disgust, he had turned off the television and sat idly drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, as he carried out a mental search for something to do until he could go to bed.

In the heavy silence the chirp of his cell phone almost brought his heart to his mouth and in his haste to grab it he nearly knocked it off the end-table. But even before he had it in his hand, the single note told him that it was an incoming text message and not the call for which he had been waiting, so it was with an irritable grunt he opened the phone and retrieved the message, and glowered at it in dissatisfaction.

"_V busy this evening, can't call. Will speak tomorrow. Promise. Love you, L, xoxox_"

With a very unhappy scowl on his face, Harm closed the phone and vented his frustration by hurling a throw pillow across the room and yelling "Dammit!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 0107hrs EDT, Base Medical Facility, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(020507ZApr01) **

Private First Class Andrew Townley stifled a yawn, and then looked at his watch. Nearly another hour to go before he as relieved, until then he had to stand properly at ease outside the room where the injured Lieutenant from the 29th was resting, and recovering. He had checked the room out when he first came on duty at midday, and had seen that the officer in the bed was in his own words all beat up to hell. He felt a flash of anger that anyone could treat a woman so, although he knew even from his limited time as an MP, much worse could have happened, and in fact the reason for his being here was that someone, way above his pay-grade, had decided that the female officer in the room behind him was at risk from someone who wanted to do that 'much worse'.

He was distracted from his by a slight clatter approaching from down the hallway, and looking around saw a treatment cart heading towards him pushed by a Corpsman Third Class, the kidney bowls and a basin holding scissors and other medical instruments responsible for the metallic jangling.

Townley frowned. From his position, the nurses' station was to his right. The hallway extended to the left, but then came to a dead end. So the Corpsman had either found some unknown point of access, or he had been in one of the two rooms past this one. But that kite wouldn't fly either, Townley had been at his post for over an hour, and no-one had come past him, and there was no way that a Corpsman would have been allowed to sit in what, as far as Townley knew, was an empty room for that length of time.

His suspicions already aroused, Townley unfastened the flap on his pistol holster and, as he considered a second weird aspect of what was happening. Since when did Corpsman come and attend to sleeping or unconscious patients at zero one hundred? Zero two hundred maybe, but zero one hundred was a half-assed time for anyone with a sense of how the military operated.

Townley stepped forward as the sandy-haired Corpsman made to turn the cart into Lieutenant Carpenter's room, "Hold it there buddy," he ordered.

"You got some sort of problem, Private?" the Corpsman demanded.

"Yeah, let's see your ID!" Townley replied.

"Oh... OK... here..." the Corpsman slipped a hand inside his jacket and then brought it out in a fast, whistling arc that flashed metal. Townley threw his left arm up in a reflex action that probably saved his life, as he felt an icy fire blaze through his upper arm instead of his throat, the Corpsman's intended target.

Surprise held him immobile for a second and the attacker drawing confidence from his victim's immobility drew his arm back to strike again.

Townley watched as the Corpsman's arm swung in seeming slow motion, but not quite as slowly as he pulled his pistol from its holster,and not knowing whether he was on target or not, he squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the shot reverberated throughout the ICU, provoking a female scream and a male "What the...?!" from the direction of the nurse's station.

The Corpsman hesitated a second, and then turned and ran back the way he had come, disappearing into one of the vacant rooms, as the sound of pounding feet heralded the arrival of Corporal Vincent and the two night duty nurses, just as there came a crash of breaking glass from the room into which Townley's attacker had vanished.

"That way!" Townley gasped as he sagged back against the wall, and slid down it, dropping his M-9 as his right hand came across to grip his left bicep, the blood pumping in a thick jet from between his fingers.

Corporal Vincent barely spared Townley a glance as he ran past. The kid had done his job and was due an "Oorah!" but that would have to wait until after Vincent had caught the perpetrator, if he could.

Lieutenant Mary Baxter dropped to her knee beside the wounded Marine and took a deep breath as she saw the damage, "Brachial artery!" she snapped to her friend and co-worker, Lieutenant Connie Pasquel, "Page the on-call surgical team!" She switched her attention to Townley, "You're going to be OK, Marine. Hey it couldn't have happened at a better place – you're already in a hospital!"

Townley attempted a chuckle, but winced and then turned it into a grin, "Yes, ma'am."

Connie dropped to her knees alongside Mary and grabbing the scissors from the metal basin she started to cut away the sleeve to Townley's tunic and shirt.

"OK, now I want you to do what I tell you," Mary said as she grabbed a sterile dressing pack from the abandoned trolley, "Make a fist with your right hand, and then jam it into your left armpit as hard as you can. And then clamp down on it with your arm. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Townley repeated as he followed her instructions. Mary tore open the dressing and pressed it into the slash on Townley's upper arm.

"Good man," Mary said, "Remember when you first took a girl to the movies?" she asked as she kept an eye on the blood flow.

"Yes, ma'am?" Townley asked,

"Well, do you remember putting your arm around her shoulder, and then when she leaned back against, it went all numb?"

"Yeah, I remember that..." Towenley said drowsily.

Mary took an anxious look at his face and saw the drooping eyelids. "Stay with me, Marine, open your God-damned eyes! That's an order!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Townley responded instinctively trying to sit at attention.

"That's OK Marine, but you can't go to sleep just yet, so concentrate on what I'm saying... Look at me, Marine!"

"Yes, ma'am," Townley said softly, "Permission to speak freely ma'am?"

"Go ahead, Marine!" Mary said intrigued as to what he could possibly need to say that required her permission.

"What you said, ma'am... looking at you? Well, that ain't no hardship... guess it's the best order I ever received!"

"Mary laughed, "Marines! Making a mess all over my nice clean floor, and he's still trying to hit on me!"

"Yes, ma'am," Townley said.

"OK... enough fooling around, now remember that girl at the movies, how when she leaned back against your arm, it went all numb?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Well that's what your fist in your armpit should be doing... and it is!" she finished her sentence in a relieved tone as she watched the spurts of blood die away to a flow and then a trickle. But Mary Baxter was sill concerned, the young marine had lost too much blood already.

"Connie, where's that damned surgical team?" she demanded.

"Right here, Lieutenant! What have we got?"

"Slash wound to the left bicep, transected the muscle and opened the brachial artery. He's lost a lot of blood but we have managed to slow the bleeding," Mary reported.

"Thank you ma'am," The Senior Chief replied and then turned to his team, "One unit of plasma, and then get two units of whole blood typed and cross-matched." He looked down at Townley, "Once we've stabilised you, son, we'll get you down the hall and into our lair where we can get the doctor to patch you up!"

"Yes, Senior Chief!"

Corporal Vincent charged into the darkness of the empty room and saw that practically the entire window had been smashed out of its frame, with a lift of hope, he crossed the room and peered out into the darkness. A dim shape, visible only because of its white clothing, was just rising to its feet. Vincent drew his pistol and cocked it and ordered, "On your knees! Hands on your head!"

For a second the figure hesitated until Vincent spoke again, "Go on then, run... just give me a reason!"

There was something in the quality of the tough MP's voice that convinced his target that he wasn't joking, and the figure sank back to its knees, his fingers interlacing on the top of his head.

Vincent carefully climbed through the window, never taking an eye off his prisoner, and then said, "Face down!"

The prisoner on his face, Vincent swiftly and efficiently hand-cuffed him, and the keyed the mike to his personal radio, "Hello Zero, this Three Two Charlie. Marine down! Requesting back-up and a pick up vehicle for one prisoner at ICU, Base Hospital. Repeat one Marine down and one prisoner in custody, over!"

The MP Duty Room Operator replied, _"Zero. Roger, assistance on its way! Out!"_

Nodding in satisfaction, Vincent nudged the prone figure with his toe, "On your feet scumbag!"

"I'm hurt, the sandy-haired prisoner whined, "I'm cut all over, bleeding bad, real bad..."

"Tough shit!" Vincent said unsympathetically, "You should have thought of that before you started diving through windows!"

"Where you taking me?" the erstwhile Corpsman demanded.

"Nowhere for the moment, you're in luck! We're at a hospital!" Vincent answered with grim humour.

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 0119hrs EDT, Training Area, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(020507ZApr01) **

Lieutenant Colonel Baxter bent his head while he listened to the message relayed to him by his driver and then nodded, Turning on his heel, he crossed the few yards of open ground to Lieutenant Colonel McMahon's Humvee, "McMahon, I've just had word that one of my men was attacked at the base hospital. He's alive but in surgery. I'm leaving Captain Colletti with you... he's OIC the Police Company, but I'm heading on in to see my guy."

McMahon nodded in acknowledge, "Thanks Baxter... for letting me know, and for your help out here tonight. I know it's been pretty slow going, but it would have been even slower if it hadn't been for your dog teams!"

"Good of you to say so, McMahon," Baxter replied showing a little discomfort at even the mild praise his troops had just received, and turned to head back towards his own vehicle., but stopped when his name was called.

"Colonel Baxter!"

"Yes, Colonel MacKenzie?" he kept his voice neutral, obviously having neither forgiven nor forgotten their last conversation.

"Your injured Marine... is he anything to do with the security detail we requested for Lieutenant Carpenter?"

Baxter hesitated, obviously torn between his desire to have nothing to do with Mac and his realisation that while he detested her, it was her investigation and that she was already involved up to her ears.

"Yeah," he grunted at last, "I believe he is, but you'll understand that details are a little sketchy right now..."

"Understood," Mac agreed, "But if you don't mind, we would appreciate a ride back to the hospital... if that's OK with you too, Colonel McMahon?"

McMahon have a little snort of wry amusement, "You'd go anyway, even if I wasn't all right with it wouldn't you, Colonel?"

"Hey, I am trying to play nice here... and make that 'Mac'," Mac answered with a half-smile.

"Nope, can't do that!" McMahon smiled as he leaned across her and opened the door for her, "What do you think my guys call me – behind my back?"

"Are you coming or not, Colonel?" Baxter asked stiffly.

"We're on our way, Colonel!" Mac replied for both her and Loren as the two JAGs climbed out of the Humvee

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 0158hrs EDT, Base Medical Facility, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(020558ZApr01) **

By the time Colonel Baxter's vehicle arrived at the Base Hospital there were three other Humvees parked at the main entrance, two of which had military police lights strobing as they waited. Two MPs in their Alpha uniform straightened into the attention position and saluted as their CO dismounted from his Humvee.

"Sergeant Prescott," he said as he returned the salute, "What exactly is going on here?"

"Sir, it appears Private Townley was posted outside a room in ICU. He was approached by a Corpsman who attempted to access the room, when Townley challenged the man, he attacked Townley with an edged weapon of some sort and attempted to escape. Townley fired one round from his service weapon in self-defence, and that alerted the members of the detail. Corporal Vincent gave chase to the intruder and made him prisoner. Private Townley is still in surgery, sir."

"Where are Corporal Vincent and the prisoner?"

"The prisoner is in the ER, sir, being treated for cuts and abrasions, sir. Corporal Vincent is still with him until we can get the transfer papers organised."

Mac made a mental note, and hoping that the cuts and bruises hadn't been inflicted on the prisoner after his apprehension, she followed Baxter into the building.

Halting just inside the doors, Baxter turned to Mac, "What are your intentions now that you're here, Colonel?"

"I'm going to check with ICU, make sure that Lieutenant Carpenter hasn't been injured any further, then I aim to have a word or two with the prisoner," Mac ended grimly.

"You going to read him his rights, I suppose," Baxter sneered.

"Damn' right I am Colonel, but probably not for the reasons you imagine. I couldn't give a damn about his rights _per se, _but I do give a damn about wanting to nail this SOB, especially if he had anything to do with the original assault of Lieutenant Carpenter and even more so if he had anything remotely to do with the deaths of Colonel McMahon's two Marines, and the two NCIS agents_._ I do not want this piece of crap walking on a technicality."

Baxter raised his eyebrows slightly, "MPs and JAGs sharing the same idea? Who said the age of miracles was over!"

Mac bit down the impulse to make a sharp retort as she realised that Baxter was actually attempting a joke, "Well, maybe, today is finally the day for it!" she responded. It was a weak reply she told herself, but then again it was a pretty weak joke!

But Baxter seemed satisfied with it and pulled a face that might even have been an attempt at a smile. "OK then MacKenzie, if you're that way minded, perhaps you'd like to read this SOB his Article thirty-one rights?"

"It would be my pleasure, Colonel!" Mac replied.

The two Colonels followed by Baxter's S1 and Loren walked through the hallways following the signs for the ER where they found Corporal Vincent standing at Parade Rest, snapping to attention as he recognised his CO.

"Morning Corporal!" Baxter said and then looked around, "Where's the prisoner?"

"In that cubicle, there, sir, number three."

"On his own?" Baxter's voice indicated displeasure.

"No sir, apart from medical personnel, Private First Class Thornton is with him!"

"Good! Do we know who he is?"

"He's not saying, sir, and the only ID he had on him were a set of dog tags in the name of Forrest. We haven't had the chance to run the name and the SSN though the computer, yet sir!"

Mac nodded thoughtfully and then apparently having come to a conclusion turned to Loren, "Given that we don't yet know who the prisoner is, what's your opinion? Should we read him his rights, or wait until we know who we are dealing with?"

Loren had been considering the same question, "We don't want to give his defence attorney and the judge any cause, no matter how slight, to have the case thrown out on even the tiniest technicality, ma'am. I say we leave it until we've made a positive ID. Besides..." Loren's voice took on a harder edge, "If we leave him to stew for a while, without anybody talking to him, it might help when we do come to interview him."

Mac nodded, Loren's thoughts matched her own, "Colonel Baxter. Let's leave off talking to this guy until we know for sure who he is," she saw the surprise on his face and added, "Just another precaution, making sure we've got all the bases covered. I want to be in no doubt as to his identity when charges are filed!"

Baxter nodded, he had his doubts... every policeman's instinct he had was screaming at him to get whoever the perpetrator was in custody ASAP, and then let the legal weenies fight it out if need be. But he recognised Mac's desire to get it right the first time. "OK, Colonel MacKenzie, we'll play it your way!"

Mac allowed herself a half-smile, "Thank you, Colonel Baxter! Ah... I think this is him!"

The curtain of cubicle number three was drawn back and the sandy haired man, now in hand-cuffs, who had impersonated a Corpsman, was prodded out into the open, none too gently, by an MP in BDUs and carrying an M-4

"OK, just who the hell are you?" Colonel Baxter demanded as the prisoner was brought to a halt

"I wanna make a complaint 'ginst that man thar!" he indicated Corporal Vincent. "He tol' me to run so's he coulda shot me down like a rabbit! An' then when I wouldn' run, he beat the living crap outta me! Lookit, I'm all covered in bandages and band aids 'cos of what he done to me!"

Mac and Baxter exchanged glances, but Loren stepped forward, "Doctor?"

A khaki and lab coat clad Commander, stepped forward from the small gathering of medical personnel. "Yes?"

"Doctor, I'm Lieutenant Singer, Navy JAG. Did you just treat this man?"

"Yes, I did."

"Are you of the opinion that his injuries could have been caused by a physical beating?"

"No Lieutenant, I am not. There are one or two bruises that have an unknown provenance but the majority of the injuries sustained are glass cuts. We extracted quite a quantity of glass shards and slivers from various wounds, especially on his forearms."

"I see, Doctor, thank you. May I just ask one more thing of you?"

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Thank you. Could you look at the Corporal's hands please and tell us if you find any bruising or scrapes or any other indication that might suggest he has recently used his fists on someone?"

Commander Matthews looked across at Corporal Vincent who took a step forward and held his hands out for the doctor to see, "H'mm... no signs of knuckle scrapes, bruising, swelling or bite marks. It is my considered, medical opinion," he said, addressing Loren, "that the corporal has not used his fists as weapons at any time within the last seven days."

"Thank you Doctor. You might be called up to testify to those two statements under oath," Loren stated.

Commander Matthews merely inclined his head, "Very well. Now I do have other patients, so..."

"One moment Commander," Baxter interrupted, "can you tell me how my Marine, Private Townley, is doing?"

Matthews looked blank for a second until one of the nurses told him, "Marine, slashed arm; about an hour, hour and a half ago..."

"Oh, thank you. Ah, no Colonel, as far as I am aware he is still in surgery. He's not one of my patients. Sorry. But if you go up to the next deck, the OR is there and the people at the nurses' station should be able to tell you how he's doing."

"Thank you I'll do that!"

"We'll just go along to ICU and check on Lieutenant Carpenter, and then Colonel if you don't mind we'll join you at the OR?"

"I don't mind, but what would you want at the OR, Colonel?"

"I feel kind if responsible. I was the one who asked for a guard to be posted on the Lieutenant's door... so, if it hadn't been for me then your Marine wouldn't have been hurt."

"Maybe not. But you were doing your duty, protecting this Lieutenant of yours, same as Townley was doing his when he was attacked!"

"I still feel responsible, Baxter!"

Baxter nodded, his face softening slightly for the first time that Mac had seen, "Yeah, I know... I'd have thought the less of you if you hadn't! By all means join me when you're done, but I give you warning, I shan't be quitting my post until I know that Townley is going to be all right!"

Mac allowed her half-smile to appear, "And I wouldn't have expected any less of you, Colonel." She paused for an instant before adding quietly, "Semper Fi!"

Baxter's eyes searched her face for a moment before he nodded in his turn, Yeah, Semper Fi, Colonel!"

Mac and Loren left the Colonel as he turned and headed for the stairs to the next deck, while they made their way done the long hallways to ICU, where a Marine Corporal at the nurses' station asked for their Ids before allowing them access to the unit.

Outside Lieutenant Carpenter's room a fresh guard had been posted, who kept a watchful eye on the Corpsman who was still cleaning up Townley's blood from the wall and floor.

Mary Baxter was quietly going about her business on the Lieutenant's room, having made sure that no further harm had come to her patient, and checking the read-outs to see if she had reacted in any way to the commotion at her door.

"How's she doing, Lieutenant?" Mac asked quietly.

Mary bit her lip and shook her head, "No change, ma'am." She tried for a reassuring smile that in Loren's opinion fell short by a good country mile, "But it's still early days, though!"

Mac nodded again. "We'll be back later on today to see how she's doing."

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 0413hrs EDT, Interview Room, MP Battalion Duty Room Camp Lejeune, NC** **(020813ZApr01) **

Mac yawned and stretched grunting a little as she heard and felt her spine crack. Loren looked up from the other side of the table, where she was reading through a set of notes she had written up over the last couple of hours, and winced in sympathy.

"Wouldn't it be better if we interviewed this Forrest guy after we've rested?" she asked.

"No... we're tired, but so's he and despite his bravura, I'm willing to bet he's scared. We stand a better chance of him either confessing or letting something slip.

It had taken nearly two hours for the records search for Forrest's name and SSN had come back with a positive ID, and the Colonel Baxter had asked the two JAGs to delay their interview until he could detail one of his Criminal Investigation Officers to the case.

Captain Daniels had duly arrived and was now being briefed by his CO, and the two JAG attorneys expected him to join them any minute now. They were not kept waiting. Captain Daniels announced his arrival by a sharp double tap at the door, and on entering came to attention, "Captain Daniels, reporting as ordered, ma'am!"

Mac and Loren looked him over. He appeared tanned and fit, his BDUs were immaculate and he looked fresh and alert. A total contrast to the way Mac and Loren felt. But, Loren mused, if it was that apparent to the prisoner, it might just work in their favour.

Loren gave herself a mental pinch as Mac's voice penetrated her thoughts, "Take a seat Captain. I'm Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, this is Lieutenant Singer."

Daniels inclined his head, "Lieutenant," he acknowledged her gravely, and then placing his briefcase on the table, he pulled out a file and opened it. "Private First Class Nathan Brian Forrest," he paused, "His name says it all – or most of it!"

"How do you mean?" Mac demanded

"Nathan Bedford Forrest was a Confederate Cavalry General during the civil war, little better than a bushwhacker, according to some sources, and then later he was the first Grand Wizard of the KKK. This man was obviously named after him." He grimaced in distaste.

"That may be," Mac's voice was cold, "But if we are going to convict him of anything, let's make it the crimes he's committed, and not those of some one hundred and fifty year old General!"

"Very well, ma'am," Captain Daniels replied, but not seeming to be abashed in the slightest. "By your leave, ma'am?" he asked standing, and when Mac signified agreement he opened the door and spoke to the MP posted just outside.

"Get the prisoner in here, please, Sergeant, ASAP!"

No more than five minutes later, the door opened to admit two MPs and the prisoner, now with his legs shackled and his wrists shackled to a broad leather belt.

"Sit down!" Mac commanded and Forrest slumped into the only spare chair at the table. "Thank you, you can wait outside," Mac turned to the two MPs.

She waited until they had left and then turned to Forest, "OK, you are Private First Class Nathan B Forrest, born at Westminster, South Carolina on July fourteenth, nineteen eighty, correct?"

"I reckon," Forrest replied insolently.

Daniels made as if to reprimand the prisoner, but Mac waved him off. "I am Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, a Navy Judge Advocate General. I am investigating the alleged offences of two counts of attempted murder and four counts of murder in the first degree, of which you are suspected. I advise you that under the provisions of Article 31, UCMJ, you have the right to remain silent, that is, say nothing at all. Any statements you make, oral or written, may be used as evidence against you in a trial by court-martial or in other judicial or administrative proceedings. You have the right to consult a lawyer and to have a lawyer present during this interview. You have the right to military legal counsel free of charge. In addition to military counsel, you are entitled to civilian counsel of your own choosing, at your own expense. You may request a lawyer at any time during this interview. If you decide to answer questions, you may stop the questioning at any time. Do you understand your rights? Do you want a lawyer? Are you willing to answer questions?"

"I don't got to talk to you withouten I got me a lawyer?" Forrest queried.

"Correct," Mac replied.

"Good. Then get me a lawyer, 'cos I ain't sayin' nuthin! An' I mean a real lawyer," he raked his eyes contemptuously across Mac and Loren, "Not some damned libber that thinks she can do a job as good as a man!"

Mac wasn't surprised by Forrest's reaction, although it was a little more extreme than she had thought it might be, "OK, Captain Daniels, we're done here. We might as well get some rest before we start the paperwork for his court martial. Best get him back to his cell."

"Is that it?" Forrest demanded.

"Hell, yes," Mac replied, "You've invoked your right to have an attorney – a proper attorney – present when you're interviewed about the charges, so we have to respect your rights, and make sure they're not infringed. Right Captain?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Daniels replied.

"Yeah, it shouldn't take more than about four, maybe five days for the JAG to assign a lawyer to this case and then get him all the way down here from DC."

"Do you think he'll survive that long, Captain?" Loren asked in her most innocent voice.

"I wouldn't like to bet more than a few bucks on it, Lieutenant," Daniels answered catching on to the ploy, "We've got some pretty big and tough Marines in the brig just now, and I know there's a couple of them, maybe three or even four, who don't take kindly to women-beaters!"

"So... you're going to have to wait a few days now until we can interview you, Forrest," Mac said to him, "Of course, that's provided there's anything left to interview by then..."

"Hey! You can't do that to me! You go no right!"

"No we don't," Mac agreed, "But we don't have any right to interview you either, not now you've invoked your article thirty one rights. Have a nice week, Forrest!"

"Wait, what iffen I take back those rights?"

"No can do," Mac said regretfully, "If you did, then any lawyer could say that we intimidated you into being interviewed without an attorney present, and we can't have that, can we?" she turned to Loren and Captain Daniels as she finished.

"No, ma'am!" they chorused.

"So you see, Forrest, we can't do a thing to help you now... and you just lost your last chance to help yourself. Sergeant!"

The door opened, "Yes, ma'am?"

"Take this miserable excuse for a human being back to his cell, please!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!"

The three officers waited until Forrest had been taken away before they packed up their notes.

"What now, ma'am?" Loren asked mindful of the presence of Daniels.

Mac consulted her inner clock, "Well, I'm going to try for a few hours sleep, Lieutenant, and I suggest you do the same!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Loren grinned.

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 0911hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (011301ZApr01)**

"I'll be speaking to Judge Morrison shortly," Admiral Chegwidden said as his assembled officers began to gather up their files and notes in preparation for their dismissal, "about an article thirty-two hearing for Private Rivera, I want it on the docket ASAP, if not before! For those of you that hadn't heard, I shall be defending the Private..." he paused to let the little frisson of surprise run around the table, "Colonel MacKenzie should be prosecuting, but just in case she isn't back from Lejeune when the case comes up, Commander Austin, I want you to take over from her. If necessary get on the phone to her, but liaise with her and get everything she's got on the case. I want you to be ready to drop everything at a moment's notice, and focus entirely on Private Rivera. And if that means you have to hand off a case, or cases to someone else, so be it. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" A much more alert this morning Meg Austin replied.

"That just about wraps everything up, for this morning, unless any of you know better?" Admiral Chegwidden stated firmly, staring at each of his officers in turn, daring them to contradict him.

Harm looked for some moral support, but found none, and with the feeling that he was about to plunge his head into the lion's mouth said, "There are just a couple of things more, sir."

"Go on, Commander!" Chegwidden replied grimly.

"Uh... this ended up on my desk this morning, sir. It's from the DC Attorney general, setting a date for Brumby's trial... he's getting a bit agitated about the right to a speedy trial, sir."

Chegwidden took the sheet of paper and glared at it as if he could change what was written on it, "The sixteenth? That's just two weeks away!" He sat fuming at the short notice for a moment, and then his face cleared, "Well with Commander Imes and Barlow on their way back from California, tomorrow, and Commanders Austin and Turner already back from Puerto Rico, it looks like we'll have a full house of attorneys, unless something else crops up to throw a wrench into the machinery. Any news from Colonel MacKenzie or Lieutenant Singer, Rabb?"

Harm shook his head, "All I got was a very brief text message saying they were busy last night, and when I called there was no-one available or willing to tell me what was happening. To be honest sir, I'm starting to get a little worried. I would have expected, in the light of that text message, that Lor... uh... that Lieutenant Rabb would have called me this morning."

Chegwidden nodded. The whole Rabb and Singer involvement was beginning to shape up into a major headache. He'd done some preliminary inquiries, asking about local billets for a JAG Lieutenant, but wasn't having much luck. The SecNav, he knew, would never let him pull Admiral's privilege and keep both attorneys at JAG, especially when one of those attorneys was 'Harmful Rabb' – the SecNav's pet name for the Commander – and quite frankly, he wasn't sure that he wanted them in the same office. Recent events had shown how unwise that could be, and the Roberts were two of the most placid people he had ever met. God help the office if the much more volatile Rabb and Singer combination brought their personal troubles to work!

But... "All right Commander, I'll call the CO down there... what outfit is it, Tiner?"

"Twenty ninth Logistics Battalion, sir!"

"Right, well, I'll get on to their CO, and tell him to get MacKenzie or Singer to call in a report! Is there anything else? No? Good, dismissed!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 0917hrs EDT, Female VOQ, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(021317ZApr01) **

Loren wasn't grinning so much as groaning as the alarm setting on her cell phone basted her from her sleep and for a moment she was sorely tempted to ignore its summons and roll over and go back to sleep. But she was to meet with Mac at ten hundred, and if she didn't get a move on she'd never make it.

Twenty minutes later, Loren sat before the side table on which she'd propped her make up mirror and was attempting to dry her hair using the travel hair dryer she had bought from the BX. She was also, and grimacing at the necessity, in the process of getting outside a mug of instant coffee, he'd bought the best the BX had to offer but it was still nowhere as good as real coffee.

Before she had finished a knock on the door announced the arrival of Mac, and being bidden to enter, she opened the door and walked in, "Good morning, Lor... Oh! Is that coffee I smell?" she finished on an eager note.

Loren nodded, "You want a cup? It's only instant, but if you've got a mug or a cup?"

"Be right back!" Mac answered and less than thirty seconds later was back in Loren's room a somewhat chipped china mug in her hand. "Kettle?" she asked as she looked around the room.

"Nope, one cup water heater," Loren explained, picking it up and handing it to Mac.

Fifty seconds later Mac was perched on the end of Loren's bed cradling a mug of coffee in her hands.

"This good..." but at Loren's incredulous look hastily added, "Not the coffee, although it's OK for instant, but the heater... Where did you get it?"

"At the BX... I'd never seen one before, but it was on display at the small electrical goods counter, where I bought the travel hair-dryer and iron. It seems a good idea... so I bought one..."

"Definitely a good idea!" Mac agreed before taking another sip of coffee.

Loren let Mac get half-way down her coffee before she spoke again, "What's the plan for today?" she asked as she finished brushing her hair and started to twist it into its habitual bun.

"We need to check in with Colonel McMahon..." Mac said slowly, "see if he discovered anything at all last night..."

"But you don't think he did?" Loren queried.

"No... I don't know why, but I've got a feeling that all those man-hours are just a waste... but hopefully they'll have acted as a safety valve, given him the feeling that he's accomplished something" Mac admitted gloomily. "Then at some stage, I want to check with the base hospital, to see if Lieutenant Carpenter is showing any sign of recovery..."

"Didn't her doctor say that if she didn't, she'd be moved to Bethesda."

"Yeah, you're right she did. I hope that doesn't happen though..."

"Why not, if it means better treatment for her?"

"H'mm... maybe... but I've got a gut feeling that she'll remember more, and quicker, if she stays around here?"

"Gut feeling?" Loren asked in some surprise, "I thought that was Harm's quirk, and that you were the one with the dispassionate plan?"

Mac grinned, "It's a bit more complicated than that. Yeah, I can occasionally rein Harm in once he goes off on one of his emotion inspired crusades, but when he doesn't get fixated on an idea, he's the one who thinks things through. And it's so damned irritating and frustrating!"

"How so?"

"Well, Harm will come up with an idea that just sounds so left field that it can't possibly be right... until I sit down and plod step by step through the evidence, and then it usually turns out he was the one who right in the first place. That instinct of his... But on the other hand, he'll reach a conclusion and then have no idea what to do with it except charge in, head down and horns hooking left and right. That's where I, sometimes, can come up with a plan to reduce risk, but that's about all!"

"So... your two different approaches worked well?"

"Yeah... I guess..." Mac fell silent and took shrewd look at Loren before she continued, "I figured our success rate would have made that clear. So, why are you asking, it's not just idle curiosity is it?"

Loren shook her head and drained the last of her coffee, "No, it's something that Harm once said, and think you've just confirmed. We were talking about investigative partnerships, and Harm said something about he'd prefer it if partnerships were mixed sex. I called him on that and suggested it was because he thought the female partner would need the protection."

Mac snorted.

"But Harm said it was no such thing, and that you, in particular, had saved his ass more than once. No, he said he liked mixed sex teams because men and women see things differently, and their two different views could often solve a case quicker than if both partners were the same sex."

Mac grinned, realising that Loren has just unknowingly cast doubt on their own partnership, although she was equally well aware that the blonde officer had meant no such thing. Swallowing the last of her own drink, she put the mug to one side, and picking up her cover she said, "Well, let's get going, and prove him wrong about that at least!"

"Oh... Lord!" I didn't mean that we... that our... oh, hell..." Loren tailed off as she saw the grin spread across Mac's face. "You set me up for that!" she accused the senior officer.

"Nope, you dug your own hole that time, Loren!"

"Maybe!" Loren glowered as she buckled on her pistol belt and then grabbed her cover.

"There's just one thing more I need to do today, ma'am," she said as she settled herself in the passenger seat of the Humvee.

"Yeah?" Mac asked.

"Yeah, got to find a laundromat, I'm down to my last set of peanut butters!"

"Not a bad idea! I can get away with wearing BDUs for two days, but they definitely need cleaning after that!"

"After evening chow, then?"

"Yeah, I think I saw one near the BX Commissary!" Mac confirmed, "And if there's time, I might just drop in to the BX and see about getting one of those one cup heaters!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1014hrs EDT, CO's Office, 29****th**** Logistics Battalion, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(021414ZApr01) **

Mac let the S-1 open the door for her and with Loren on her six, she walked into Colonel McMahon's office immediately seeing the two civilians seated in visitors' chair, but chose to ignore them until such time as McMahon introduced them "Good morning," she offered.

"Good morning, Colonel, Lieutenant take a seat, please, and allow me to introduce you to Agents Franks and Gibbs, NCIS Major Case Response Team. They've come to join the investigation after the murders of Agents Adams and Gomez. Agents this is Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer from Navy JAG HQ at Falls Church."

"We know the Colonel," Franks said as he inclined his head in her direction.

"Agents," Mac acknowledged.

"We've met." Loren said flatly.

"Good to see you back on duty, Colonel," Agent Franks said before he turned his eyes to Loren, "You do look familiar, Lieutenant, but you'll have to excuse me if I don't 'xactly recall from when or where!"

"Try Bethesda, about six weeks ago," Loren said, "Colonel MacKenzie was being treated, and you suspected my fiancé of being the man who put her there."

Gibbs nodded, he too had found Loren's face ringing a bell and had been trying to place her, "Commander Rabb is your fiancé," he made it a half-statement, half-question.

"He is."

McMahon picked up on the coldness of Loren's demeanour with respect to the two NCIS Agents, and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Mac, who could only grimace to try and convey her ignorance.

The by-play was noticed by the other three. Loren sat back bristling with remembered anger, while Gibbs sat silently wondering if and how the blonde Lieutenant's presence was going to disrupt the NCIS investigation.

Mike Franks sucked thoughtfully on his teeth and then leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he said, "OK, we nearly got that one wrong, Lieutenant, and I don't reckon you're in any mood to forgive and forget just yet. Well... that's OK with me, just so long as we can work together on this..." He thought for a moment, "but are we working one or two cases?"

"I'd say one, Agent Franks." Mac replied coolly. She didn't remember much of the early stages of the investigation into Brumby's assault on her, but she had gathered since that NCIS had been quite prepared to try and pin the blame on Harm, and she also remembered Gibbs and that female agent's almost palpable disappointment when she had named Brumby and not Rabb as her assailant.

"But," Mac continued, "the investigation falls into three parts. There's the investigation into the attack on Lieutenant Carpenter, then there's the killing of the two Marines and your two agents, and then there's the link that connects them all, the missing vehicle parts. I suggest that we..." she indicated Loren and herself, "continue to investigate the attack on Lieutenant Carpenter, while you investigate the attack on the Humvee... when we get nearer to solving our respective cases, I'll bet that we find ourselves converging on the stolen parts!"

"Just about what I was thinking, Colonel. But we do need to keep each of us informed about what the other is doing. So how about we schedule a regular daily meeting, sat at... eighteen hundred each evening?"

Mac nodded, works for me, Colonel?"

McMahon nodded, "And as I want to be kept in the loop, I suggest we have that meeting here in my office."

Mac nodded, "Fair enough, but before we start a new day – and yes, I know, it's nearly half gone – was there anything discovered last night after Lieutenant Singer and I left you?"

McMahon shook his head ruefully, "Not much, the only thing we found was a section of the perimeter fence that had been cut away, a large enough gap for a Humvee to fit through, that had been propped back up into place and the cuts camouflaged. Led straight out into pretty dense woodland, and out of the Corps jurisdiction. I understand that the CG has alerted local, state and federal authorities. Anything your end, Colonel?"

"Yeah, an attempt was made at the ICU to finish off Lieutenant Carpenter, resulted in one of Colonel Baxter's MPs undergoing surgery and the perpetrator in the brig. He's been well coached, practically the only thing he said was 'lawyer'. But he wants a real one," Mac ended sarcastically, "Not some woman who thinks she can do a man's job!"

"So... you're not volunteering your services?" McMahon asked with a slight grin.

"Nope, and I'm not even expediting his request. It can make its way from here to JAG HQ just as slowly as it likes!" Mac confirmed with a straight face.


	46. Chapter 46

**46**

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 0815hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (021215ZApr01)**

"Dammit!" Chegwidden glared at the now-silent 'phone in his hand before he slammed it down into its cradle, "Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit... dammit!" he growled. His hand shot out and his forefinger stabbed the call button on his desk-top intercom, "Tiner!"

"_Sir_?"

"Cancel staff call, but issue a warning order that I might want a meeting with all staff call attendees when I get back – whenever that might be! Print off a copy of Commander Rabb's budget proposal – including the amendment from yesterday, and call down to the motor pool; I want a car and a driver to take me to the Pentagon ASAP if not before. Clear my calendar for the rest of the morning too... if I'm not going to be back until after lunch I'll call you to let you know to clear this afternoon as well. I've got to attend a meeting with the SecNav!"

"_Clear your calendar, cancel staff call, print off the amended budget proposal, pass the word to stand-by for a meeting when you get back from the Pentagon and a car and driver, aye, sir_!"

"Good man, Tiner!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1014hrs EDT, CO's Office, 29th Logistics Battalion, Camp Lejeune, NC (021414ZApr01) **

I like the way you think..." McMahon hesitated a moment and then his face split into a grin, "Mac."

"Yeah, I kind of like it myself," Mac almost preened, attracting a startled glance from Loren.

Franks seemed impervious to the by-play, but Gibbs' eyebrows rose slightly before he caught Loren starting to turn towards him and Franks, and he hastily dropped his gaze to stare at his clasped hands where his forearms rested on his knees. 'So the two Colonel were getting friendly, huh. Well they aren't breaking any frat regs, so that's none of our never-mind, unless it starts interfering with the investigation,' he thought while trying to keep his face impassive.

"So... what are your plans for the rest of the day... just in case I need to get hold of you in a hurry?" McMahon asked Mac.

"Well... we need to finish our interviews with B Company's personnel; we spoke with the OIC yesterday and he's agreed to let us use a couple of offices in the Company HQ – it saves on time, not having to wait for Marines to travel between the Company area and a central point. Then we need to check in at the base hospital, see if Lieutenant Carter is making any progress, and we'll probably have to call in at the MP Duty Room, or brig,. But if you really need to get hold of us in a hurry..." Mac opened the breast pocket of her BDUs and took out a field pocket notebook. Opening it, she scribbled on a page and tore it out before handing it to McMahon. "My cell number. It should be OK to call me any time today, I don't anticipate being under cover anywhere. But I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself..."

"Of course, understood," McMahon replied folding the note and tucking it into his own breast pocket. "Now, unless you have anything else for me?"

"No... we don't," Mac said, rising to her feet, her example followed by Loren, both of them recognising even an informal; dismissal, "So we'll be getting on our way." She paused for a second, before nodding at the three men, "Colonel, Agents..."

The three men rose as Mac and Loren left the office and waited until the door closed before re-taking their seats. "I understand you people flew down from DC?" McMahon double-checked with his visitors.

"We did." Franks replied, fiddling in his pocket for his cigarettes before remembering that smoking was now prohibited in government buildings.

McMahon saw the gesture, interpreted it correctly and as a 'tell' and hid a smile. If he wanted to make Franks uncomfortable then all he had to do was to keep the Agents inside, and sooner or later, he was willing to bet, that Franks' need for a smoke would lea him into an indiscretion. That might come in useful if he thought that the NCIS Agent was holding back information about the case.

"So.. I'll call, and have a vehicle and driver place at your disposal for your stay." He reached for his phone, stabbed at a button and spoke briefly to his S-1. "Should be here in about ten minutes... Now... I thought I picked up a little JAG – NCIS tension there?"

"Yeah, some," Franks admitted.

"Not going to prevent you working together is it?"

"Not on this side of the fence," Franks grunted, looking at Gibbs, "Right, probie?"

"Right, boss," Gibbs replied dutifully.

The facial expressions and the body language of the two men left McMahon to the conclusion that the cause of the tension lay with NCIS and that the younger of the two agents was responsible. He nodded to himself, he would need to monitor that situation pretty closely.

"Good!"McMahon said forcefully, "Because I will not allow any half-assed inter-agency rivalry prevent or delay the arrest of the sonsabitches that killed my Marines! I get any hint of that and I will be straight on the 'phone to the Navy Yard, Is that clear!"

Gibbs, the former Gunnery Sergeant resisted the temptation to spring to his feet and yell, "Sir, yes, sir!" and managed to stay in his seat.

Franks however, turned a cold eye on McMahon, "And our two agents, Colonel, let us not forget them!"

"Oh, I won't Agent Franks, believe me, I won't!"

Outside the HQ building Mac and Loren settled themselves into their borrowed Humvee, "What exactly did happen between Jag and NCIS?" mac asked Loren.

"Umm... " Loren's cheeks pinkened slightly, "Harm and I were down in Charlottesville when the Admiral 'phoned him to say you'd been hurt. He called me, and we checked out and went straight to Bethesda. When we got there the agents – the same two clowns that are in there," she jerked her chin in the general direction of McMahon's office, "took one look at Harm and decided that because he looked big enough and strong enough to have caused your injuries, and more or less fitted the description your neighbour gave to the cops, then he was the guilty party. I swear that Agent Franks was within seconds of reading Harm his article thirty one rights. I swear it was only the Admiral that stopped Harm from punching the two of them out on the spot! Then later on they tried to force their way into your room, and the Gunny was about to draw his side-arm on them, and later again it was Harriet Sims that cussed them out for trying to disturb you after they'd been told you could neither speak or see to write a statement."

"Ah... so that's why they were so disappointed when I told them that it was Brumby... You know, no-one has ever talked to me about what went on while I was out of it..."

"No, ma'am... I guess we all figured that it was your business and that if you wanted to know, you'd ask.

Mac nodded as she turned the key in the ignition, Loren was right, she would not have taken kindly to anyone asking about the incident, reminding her of just how vulnerable she had been.

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1258hrs EDT, B Company Offices, 29th Logistics Battalion, Camp Lejeune, NC (021458ZApr01) **

Loren sat back in the chair at the Company First Sergeant's office desk, and stretched, working her shoulders to work out the kinks. True, she had taken the opportunity, as had Mac ensconced in the XO's office, between interviews to stretch her legs and mooch a cup of coffee from the Company Clerk, but the three fruitless interviews she had just completed had had an enervating effect, but now as she recovered from her stretch she saw the next name on the list and felt a tingle of anticipation run up her spine. "Next!" she called out, loud enough to be heard outside.

Her yell was followed by a faint tap at the door, and Loren called out "Enter!"

The female Marine who entered and closed the door behind her was not the most impressive Marine Loren had ever met. She was young, not more than twenty-one or twenty-two, Loren guessed, small and slightly built, with a pale face liberally scattered with freckles, and her reddish blonde hair in a short crop was spiky and unevenly cut. Her eyes, a muddy brown in colour were slightly protuberant and when she spoke Loren noted that her teeth were uneven.

"P... Private Or... Ormond... re... re... rep... porting.. as or... ordered, ma'am" she said, stuttering nervously, as she froze to a brace in front of the desk.

"Stand easy, at ease, Private, and take a seat," Loren said, slightly surprised by the stature and the look of almost panic on the young woman's face.

Ormond wordlessly did as she was told and sat down, but to Loren's eye she seemed no more relaxed than when she had stood at attention, as she twisted her BDU cover between her hands,

"You know, it's going to be hell getting the creases out of that cover," Loren said quietly, "Why don't you just put it on the desk and give it a chance, huh?"

"Ye...yes, ma'am!" Ormond replied, immediately putting the cover on the corner of the desk, where she stared at it, almost, Loren thought, as if she expected to grow legs and try to escape from her.

"Good." Loren nodded approvingly, "Now... I'm sorry we're keeping you from your chow, but I need to speak with you, and do you know why I wanted to talk with you, Private?"

"No, ma'am."

"OK... well, my partner and I are trying to find out what happened to Lieutenant Carpenter..."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You know that someone hurt her? That she's in hospital?"

"Yes, ma'am... Ma'am... is she hurt real bad?"

"Yes, Private, she's hurt pretty badly. She was attacked, and whoever attacked her messed her up pretty badly."

"Is she... is she go.. going to be all right, ma'... ma'am?"

"We don't really know yet, Private. She's still unconscious, but the doctors think she'll pull through..."

"I sure hope so ma'am!"

Something in her voice caught Loren's attention, "Do you like the Lieutenant, Private?"

For the first time a degree of animation came into Ormond's voice as she replied, "Yes, ma'am. I like the Lieutenant real fine! She's about the on'y one who don't holler at me when I can't find the answer to a question right off. You see ma'am," she added earnestly to Loren and leaning slightly forward in her seat, "I generally know the answers, but sometimes, I have to do some searching of my memory to find it. Most of the other officers an' sergeants, well they get kinda tired waiting for me to answer, and start yelling at me, an' then I have to go back to the beginning and start remembering all over again, an'; then they get madder than before an' walk away... but Lieutenant Carpenter, she just sits an' waits for me to come up with the answer. And I generally do!" she added defensively.

"So that's why you talk to the Lieutenant, because she waits for you to answer?"

"Yes, ma'am,"

"Uh-huh," Loren winced even as she said it, the girl's backwoodsy way of speaking was infectious, "I mean, did you talk to her the day before the Lieutenant got hurt?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"And what did you talk about?"

Ormond gulped, "I ca... can't tell you ma'am... they said they'd fix me if I talked to anyone, just like they fixed the Lieutenant!" Ormond was almost crying with remembered fear.

The sharp double rap at the door, coming as it did on the heels of Ormond's speech was enough to catapult her, white-faced and trembling to her feet and backing into a corner of the office.

Loren was taken totally by surprise by Ormond's extreme reaction, but thought swiftly, "OK Private, relax, I'm not about to let anyone 'fix' you. And I'll bet that's my partner at the door. So you just come and sit down again, all right?"

"Ye... yes, ma'am..." Ormond replied miserably as she sidled back to her chair and sat down again, but Loren noticed she sat on the very edge of the seat and apparently with every muscle in her body tensed and ready for instant flight, just like a deer who'd heard a strange noise in the woods, she reflected.

Crossing casually to the door, Loren opened it and saw as she had expected, Mac waiting for an answer. Mac raised an interrogatory eyebrow, but Loren merely gave a slight shake of her head as she stepped back to allow Mac to enter the room,

"This is my partner, Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie..." Loren started to say, but Ormond on seeing Mac's oak-leaves had already bounded to her feet and had turned even paler than Loren could have imagined, "Ma'am, Private Ormond, ma'am!"

Mac blinked, "Take it easy Private, and sit down. I'm just going to sit here quietly and listen to what you and Lieutenant Singer have to say. That OK, by you?"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!"

"OK then, Private, sit down again, please," Loren said quietly, and after a further, dubious look at Mac, and having received an encouraging nod from her, Ormond retook her seat, but once again perched nervously on the very edge of the chair.

Loren gave the nervous Marine a few moments to compose herself before she smiled and said, "Now, where were we...?"

Ormond stayed silent, her tongue tip appearing as she wet her lips, and her eyes strained sideways to try to see what Mac was doing.

"That's right," Loren went on in an encouraging tone, "You were just going to tell me what it was you talked about with Lieutenant Carpenter..." she let her voice trail off suggestively as she looked at Ormond with a look of anticipation on her face.

"No, ma'am... I was sayin' that I couldn't tell you what me an' the Lieutenant were talkin' about, ma'am. With respect, ma'am," she tacked on as an after-thought.

"Oh yes, you were saying that someone was going to fix you, like they fixed the Lieutenant. I don't blame you for being careful what you say. It must be pretty scary to have someone say that to you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Maybe one of 'em I could take down, but here were four of these fellers... they grabbed a-hold me that night an' warned me to keep my mouth shut unless I wanted to end up like the Lieutenant."

"Would you recognise these four men?" Loren asked.

"Nuh-huh, they was all wearin' black masks, ma'am!"

"What sort of masks? Like the Lone Ranger, or like ski-masks, or..."

"No ma'am, they was like black pillow cases with eye holes cut in 'em."

"Pretty scary, then?" Loren asked.

"Yes, ma'am!" Ormond nodded solemnly.

"So you don't know who these men were?" Loren persisted.

"No, ma'am... well not for sure, but I reckon I know who one of 'em might be..." Ormond volunteered in a rush, and then realising that she had perhaps said too much, she lapsed into a confused silence.

"Oh... how's that?" Loren asked, "It's OK, Private, I already said I won't let anyone hurt you. You believe me?"

"You promise, ma'am?" Ormond asked her eyes wide, like a child who couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"Yes, I promise, and so does the Colonel, don't you, ma'am?" Loren directed the question over Ormond's shoulder towards Mac.

"Yes, I promise too, Private, that we won't let anyone hurt you," Mac said.

"Oh..." Ormond sat in thought for a few moments, nervously wringing her fingers and then seemed to come to a decision, "Well ma'am, a coupla days before I spoke with Lieutenant Carpenter, I had to go to Two MD Maint Battalion Supply Company... You know them mountin's on Humvees for the fifty calibres? Well, ma'am with all the dust on the ranges, the ball race for them mountin' gets fouled up pretty quickly... an' these dumb Jarheads, they ain't got the sense to report it when it starts stickin'; they just keep right on using their big dumb muscles to swing those fifties around. Well, sooner or later the ball race just jams up solid an' won't move at all. Then I gotta replace them. Any way, this time it was on the First Sergeant's Humvee..." she sniffed disdainfully, "Youda thought he'da known better! So I went down to the Supply Company there , an' there was this Private there... I handed him the requisition for a new ball race, but he said they didn't have any. Well I knew he was lyin' 'cause I could see five or six of 'em all ready on the shelf behind him, still in their packin'. So I called him on it, but he told me they was already allocated an' he was just waitin' for the guy to come an' collect 'em."

"Isn't that unusual, Private? Wouldn't replacing the ball-race normally be done at the Maintenance Battalion Workshop?" Loren queried

"Yes, ma'am," for some reason Ormond blushed and dropped her gaze, and then looked up again, for the first time really meeting Loren's eyes with her own, and when she spoke it was with a kind of defensive pride, "Thing is ma'am, I can do that sort of thing pretty well my own self, so Gunny Andrews he lets me get on an' do it. He says I do a better job, quicker 'n' cheaper an' more better'n the guys in the Maintenance Workshop do anyhow!"

"OK... but how does this guy from supply tie in with the men that grabbed you?"

"I reckon he was one of 'em ma'am!"

"Oh.. you just said you didn't see their faces, so how could you tell?"

"Well, ma'am. He was wearing this really cheap cologne, too much of it. I could smell it clear from the other side of the counter, an' one of the guys that grabbed me, he smelled just the same way..."

The mention of cheap cologne sparked in Loren's memory... she had caught more than just a whiff of that in the ER last night, talking to Private Forrest. She raised her eyes and again looked over Ormond's shoulder at Mac, who was sitting upright and met her look with one of her own and mouthed 'Cheap cologne?'

"Can you describe the guy from Supply, Private?"

"Yes ma'am, he's a bit on the runty side... kinda like me, an' real scrawny, ya know? An he had sort of funny, yellow-muddy kinda coloured hair, you know like the mud you get when the Rappahanock dries out, and he's got a pointy face, a bit like a polecat."

"Would you recognise this guy from Supply if you saw him again?"

"Sure would, ma'am!"

"Could you pick him out of a line-up?"

Ormond went white again, "No, ma'am, I couldn't do that! I don't mind tellin' you in private like, but not out in the open where he could see me, no ma'am!"

"Private," Loren said gently, "he wouldn't see you. You'd be behind a two-way mirror. You could see the line up, but nobody the other side of the glass would be able to see you!"

"Is that so, ma'am?"

"Of course it is... you must have seen how it works on TV?"

"Yeah... but that was on TV, where they got space ships an' things, an' space ships ain't real... except the shuttles maybe, so I didn't figure it was real either..."

"No it's real enough, Private, and like I said, whoever is behind that glass won't be able to see you or anybody else in that room."

"There's gonna be someone there with me?"

"Yes, I'll be there, so will the Colonel, and probably an officer from the MP Battalion."

"MPs? Oh, no ma'am..."

"Easy Private," Loren murmured, biting back hard on her temper. It was beginning to seem that for every three steps they took forward, Ormond would jerk to a halt and then slide two steps back and Loren was beginning to understand some of the frustration felt by Ormond's superiors when they dealt with her.. "The MPs will be on our side this time, and I won't let them hurt you or bully you either, OK?"

Ormond sat quiet for a few long moments, before she reluctantly nodded her head, "OK, if you say so, ma'am, an' you will be there, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll be there..." she saw Ormond's mouth open and the pleading expression on her face, "I'll be there, I promise!"

Ormond subsided, "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, I'm going to type up these notes I've been making and turn them into a statement for you to sign, and then I'm going to arrange for that line-up. You can go now, Ormond, and see if there's anything left in the Mess Hall, OK? And don't worry it'll all be fine."

"Yes, ma'am," Ormond replied, springing to her feet and bracing for a couple of seconds before performing a drill-field-standard right face and leaving the office.

"Phew!" Loren slumped back against her seat back, "That was hard work!"

"It looked like it!" Mac sympathised from across the room, "But you did a hell of a job!" Mac paused or a moment and then risked a joke, "You know, back a whiles at HQ people were calling you the pit-bull... well they got it wrong, if they'd seen what I just seen, they'd have been calling you bulldog, instead!"

"Uh... I think you're trying to flatter me!" Loren grinned

"Oh why?"

"Isn't the bulldog the essence of being a Marine?" Loren asked innocently.

Mac glared at her a second or two before she was unable to keep up the pretence, "Damn!" she chuckled.

Loren turned serious, "But what I can't figure out, is what that girl is doing in the Marines in the first place. Hell, I've known unbroken horses that were less skittish!"

"Now that I don't know!" Mac agreed, "But I sure as hell intend to find out!" and then a thought struck her, "You've done some horse breaking, have you?"

Loren shook her head as she gathered up her papers, "No," she said unthinkingly, "but I know what it's like to be small and scared..." and then shot a horrified look at Mac as she realised that she had just said far, far more than she'd ever intended.

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1347hrs EDT, Somewhere on the military reservation, Camp Lejeune, NC, ****(021447ZMar01)**

"Whut the hell d'you think you're playin' at, pussy? I tole you-all never to call me, that I would call you when we needed to talk!"

"The hell with that! Now listen: Forrest tried to finish off that damned nosey Lieutenant last night and got himself caught. He's in the brig now, and I'm willing to bet he's spilling his guts – what he's got of 'em anyhow!. This game's getting too damned dangerous, them two JAG dykes is grilling everybody in Carpenter's company, and if they get to that ditzy little bitch that tipped off Carpenter, then I wouldn't be surprised to hear the MPs come knocking on my door! And I'm not waiting around for that! I got my car parked less than a mile away, and if I'm lucky it'll be morning formation before they miss me. By that time I'll be back up in West Virginia, where they'll never find me! I told the other two to get the hell out of here too. It was bad enough with the Lieutenant in hospital, but no, some smart-ass just had to go and kill two more Marines and Two NCIS Agents. Man, before you know it, there'll more Feds down here than a dog's got fleas. I mean, how damn' stupid are you guys? I don't know what the hell you're planning, but I'm betting it won't work! I'm outa here!"

With a final snort of disgust he turned on his heel and left the older man fuming. A feral expression crossed his face and he called out, "Hey, pussy, you're dead wrong about one thing!"

"What?" the other threw over his shoulder, not really caring what the other man had to say.

"Didn't kill me two Marines... kilt three!" he said squeezing the trigger of the Colt .45 he'd pulled from his waistband.

The Marine went down face first, blood staining the hole that showed where they heavy slug had shattered his spine. The older man walked the eight steps to the feebly moaning figure and took careful aim at the base of his neck and squeezed the trigger once more.

"Yep," he said in a satisfied voice as he inspected the corpse, "Can't beat good ole 'Murrican know- how an' engineerin'!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1359hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (021759ZApr01)**

"Admiral on deck!" Tiner announced as he threw open the door.

"As you were!" Chegwidden growled as the rump of his staff rose to their feet. He took his seat and waited until the noise and disruption of the others had quietened down before he spoke.

"I've called this meeting to prevent any scuttlebutt! I have been receiving medical attention for the past two months for a condition which I don't propose to discuss or disclose. My doctors have been pressing me to have surgery. I have delayed and obfuscated as much as I can, but my time has run out. The doctors submitted a report claiming that I was acting against medical advice. That report found its way to the CNO, who this morning brought it to SecNav's attention. The SecNav sent for me this morning and has made it his business to order me to undergo surgery at the earliest opportunity. That opportunity is the day after tomorrow!

"They would have made it tomorrow, but I told the SecNav that I have one outstanding case to complete. I have spoken to Judge Morris and that case will be dealt with at zero eight hundred hours tomorrow! Commander Austin, you will prosecute Marine Corps Private Rivera for desertion at his article thirty two hearing at that time. As I have already said, I will defend the private.

"Moving on. I am told that the procedure will be what is termed keyhole surgery, and I should be out of hospital in a few days, although, again, I am told the convalescent period can be prolonged. I will make it as short a period as I can. In the meantime, Commander Rabb will once again assume the reins of JAG!"

"Are there any questions? About official duties, I will not be answering queries about my health! No? Good! Dismissed! Commander Rabb, my office!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1407hrs EDT, Base ****Medical Facility****, Camp Lejeune, NC** **(021807ZApr01) **

"I'm sorry, Mrs Carpenter, but it's not really movement, not conscious movement. Your daughter is undergoing what we call 'posturing', the muscles spasm and the limbs moves. I know it looks like she's trying to do something, maybe find a more a comfortable position, but it's all on the subconscious level. If you look at this monitor here... that records her brain activity, and if you look here... to just five minutes ago when you say you saw her move, there's no indication of any abnormal level of brain activity. I'm sorry," Doctor Frazier said and turned away from the worried parent and nearly bumped into Mac who had just entered the room. "Oh.. I'm sorry, Colonel!" she gasped.

She looked more than sorry, she looked worried, to Mac's eyes, "What's going on Doctor?"

Doctor Frazier composed her self and mustered a professional smile as she turned back to the assembled Carpenters. "Will you excuse me for a couple of minutes, I just need to bring Colonel MacKenzie up to date... Colonel would you walk with me, please?"

Mac and Loren fell into step beside Frazier as he led them along the hallway, "It's not a good sign, the posturing," she clarified, "it can indicate a sudden increase in inter-cranial pressure, maybe because the brain has swollen, although that's unlikely this late after the trauma, but it might also be indicative of an inter-cranial haemorrhage, which is why," she concluded as they reached the nurses' station, "I'm going to order another CAT scan! Lieutenant!"

"Yes ma'am?" the nurse on duty looked up from the patient charts she was updating on the computer.

"Lieutenant Carpenter, Room Seven. I want her to have another CAT scan, Stat! Get on to radiography and tell them she's on her way down there, and round up two Corpsmen to get her there! Yesterday!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" the nurse responded crisply, even as she answered her hand reaching for the phone.

"No... I've got to get back to the family and make like it's not an emergency," Doctor Frazier said to the two JAG officers, "They're having a hard enough time as it is. No point in scaring them unnecessarily."

"Is it unnecessary, Doctor?" Loren asked

"I hope so, I really do," Frazier replied, "but it doesn't look too good t the moment..."

"Where will you go from here?" Mac asked.

"That depends on the results of the CAT Scan. If it reveals little or no damage, then I'll keep her here. The same if it shows heavy damage... If it shows moderate damage, then her next stop will be Bethesda. They've got properly trained neurologists and neuro surgeons up there and facilities which we just don't have here."

"I'm not quite with you," Mac said in a puzzled voice. "If there isn't much damage you'll move her, and the same if there is heavy damage..."

Frazier sighed, "If there is very little damage then I'll keep her here and she should recover consciousness once she has healed enough, but if she's suffered a lot of damage then it will probably be too dangerous to move her. If it is moderate damage then she needs to be somewhere where she can get that specialised care I was just talking about."

"Oh... I see... well... sort of. How will you make the decision? I mean you say you're not a neurologist or neuro surgeon...?"

"Oh, I won't make it alone, I'll have the images uploaded into my computer and have a consult on-line with a consultant at Bethesda, after all, that's what they're there for!"

"OK, Doctor, thanks. Let me or the Lieutenant here know which way you decide to jump, OK?"

"Sure, OK... Now if you'll excuse me, Colonel, I need to get back to Lieutenant Carpenter's room and reassure her family..." and with her low heels clicking on the polished floor Doctor Frazier headed back down the hallway.

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1407hrs EDT, ****Duty Room, MP Battalion, ****Camp Lejeune, NC** **(021807ZApr01) **

"Good afternoon Gunny," Mac said to the NCO manning the desk .

"Ma'am! Good afternoon. How may we help you?"

"I need to organise a line up, for tomorrow would be good," Mac said nonchalantly.

"Uh... yes, ma'am... for what case?"

"Private Forrest. The guy who was arrested at the base hospital last night after putting one of your men in the OR."

"Yes, ma'am, Private Townley!" the Gunnery Sergeant said grimly.

"Yeah, how's he doing?" asked Mac.

"Haven't heard anything but scuttlebutt since early this morning ma'am. We're waiting for his Platoon Leader to bring us back an update, but the word is he's going to make it and he's going to keep his arm... that's all we know..."

"Sounds a damn sight better than it could have been!" Mac said fervently.

"Amen to that, ma'am!" the Gunnery Sergeant endorsed and then seemed to relax slightly, "It's sad what this world has come to. You expect to see a couple of guys in hospital after breaking up a bar room fight, and there's always accidents in the line of duty, and of course, there's guys being taken down down range, but somehow to have an attack happen in hospital... it just doesn't sit right!"

"Well, if it had to happen Gunny, a hospital's not a bad place to be. Your man had expert medical attention within a minute!"

"That he did, ma'am!" the Gunnery sergeant agreed, "the way it's being told, one the nurses stopped the bleeding within a couple of minutes!"

"So they say, Gunny, so they say."

"Yeah, but... ma'am, if you'll pardon the liberty, seeing as how we've already got the slime-ball behind bars, why do you need him in a line-up?"

"Because we got a witness that may be able to link him to the stolen Humvee parts, and if so then we might be able to put a little more pressure on him to cough up the names of his partners in crime!"

"OK then, ma'am; you've got me convinced. Now let's get the paperwork filed and convince the higher-ups!"

"You do that Gunny, and mark it up for Colonel Baxter's attention – with my compliments!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am. So... if you'll just take a seat ma'am. I'll get onto it right away!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1406hrs EDT, Admiral Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (021806ZApr01)**

"Sit down, Commander." Chegwidden said brusquely, even before he had reached his own chair.

Harm silently whistled while the Admiral's back was still to him and sat in his accustomed chair.

Chegwidden sat and then leaned back in the big chair, his fingers characteristically steepled at the point of his chin, "What I am about to say to you does not leave these four walls, you do not mention it to anyone, anyone at all! And that includes Tiner – in fact, it especially includes Tiner!" he said emphatically.

"Truthfully, I am only telling you this, because I expect you to have to get in touch with me while I am in hospital and while I am convalescing at home, and you will no doubt get to learn what department of the hospital is putting up with me. I have cancer of the prostate – no!" he held up a hand, "I don't want to hear any exclamations of sympathy, no matter how sincerely they are meant. I have been dealing with this for months without anybody's interference, no matter how well meant, and I shall continue to deal with it on my own! I am aware that conventional wisdom says that cancer patients stand a better chance of recovery if they have emotional support. Well, I am not an emotional person and the last thing I need is a crowd of people with whom I have no connection other than duty wringing their hands over me and wailing and gnashing their teeth!" He deliberately played down the connection between himself and his staff, he knew that he was more than just professionally attached to a number of them, including the aggravating smart-ass sat opposite at that very moment.

"The procedure I am going to have is a minor one, what they call a laparoscopic prostatectomy which apparently means only a very small incision, no sutures and a reduced time in hospital although full recovery can take a month or more, although I do not anticipate being away from this office for that long!.

"Now that is enough about my medical condition. Moving on to you sitting in the Big Chair... the SecNav was not at all happy about you standing in for me again, and would have preferred Colonel MacKenzie. I pointed out that due to the Colonel's recent behaviour and her pending TAD that option was a non-starter. I part pacified him by producing your budget proposal and reminding him that both last year's and this year's were all your own work... well, with a little help from Tiner, I suspect."

Chegwidden rested his elbows on the desk and buried his face in hands for a few seconds, before he sat up again and passed both hands in a sweep backwards over his scalp. "What I said to you before I went to New Mexico still holds good, Commander. Don't set fire to the building, or blow it up, and for God's sake don't go shooting any holes in court room ceilings!"

Harm ventured a grin, "Not likely sir, I haven't lived down the first time I did that!"

"Good! So make that the last time! Now... your intervention in the Roberts' squabble seems to have worked wonders, but keep an eye on that situation if you please! Also keep an eye on the Austin thing... do not let that develop into a situation where I might be forced to take notice of it. Like I said before, I have no personal objections, but if it becomes general knowledge, then I will have to take official action. I understand that Gunny will be away from duty for some time, and although I wish him a speedy recovery, it may be a blessing in disguise and give everyone involved a chance to catch their breath. Now, unless you've any immediate questions for me, I suggest you get back to work, and we'll have a full blown conference tomorrow at fourteen hundred, at which time I will go over your outstanding cases with you all, and see if we can re-distribute the work-load so that you can function as JAG."

Chegwidden pondered for a moment, undecided as to whether he should bring Harm fully up to date, but even while he was debating the question, he knew he had no real choice. Biting the bullet, he spoke again.

"OK... for the moment there is one outstanding case that you need to be brought up to date on. Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer..." he groaned inwardly as Harm sat straighter in his seat and all vestiges of humour left his face.

"That case of assault they are investigating at Lejeune is more serious than at first thought... it ties into the case of the missing auto parts and has taken an ugly turn. The two NCIS agents who were there investigating the thefts... Adams and Gomez..."

"I met them, sir," Harm acknowledged.

"Well..." Chegwidden said heavily, they and their two Marine escorts were found yesterday evening at a remote point of the military reservation. Their vehicle had been disabled by an IED and all four men had been shot, execution style in the back of the head!"

"Sir! I need to..."

"No Rabb! Permission denied! You may not go to Lejeune. I know Lieutenant Singer is your fiancée, but your duty is here! Look," he continued in a milder tone,"I know more or less how you feel. But in addition to you being needed here, you've got to give her the chance to develop as an investigator. That's what you wanted isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Harm grudgingly admitted.

"Good! Well, Colonel MacKenzie reports that the Lieutenant is showing promise in that area, and also that she has taken the decision that she and the Lieutenant are under arms at all time." Chegwidden let out an ironic chuckle, "A circumstance the CG wasn't too happy with, but given the way things are going down there I considered it a viable precaution and managed to convince him otherwise. Besides the Lieutenant's a competent shot, isn't she? I see she's qualified sharpshooter or expert every year since commissioning."

"Yes, sir. But there's a great deal of difference between shooting a paper target and having a live target shoot back at you."

"I know that, Commander! Both here and here!" Chegwidden tapped the side of his head and his breast.

"That's not really much comfort, then is it, sir?" Harm asked reproachfully.

"Maybe not Commander, and I know it's instinct," 'especially yours,' he added to himself "to protect the ones you love, but you can't stifle her!"

"I know that here," Harm said tapping the side of his head, "But in here," he tapped his chest, "I still need convincing!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 1433hrs EDT, Subway Sandwiches, Camp Lejeune, NC (021833ZApr01)**

Loren took a bite out of her pastrami and pickle sandwich (with extra pickle), chewed and looked across the table at Mac who was making a moue of dissatisfaction at the taste of he chocolate milk shake. Loren bit down the temptation to grin, but instead chewed, swallowed and then asked, "Something wrong with the shake, ma'am?"

"No... not really..." Mac sighed, "It's just not up to Beltway standards."

"I know, ma'am, that's why I had a diet Pepsi!" she indicated the moisture beaded can next to her plate.

"How did you know that?" Mac scowled, and then memory came back, "Oh yes, you've been here before. Not your favourite place as I recall you saying?"

"Exactly!" Loren grinned.

"Why's that?" Mac asked inquisitively. After the little snippet of information that Loren had let fall earlier, Mac found her lawyer's curiosity niggling at her.

"Oh... several reasons," Loren replied, "None of them really important in and of themselves, but when added together..."

"Such as?"

"Well, I hadn't been transferred up from the LSO on the first floor for very long, when Commander Imes and I were sent down here to investigate a sudden rash of whizz-test failures. Well that was in early September, just when the Autumn rains were setting in with a vengeance. The temperature was still up in the eighties, humidity must have been running at about sixty per cent..."

"Oh! That's got to be an exaggeration!" Mac laughed at the expression of remembered indignities on Loren's face.

"Maybe, but it felt like that!" the blonde grinned, "A freshly pressed and starched set of peanut butters lasted about five minutes in the open before they turned into sweat soaked and blackened rags. Then," Loren continued reminiscently, "there was a Marine Captain we met in the O Club the first night we were here, and he started hitting on me, and wouldn't take no for an answer..."

"Did you report him for sexual harassment?" Mac asked,

"No... he… uh... cornered me one evening and tried to kiss me... so I... uh... applied a sharp knee where it'd do me the most good and him the most harm..."

Mac snorted as she took another sip of the despised chocolate shake and only narrowly avoided spattering both herself and Loren with the sticky drink.

Loren nodded and then blushed slightly, "VOQ's were pretty full, so Carolyn and I ended up having to share. I was pretty uncomfortable with that. I don't know why, but I thought I was picking up vibes from Carolyn, especially after I kept brushing off that Marine, and I didn't really feel comfortable sleeping in the same room in T-shirt and shorts, especially as it was so hot and humid that I was waking up uncovered, having kicked the sheets and blankets off during the night..."

"Carolyn Imes?" Mac said incredulously, "I've shared quarters with her and never gotten those sort of vibes!"

"Oh, I was wrong, dead wrong! But I didn't know that at the time!" Loren confessed. "It was only later that I saw the way she looked at Harm when she thought no-one was looking... and then I've seen her out in DC a time or two... she's had the same guy with her then..."

"Oh... so what counter measures did you take against this perceived threat?" Mac asked with a grin.

Loren blushed again, "I...uh... went to the BX to buy some pyjamas... I figured that if I was fully covered throat to ankles then she might take the hint, and anyway, they made me feel less vulnerable!" Loren paused for a second and then chuckled.

"Thing is, the only pair they had in my size were a pale yellow, almost a primrose, decorated with Disney versions of all the characters from Winnie the Pooh!"

"All the characters? Including Eeyore?" Mac asked in delight.

"Including Eeyore," Loren confirmed, "Harm nearly wet himself laughing when he first saw them and I told him the story behind them!"

"I'll bet!" Mac agreed but then fell silent. Sure, she knew that Loren and Harm must be in a physical relationship, and yes, she told herself she was moving on, but she still didn't like to contemplate the image of Harm in an intimate relationship with Loren, or indeed with any other woman, but there was also something else... a light bulb was beginning to glow in the far recesses of her mind.

"Something wrong, ma'am?" Loren asked.

"Uh... no... not really...It's just that talking about the people we work with sent my mind down a different path. And it may save Private Ormond some mental pain. We've got Forrest in custody on the attempted murder charges in respect of Private Townley and Lieutenant Carpenter... and if we could trace down his accomplices and connect them to theft of the motor parts we could then connect Forrest back to the assault on Carpenter as well as busting the lot of them..."

"It's pretty much a long shot," Loren objected.

"Yeah, it is. But if we don't try it, we'll never know! Come on finish up that sandwich and that damned soda, and let's go pay a call on Two MD's Maintenance Battalion!

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 1433hrs EDT, Battalion Headquarters, 2nd Marine Division Maintenance Battalion, Camp Lejeune, NC (021833ZApr01)**

Mac stared at the Battalion S-1, exasperated by his obtuseness.

"Why do you need to know who Forrest's buddies were? He demanded. "Forrest's in the brig after attacking that MP, end of story, surely?"

"No Captain, that is not the end of the story, and I do not need to explain myself to you. I called in here purely as a matte of courtesy to let the Battalion staff know that I would be in the battalion area and asking questions down at the Supply Company. Is that too difficult for you to understand?"

"No ma'am!" the junior officer replied stiffly, "But my CO will want to know what you're doing here, and exactly why you're doing it. And I can't really approve of you asking questions about battalion personnel without his say so..."

"I don't need your approval, and you can't stop me, Captain!" Mac shot back at him, "Not unless you want to face charges of obstructing a JAG investigation!"

"Why don't you let me handle this, ma'am?" Loren murmured quietly to Mac. "I might be able to reduce our intentions to words of one syllable..."

Mac closed her eyes for a second, "OK Lieutenant... it can't hurt."

"Captain Spencer," Loren smiled winningly. "We have a witness who can implicate Forrest in the ongoing theft of vehicle parts from the Supply Company inventory. I'm sure you're aware of the losses, after all, you've had a pair of NCIS agents investigating the unit, haven't you?"

"We have," Spencer admitted grudgingly.

"Well then, our witness can also implicate Forrest and three others in a case of witness intimidation during the course of which our witness was warned to keep quiet. And we figure that Forrest, being a good ole boy, is unlikely to have gotten himself involved in criminal activity with any other than his good buddies. So, we need to talk to the people in Supply Company to find out who those good buddies are. Now do you understand?"

"I understand what you're saying, but I don't follow your meaning. If NCIS are investigating, then what does the JAG Corps want?"

Loren ignored the hissed "For God's sake!" emanating from Mac as that officer made a pretence of examining a print of the Battle of the Argonne Forest hanging on the far wall.

"Because this has gone far beyond a simple matter of selling stolen vehicle parts. If our witness is right, Forrest is now up to his neck in four murders and three attempted murders." A sudden thought crossed Loren's mind, "You had heard that two Marines and the two NCIS agents were found murdered yesterday evening?"

"I'd heard some scuttlebutt, yes," Spencer admitted.

"No scuttlebutt, Captain, but plain hard fact! Now do you see why we want to turn over every stone and see what comes crawling out?"

"OK, Lieutenant," Spencer said grudgingly, "As soon as the CO's back at his desk, I'll submit your request to him!"

"God almighty, Captain!" Mac exploded, "Just how dumb are you? This. is. not. a. request. This is a JAG investigation, and I am telling you how we are going to conduct that investigation. If you or your CO have any complaints about the way I carry out my duties then I suggest you get right on the horn right now and call the JAG himself in DC! Understood?!"

"Yes, ma'am!" the unhappy Captain replied.

"At last!" Mac snapped. "Lieutenant on my six! We're out of here!"

Loren hesitated a second to give a meaningful shake of her head to Spencer before she followed the irate Marine.

**Tuesday 2 April 2001, 1813hrs MST, Base ****Medical Facility****, MCAS Yuma, AZ** **(022313ZApr01) **

Commander Carolyn Imes and Lieutenant Steven Barlow strode down the polished hallways of the Yuma base hospital, their Navy Peanut Butters, uncovered by lab coats making them stand out amongst the civilian dressed dependants and Marine Corps uniforms.

"This looks like it, Lieutenant," Carolyn said comparing the room number with the slip of paper she held in her hand.

"Yes, ma'am," Barlow agreed. He had discovered during the last few days that sometimes his senior officer had a habit of stating the blindingly obvious.

Carolyn, impervious to Barlow's thoughts or the slight long-suffering edge to his voice gave him a brief smile and tapped on the door.

"Come in, entrar!"

"Good evening Gunny!" Carolyn said as she took in the hospital gown-clad figure in the bed.

"Good evening ma'am! Sir" Victor replied as he tried to sit at attention, pushing away the over-bed table that contained the remnants of his dinner. His face turned a shade paler s he tried to fathom the possible reasons for two JAG attorneys to visit him a continent's width away from their headquarters. He felt sick to his stomach as he realised that about the only thing that could have brought them this far was that somehow or other the admiral had learned of Meg's visit to him and now the boom was about to be lowered and he was to be read his Article Thirty One rights.

"At ease, Gunny, at ease. This is a social call!"

"Yes, ma'am, but how... I mean why..." Victor had been so convinced of arrest that Commander Imes' breezy manner, and the smile on Lieutenant Barlow's face temporarily threw him off balance.

"Oh, Lieutenant Barlow and I were trying a Court Martial at Twenty Nine Palms, and when Commander Rabb told us that you'd been injured, he organised for us to make a detour on our way home, so we could see if you needed anything."

"With respect ma'am, that's a hell of a detour!"

"It's not so bad... we have a connecting flight tomorrow direct to Andrews, and rooms overnight in the BOQ. I've never been to Yuma before... Lieutenant Barlow?"

"Me neither ma'am, which is a little bit embarrassing, seeing as how I'm from Casa Grande – that's a small town between Tucson and Phoenix."

"I know it, sir." Victor acknowledged"

"Oh, didn't you want to spend the night at home, with your folks, Lieutenant?" Carolyn asked in surprise.

"Not really ma'am, they've moved away now, and anyway it's not far short of two hundred miles East along the I-Eight, would have made it an extra journey for very little return."

"No... I suppose not..."Carolyn mused.

"But we're not here to talk about me and the down-home folks, ma'am," Barlow gently reproved her, "How are you Gunny? And ho the hell did you get yourself into this pickle, all on your own and so far from DC?"

"Yes, that's got me puzzled too!" Carolyn smiled.

"Well, if you're bound and determined to get the whole story out off me, you might want to take a seat, it's a long story, and you'll need to be sitting, and besides having to look up at you both is beginning to give me a crick in the neck! With respect that is, ma'am, sir."

"Yeah, right, Gunny!" Carolyn grinned, but nevertheless drew up a chair and sat while Barlow did the same.

"Well... it was like this ma'am... The Admiral handed a desertion case to Colonel MacKenzie, and it turned out to be a Korean War veteran with an outstanding bravery decoration against his name. Something about the whole story somehow just didn't set right with me... so I asked for the brig-chaser assignment, and the Commander OK'd it..."

Gunny Galindez settled back against his pillow and re-told the same story that he'd related to Meg over the past weekend, once again emphasising the more comedic moments and downplaying the more dangerous aspects, right up until the time he was shot, "I just plain forgot to duck in time!" was his wry excuse.

Carolyn and Steven Barlow sat back and enjoyed the story. Neither had suspected that the normally taciturn Gunnery Sergeant was such an accomplished raconteur, and by the time he had finished, despite their concern for his injuries, both had a smile on their faces. But despite their amusement, Carolyn hadn't forgotten the primary purpose of their visit.

"Now, is there anything you want or need Gunny?" she asked.

"Well... my Alphas are ruined," he said ruefully, "There's a damn' great hole in the jacket, and blood all over the pants, and I doubt the shoes'll ever be the same, which leaves me more or less strapped for clothes except for this hospital gown, which I'm damned if I'm going to wear all the way back to DC, so if you could maybe get me a set of service dress pants and a short-sleeved shirt with a garrison cover. The hospital welfare services have already kitted me out with washing and shaving gear..."

"Of course, Gunny," Carolyn answered, "we'll get onto that as soon as we leave here... have you got a note of your size?"

"Just one moment, ma'am..." Victor reached into his night-stand and pulled out a writing pad and a ball point pen. Flipping over the top sheet which seemed to contain a half-finished letter, he scribbled the sizes required and handed it to Carolyn.

"You can't go around wearing this, Gunny!" she exclaimed after she glanced at the list.

"Why not, ma'am?" he inquired.

"Well... you'll be out of uniform. You need to add your stripes, ribbons and awards!" she exclaimed.

Victor looked a little uncomfortable, "I... uh... didn't want to be too much of a nuisance, ma'am..."

"You'll be a hell of a lot more nuisance if I have to defend you at an Article Thirty Two for being out of uniform, Gunnery Sergeant!" she replied in fake minatory tones.

Victor knew when he was out-gunned, "Yes, ma'am... but this is going to cost you a hell of a lot..."

"Doesn't matter Gunny. Your uniform was destroyed while on duty, so you're eligible for free replacements. So I'll keep the receipts and then you can pay me back once you've claimed the costs from the Corps!"

Victor took back the list and added a list of the uniform embellishments he required. "Just get the items on the list ma'am. I can sew them on, it'll be good occupational therapy for me!" he scowled as he added the last phrase.

"Hospital routine getting to you Gunny?" Barlow asked sympathetically.

"I guess you could say that sir," Gunny replied with a crooked half-grin.

"Well..." the voice of Gunny's nurse sounded from the doorway, causing him to scowl and Carolyn and Steven to look over their shoulders, "It sounds as if my favourite patient is being as grumpy as ever!" she said with a warm smile.

"But I reckon it's only because he can't twist me around his little finger the same way as he can with you blonde girls! If you'll pardon me the liberty ma'am," she added hurriedly as she spied Carolyn's rank badge on her collar, just a fraction too late.

"Blonde _girls_?" Carolyn asked in surprise, and pretending to glare at Victor, "I thought I was the only blonde in your life, Gunny! Well, apart from Harriet Sims!" she teased gently.

Gunny stared in horror at his nurse, 'Please, please, please don't say another word!' he begged silently, but to no avail.

"Why yes," Nurse Lieutenant Commander Winters carried on cheerfully as she measured Victor's evening meds out into a small plastic disposable cup, "If you'd been here over the weekend you'd have met her, a lovely girl, called Meg, I believe! We had a nice little chat."

"Meg?" Steven Barlow frowned as he rummaged through his memory to recall why that name rang a bell. He disregarded Carolyn's mention of Harriet as an obvious tease.

"Meg?" Carolyn echoed, thinking rapidly as she saw the fleeting look of panic cross Victor's face, to be followed swiftly by a look of resolve as he determined to take the full fury of any flak. She had a gut feeling who the mystery blonde was, and in an instant she instinctively approved of the idea of Meg and Victor, but any train of thought Barlow might be having needed de-railing, fast, before he thought he'd guessed the identity of Gunny's previous visitor.

"Meg... with blonde hair?" Carolyn repeated, her forehead furrowed in thought, "Wasn't that the name of the blonde girl you were dancing with at the Corps wet-down a while ago, in that bar on Eighth Street?"

Gunny flashed Carolyn a look of surprise, for some reason it seemed, that although she had guessed Meg's identity, she was pretending that Meg was someone else, and he thankfully grabbed at the lifeline she had just thrown out. "Yes ma'am. I didn't realise that you had heard her name. I called her to let her know that I was stuck down here and wouldn't be able to make my next date with her, and somehow she found the time to get down here and visit with me on Saturday evening and Sunday before she had to get back to DC, ma'am."

"Yes, it was a shame she left when she did!" the nurse exclaimed, "He was a much more co-operative patient while she was here to keep him under control! So now Gunnery Sergeant, let's see if you are as co-operative now!"

"Yes, ma'am," Gunny said meekly as he took the cup from the nurse and swallowed the meds, desperately praying that the nurse would leave as soon as he finished taking his pills.

Winters nodded in approval, "Good man!" she said, slightly patronisingly, Carolyn thought, but then again that often seems to come with the territory as far as nurses were concerned. Then the Lieutenant Commander turned towards Carolyn, "Just the same effect as Meg! You can come visit again any time, and with my blessing!"

"Well, we'll be back tomorrow with some gear for the Gunnery Sergeant, before we head back to DC," Carolyn said as she stood, "But in the meantime, we need to go buy it! Ready Lieutenant? She queried Barlow. She needed to get Barlow out of their before the overly-chatty nurse accidentally let slip any other tid-bit of information that might lead to Barlow identifying Meg. It was bad enough now, but if his suspicions were raised he was still young enough and inexperienced enough to make a public outcry. Carolyn could only hope that the red herring she drawn across the trail was enough to throw him off the scent!

"Ready, aye, ma'am!" the younger officer confirmed.

"So we'll see you tomorrow Gunny, if we can get in at that time of day; if not, we'll leave your gear at the nurses' station for you!" Carolyn confirmed.

"Yes, ma'am... and if I don't get to see you again before you head on back... well... thank you ma'am for making time to visit with me, for getting the stuff I need and... well... for everything!"

Carolyn understood exactly what Victor had meant and smiled at him, "No thanks needed, Gunny," she replied looking him straight in the eye.


	47. Chapter 47

**47**

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 1511hrs EDT, Supply Company, 2nd Marine Division Maintenance Battalion, Camp Lejeune, NC (021911ZApr01)**

First Sergeant Eddie Niemuller looked up as the knock came at his office door, his face twisting in anger as the door was opened without his invitation. The look of anger was swiftly replaced by one of shock and he leaped to his feet on seeing the silver oak leaves on one of his visitors' collar.

Schooling his features into their normal impassive expression he greeted his visitors, the one, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Corps, and the second a Navy Lieutenant. Both female.

"Good afternoon, ma'am, how may I help you?" He risked letting his eyes flash a threat over the Lieutenant's shoulder, directed at his hapless Company Clerk, although what a Corporal could have done to stop a Field Grade officer from disturbing the First Sergeant was a debatable point, but he could at least have offered his superior some warning.

"Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, Lieutenant Singer, JAG Corps," Mac announced herself and Loren without any preamble, "We're investigating an attack on Lieutenant Carpenter of Twenty-Ninth Logistics Battalion. Private Forrest of this Company was arrested in the base hospital last night for attempting to murder the Lieutenant and the MP who was guarding her room. We have reason to believe that Forrest was only one of a number of attackers that committed the original assault on Lieutenant Carpenter. So, now I want the names of Private Forrest's buddies."

"Yes, ma'am," Niemuller replied calmly, and then raised his voice, "Corporal!"

"Yes, First Sergeant?"

"Get in here!"

The Corporal entered and looked expectantly at Niemuller.

"Forrest's buddies, Corporal: Delgado, Hinds, Franklin, Olafsson, Porter... anyone else?"

"Petters and Jackson, First Sergeant, I can't think of anyone else!"

"Thank you, Corporal! Close the door on your way out!"

Niemuller wrote the list of names on a message pad and handed it to Mac who accepted it, scanned it briefly and tucked it away into the breast pocket of her BDUs. "Thank you, First Sergeant. Now we'll need a room where we can interview these Marines.

"That will be arranged ma'am, but you won't be able to interview Hinds, Porter or Jackson... I'm in the middle of writing them up as UA." In response to Mac' raised eyebrow Niemuller explained, "They all turned to for duty this morning, but not this afternoon. I had a search of the Company area carried out and there's no sign of 'em. All three were car owners, and a check with the main gate shows that ll three left the base between twelve thirty and thirteen fifteen hours. The MPs can't or won't swear to it, but they reckon that all three were in civilian clothing." He shrugged, "They'd pretty well have to be, the MPs wouldn't have let them off base in BDUs and those poor excuses for Marines are hardly likely to have changed into Alphas to get off base!"

"The three that are UA, are they particularly close to Forrest, First Sergeant."

"Yeah, well... most times if you find one of 'em you'll find at least two of the other three, ma'am," Niemuller answered.

"Poor excuses for Marines, just how poor?" Loren asked.

"Nothing major, a few Company punishments and an Article Fifteen or two each, but it's more their attitude, collectively and individually... Let's put it this way ma'am, up until now none of 'em have committed a disciplinary offence or a crime that would bring them before a General Court Martial, but I wouldn't recommend any of 'em be allowed to re-up when their contract runs out. There's reasons that none of 'em have made it even as far as Lance Corporal, and only two to PFC!"

"If they're that unsatisfactory, First Sergeant, how come the rest of the company hasn't run a Code Red on them?"

"Ma'am, if I thought a Code Red was being run anywhere in my Company, I would have whoever was responsible in front of GCM so fast they wouldn't know what hit 'em!"

"So... you admit Code Reds do exist?"

"They have done in the past, ma'am, and they may have served their purpose then, along with hazing and blood striping as well as EMD and incentive PT, but those days are long gone ma'am. We don't just take our quota of what the draft board sends us any more; all our Marines have at least graduated High School and no matter what their motives, they are all volunteers, ma'am!"

"I am aware of all that, First Sergeant!" Mac snapped.

"Yes, ma'am, of course! I was just trying to make my opinion plain, ma'am!"

"You've done that, First Sergeant!" Mac said, willing for the moment to accept what the NCO had said as a true reflection of his opinions, "Now... how about that room and Delgado, Olafsson, Franklin and Petters?"

"You can have the use of this office, ma'am. I was about to take a turn around the Company area, and I'll get the Marines you want to speak to up here in five, ma'am!"

"Thank you First Sergeant!"

Niemuller was as good as his word in less than five minutes Mac and Loren became aware of the rumble of voices in the outer office. Exchanging a look with Loren, Mac rose to her feet and opened the door, catching the eye of the Corporal Clerk, who jumped to his feet and called, "Attention on deck!"

The four Marines who had been standing around the room, and in one case, leaning against the wall snapped to attention,

Mac looked down at the list in her hand, "Delgado, Olafsson, Franklin, Petters?"

A "Ma'am, yes ma'am!" greeted each name as she called it. "Good! Now listen up! You will remain in this office until you are called forward for interview. You will not speak with each other while you are waiting. Once you are interviewed you will leave this office and return direct to your duty station, and you will not speak to those still waiting to be interviewed. Is that clear?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am" the four chorused obediently, although Mac noticed a flick of the eyes from Franklin towards Delgado, who responded with a minute shake of the head. Minute it might have been but Mac had spotted it.

"All right, stand easy!"

The four Marines relaxed into the less rigid stance and now all four exchanged glances, none of which were lost on Mac, "All right! Delgado, front and centre!"

The named Marine snapped to attention and advanced three paces before halting in front of Mac. She looked him up and down as if for morning inspection and was not impressed by what she saw. His boots were brushed, but not really clean, his BDUs showed dirt on the sleeves and chest, but that may have been due to manhandling boxes of inventory during the working day, but there was also a sly, almost contemptuous expression in his eyes as he returned her gaze.

"All right Delgado, get inside and sit down!" Mac ordered.

Delgado took his seat and assumed an air of respectful attention, "How may I help you, ma'am?"

Mac snorted and then questioned him as to his personal details, noting down each of his replies as she did so, as well as noting his air of casual confidence. Finally she reached the questions she wanted to ask.

"Where were you between twenty three hundred on Thursday March twenty-eighth and zero two hundred Friday March twenty-ninth?"

"I was in a bar in Jacksonville until just gone midnight, ma'am. Then me an' a coupla my buddies took a cab back here to base. I guess I was asleep in my rack by about zero one hundred, ma'am."

"Kind of late for a weekday, wasn't it, Private?"

"Yes ma'am, I guess it was, but I was on the zero six hundred formation, sober and properly dressed!" he replied somewhat defensively.

"And your buddies can vouch for your presence during those times?"

"Yes, ma'am! They were Private Henderson, Private First Class Ruane and Lance Corporal Munez, ma'am!"

"Are they all Supply Company?"

"No ma'am, Ruane is, but Henderson is in the ET Company, and Lance Corporal Munez is HSC, ma'am!"

"ET Company?" Mac queried.

"Yes ma'am, the company that works the electronics maintenance, radios, radars, computers and stuff like that. ET for Electronic Techs, ma'am!"

"Anyone else who might be able to vouch for you?"

"Ma'am?"

"Is there anyone who can back up your story, confirm you were where you say you were?"

"The bar Tender at the Flamingo Bar, she might remember me," Delgado smirked, "An' the cab driver surely will, he yelled at Henderson for trying to light up a butt in the cab!"

Mac looked over Delgado's shoulder at Loren who met her gaze, pulled the corners of her mouth down and gave a slight shake of her head. Mac nodded in acknowledged of Loren's silent input, and the turned her attention back to Delgado, "All right, Private, dismissed!"

The two officers waited for the Marine to close the door behind him.

"Sounds like a pretty airtight alibi," Loren volunteered.

"If it checks out," Mac replied, a frown gathering on her forehead, "What I don't get is why Delgado was socialising with Marines from other companies, that doesn't usually happen... where would he get to know them?"

"He is Supply Company, every Maintenance Company would have to send men here to collect spares... he could easily have got to know them over time through repeat visits..." Loren suggested.

"Maybe, maybe. But I've still got a feeling about this guy! And not one of the good sort!"

"Isn't that usually Harm's... uh... I mean Commander Rabb's forte, ma'am?"

"Yeah... maybe some of his bad habits are rubbing off on me!" Mac grinned.

Loren just looked at her and waited until Mac had stopped grinning, "Shall I call the next one in, ma'am?"

"Yeah, let's have Private Petters in and see what he has to say for himself!"

Once again Mac went through the procedure of asking routine questions, the answer to which could easily be checked by looking at the Marine's SRB, but this time when asked to account for his whereabouts between the times the attack could have started and the time that Lieutenant Carpenter was found, Petters reply was, "I was at home with my girlfriend and our baby, ma'am!"

"All night?"

"Yes, ma'am. The baby's... she's only six weeks old ma'am..." he couldn't prevent a proud smile from twitching the corners of his mouth, "an' she still wakes up every coupla hours, and if I recall c'rrectly she woke up at about zero one forty and Ilsa an' me were just about getting back to bed at about zero two fifteen, ma'am!"

"Well, that covers the end of the period about which we want to know, but from twenty-three hundred onward?"

"Ma'am, with respect, you don't have any kids, do you? After six weeks of getting woke up at all hours of the night, you'd be like Ilsa an' me too... We're ready to hit the hay any time straight after dinner. As soon as we get Eva to bed down, we're under the blankets our own selves – an' just to sleep," he added hastily.

Mac nodded thoughtfully, as she recalled Harriet's and to a lesser extent Bud's tales of early nights and interrupted sleep in the first few weeks they had brought A J back from hospital.

"I take it there's no-one else can back up our story, Private?" she asked.

"Only Ilsa, ma'am... Ma'am, am I in trouble?"

"I don't know, should you be?"

"I can't think of any trouble ma'am. I used to be a bit wild, but ever since Ilsa straightened me out... no, I can't think of nothing I've done!"

"All right, Petter, if we need to speak with you again, we'll be in touch with your First Sergeant. Dismiss!"

"Yes, ma'am!" It was with a faintly ludicrous air of relief that the burly Marine shot out of his char and almost scurried out of the office.

"Well?" Mac asked Loren.

"Seems strange, ma'am. His account just doesn't square with the picture the First Sergeant drew of him. He was neat, tidy, a mite crumpled perhaps, but that could be down to his work today. He seemed alert and his answers seemed straight... In fact he reminded me a bit of Bud Roberts when he first bought AJ home," Loren couldn't help casting her eyes upwards at the mention of the Roberts' child.

Mac hid a grin, there were some parts of Loren Singer that hadn't totally changed! And that she reflected was, in some weird way, vaguely reassuring.

"Could be that the love of a good woman...?" she suggested, 'after all it's working for you Loren Singer, although the other way 'round.'

"Could be..." Loren agreed doubtfully, and then a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, "It could just be..." she repeated a little less doubtfully. She then returned to the here and now, "Who next, ma'am?"

"Let's have Olafsson in!"

Olafsson proved to be a native of northern Minnesota and singularly taciturn. He answered Mac's initial questioning with monosyllabic responses and then when asked to account for his activities for the key three hours, the best he could come up with was that he had been on his rack, reading a book up until about twenty-two thirty hours, and then he had turned in and stayed in his rack until reveille the next morning.

Not all Mac's probing could shake him from his story, and the presence of the other seven men in the squad bay that night gave him an alibi that it would be very difficult to disprove, that is, if they did back him up.

Eventually she dismissed him and without looking at Loren called out in a voice loud enough to be heard clearly, "Next!"

The next, and last of the four was Private Franklin. He stopped in the doorway and looked nervously between Mac and Loren. "Get in here, Private, and get your butt in that chair!" Mac snapped. This afternoon was taking longer than she'd wanted or expected, and her patience was running thin.

"I didn't do it ma'am! I didn't have nothin' to do with that Humvee gettin' blown up!" Franklin blurted out the second he was seated.

Mac blinked, "Back up Private, nobody said anything about any Humvee!"

"No ma'am! But it's all the same thing! It was me, ma'am. that called you on Sunday, an' tole you thet they was fixin' to finish off that Lieutenant, ma'am!"

"Why did you do that, Private?"

"It warn't s'posed to be like that, ma'am!" Franklin seemed on the edge of tears as he answered. "I was only in it fer the money... y'know, sellin' a few parts for easy cash... nobody said nothin' goin' in about hurtin' people, an' I ain't one for killin' neither!"

Mac blinked again, "Slow down, Private. Who was going to get hurt?"

"That lady Lieutenant, ma'am. Me an' the boys was tole to make sure she couldn't keep on pokin' her nose into our business, so Hinds woke her up an' pretended that there was some thieves movin' stuff from the Supply Company, an then when she come out, we grabbed her an' then Hinds an' Porter started in whaling on her..."

"Why didn't she call for help?"

"She couldn't ma'am, I had aholt of her arms, an' Forrest he was stuffin' a rag into her mouth. Hinds an' Porter just kep' on beatin' on her... I tole 'em to stop... but they jest kep' right on beatin'... an' then I tole 'em she were dead, so they stopped, an' we ran..."

Mac looked at him in disgust, "Stop right there Private! You are now under arrest for the attempted murder of Lieutenant Marion Carpenter USMC. I am Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, a Navy Judge Advocate General. I am investigating the alleged attempted murder, for which I have arrested you. I advise you that under the provisions of Article 31, UCMJ, you have the right to remain silent, that is, say nothing at all. Any statements you make, oral or written, may be used as evidence against you in a trial by court-martial or in other judicial or administrative proceedings. You have the right to consult a lawyer and to have a lawyer present during this interview. You have the right to military legal counsel free of charge. In addition to military counsel, you are entitled to civilian counsel of your own choosing, at your own expense. You may request a lawyer at any time during this interview. If you decide to answer questions, you may stop the questioning at any time. Do you understand your rights? Do you want a lawyer? Are you willing to answer questions?"

"What's the best thing fer me to do, ma'am?"

"I can't answer that, Private."

"I don't know what to do ma'am... I need someone to he'p me."

"Are you saying you want an attorney? Mac asked.

"I guess not, ma'am, I already tole you...""

"Yes, you did, but let's just recap, so now that you're under caution, I can use what you tell me as evidence. Where were you on the night of Thursday March twenty-eighth from twenty-three hundred until zero two hundred Friday twenty-ninth March?"

"Uh... I was drinking with my buddies..."

"And who were your buddies that evening?"

"Privates Hinds, Forrest an' Porter ma'am..." Franklin repeated the essence of the story he had already told Mac, but as he did so he faltered time and again, and each time Mac encouraged him to continue, her pen flying over the paper as she recorded her questions and his answers, until finally she finished her questioning and sat back in the chair.

"Is there anything else you ant top say, Private?"

"No, ma'am, there ain't nothin' left to tell 'bout that night..."

"OK. Lieutenant, ask the Corporal to call the MPs for transport for one prisoner to the brig."

"Yes, ma'am!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 1617hrs EDT, Base Medical Facility Camp Lejeune, NC (022017ZApr01)**

Doctor Frazier checked that the latest CAT Scan images were safely filed on her computer and typed in the protocols that would allow her to see and speak with Captain Walter Jecks, the head neurologist consultant at Bethesda National Naval Medical Centre.

Jecks was a cheerful looking man in his fifties who apparently had some initial difficulty in adjusting his an d his camera's position as for several seconds all Frazier could see was an expanse of white lab-coat with the top of a ball point pen sticking out of a pocket. Eventually his face swam into view and settled into focus.

"Sorry about that Doctor!" he said cheerfully, "No how can I help you?"

Frazier briefly read through the case history while Jecks nodded until Frasier said, I'm sending you a file now, that holds the latest CAT Scan results. The scan finished just over an hour ago..."

Jecks called to an assistant for help in opening the file and then spent a good ten minutes examining the images, while Frazier held her tongue and battled against her impatience.

At last Jecks turned his attention back to the camera, "Yes, I can see why you were concerned... I am too... but I need to show these scans to a neurosurgeon colleague. But in the meantime, I strongly suggest you start making arrangements to move this young lady to here."

Frazier breathed a sigh of relief, she was no expert, but it seemed to her that these latest scans showed a deterioration in Carpenter's condition and she'd feared that the Lieutenant was now in too critical a condition to be moved.

"I'll get on to that directly, sir. And I'll call you back as soon as the arrangements are made and let you know the ETA!"

"You do that Doctor!"

"I will... and thank you, sir!"

Jecks moved away from the computer at the other end and the last thing Frazier heard was his voice demanding that, "Someone come and turn this damned thing off!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 1800hrs EDT, CO's Office, Twenty-Ninth Logistics Battalion, Camp Lejeune, NC (022200ZApr01)**

"Come on in Colonel Lieutenant! Take a seat." Lieutenant Colonel McMahon checked his watch, "At least you're on time! Damn NCIS ain't. Damn' civilians!"

"Uh... you do know that Agent Gibbs is a former Marine, a Gunnery Sergeant, sir?" Loren asked.

"No... I didn't," McMahon said, "But you have had prior contact with him, haven't you, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir, he nearly screwed the pooch the last time our paths crossed, so I did some checking on him afterwards." Loren answered calmly.

"You never told me that!" Mac exclaimed in surprise.

"There wasn't any real reason, I should, ma'am," Loren said, "By the time you were capable of understanding what had happened you didn't need to know, it wasn't pertinent any more, it was all signed, sealed and delivered with Commander Brumby in the Metro PD holding cell."

McMahon looked from one JAG officer to the other, he was being eaten alive with curiosity but sensed that this was probably not a subject into which Colonel MacKenzie would relish investigation, and even the blonde Lieutenancy seemed... reticent about speaking about the details. Before he could make his mind up, however, there came a knock at the door and on his invitation of "Enter", Agents Franks and Gibbs entered the room.

McMahon made no comment, but looked ostentatiously at his watch.

Gibbs noticed but confined himself to an I-told-you-so-look at his boss, while Franks glared impartially at everyone in the room and said sarcastically, "You got a problem, Probie?"

"No, Boss,"

McMahon raised an eyebrow at his, but confined himself to saying, "Well, if you two gentlemen would care to take a seat, perhaps we can get on with this meeting."

Franks grunted what might have been agreement, and hooking his foot around a chair he drew it to him before sitting.

"So... Agent Franks, any progress?"

Franks shook his head and cleared his throat before he spoke, his voice gravelly from too many years of too many cigarettes and too much Bourbon. "Nope, not much. We went out through the gap in perimeter fence and found vehicle tracks leading away through the woods. We follered them right through until we hit a dirt road running South East to North West, but there's been too much traffic up and down to be able to follow any further. We did take a cast of the tire tracks near the gap in the wire and photographed 'em. We've sent those pictures back to DC for comparison against the data base, but I'm pretty sure they'll come up as being standard factory fit for a Hummer."

"So... not much chance of finding them a fit to a particular vehicle?"

Franks shook his head, "Nope,"

McMahon gave him a disgusted look, it seemed to him that NCIS Agent wasn't particularly interested in being forthcoming about his investigation and any results it might come up with. "Colonel?"

"We've been slightly more successful," Mac said, repressing the urge to flash a look of triumph, or even just satisfaction, at the two NCIS Agents. "We now have two of Lieutenant Carpenter's assailants in the brig, and we have the names of the two others."

"Well, why aren't they in the brig too?" Franks interrupted.

"Because, Agent Franks, they are UA." Mac offered him a sheet of paper, "Here are their details, together with their vehicle details. You might want to put out a BOLO on them, seeing as they are now wanted for a Federal Offence."

Franks grunted again, although whether in approbation or annoyance it was impossible to tell. "Deal with it, Probie!" he handed the paper off to Gibbs.

"On it, Boss," the younger agent replied, and pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he stood, and with a nod of acknowledgement to McMahon left the office.

McMahon sat and just looked at Mac, who under his scrutiny could no longer prevent the smile from tugging at the corners for her mouth. Eventually he shook his head and grinned, "Oorah!"

"Thank you," Mac smiled. "I don't know if it's any consolation, but none of the men involved were from your battalion. They were all from Two MD Maintenance Battalion."

"What now. Colonel?" McMahon asked.

"We've done what we came to do... We've found out who attacked your Lieutenant and why. Our job here is done. I shall be sending you and the CG as convening authority my full report once I've got it typed up, and then it'll be up to the court-martial process to grind into action. The first thing tomorrow I need to call JAG and tell them we're done here, and that we need transport back to DC."

"I believe I may be able to expedite that, Colonel, just as a courtesy and a thank you for solving the case so quickly."

"Thank you Colonel, we'd appreciate that, I just wish we'd solved it quicker... maybe that MP wouldn't have been hurt..."

McMahon steepled his fingers as he leaned back in the chair, "It's my understanding, Colonel, that if Townley hadn't been attacked, then you would still have been looking for a clue as to who was behind the attack!"

"That's true enough..." Mac said slowly, surprised and impressed that McMahon should have taken the trouble to remember the name of an injured Marine who wasn't even in his outfit.

"All this congratulations crap is all damned well an' good!" an increasingly impatient Franks growled, "but it don't mean squat to me. Ain't getting our investigation any further forward!"

"Well. Considering that we now have evidence that the assault on Lieutenant Carpenter was linked to the stolen Humvee parts, don't you think it might be of some use to you if you were to visit Franklin and Forrest in the brig?"

Franks' temper flared, "I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, sweetheart!"

McMahon stiffened, "Agent! That's way..." but was cut off by a hand signal from Mac.

"Agent Franks," Mac said in an icy voice, "You may not like me. And I don't give a good god-dam whether you do or not. But that is the last time you address me, or any other female officer of the armed forces in that manner!"

"An' what makes you so damn' sure of that?" Franks demanded.

"Because one of the first things I intend to do once I get back to DC, is to pay a visit to NCIS at the Navy Yard and lodge a formal complaint about your words and manner to your Director!"

Although she spoke quietly and without any undue emphasis, Loren could tell that Mac was literally trembling with rage, and she feared what might be said or even done when Franks answered.

"Are you threatening me?" he demanded.

"No, Agent Franks, I'm just telling you what is going to happen!"

McMahon had had enough, and he slapped his hand down, hard on his desk, "That is enough – from both of you! Agent Franks, you were way out of line both with your remark, and the term you used to Colonel MacKenzie. I suggest you apologise to the Colonel, and..."

"The hell I will!" Franks snorted jumping to his feet and sending his chair flying, and with out a further word turned, wrenched open the office door and stormed off down the hall from where his voice could be heard yelling, "Probie!"

Mac listened to him go and snorted in contempt, "Dinosaur!" she muttered.

McMahon looked at her a troubled expression in his eyes, "He _was_ way out of line, Colonel, but maybe you overreacted just a bit?"

"No, I don't think so," Mac replied, "NCIS is the Navy's investigative branch, and the integrity of its Agents must be paramount. Franks has just shown that he does not respect female members of the services, how can he be trusted to carry out unbiased investigations into crimes committed by them or against them?"

"A point, Colonel," McMahon conceded, "But moving on, what are your immediate plans?"

Mac thought for a second, "I guess we'll hand in our side-arms and let the MPs know they can stand down their guard on Lieutenant Carpenter, then stop by the base hospital to bring Doctor Frazier up to speed, and then..." Mac paused to let herself grin, "pack our gear ready to leave in the morning."

McMahon nodded, "I'll call in a favour with the CO of VMM 366 and organise a ride back to Andrews for you. I'll call you and let you know the details." He grinned in his turn and looked at Loren, "You should arrive back in DC a smidgin' cleaner than when you arrived here, Lieutenant, 366 flies the Osprey!"

Loren let her mouth drop open for a moment and then blushed, "Yes, sir!" she finally managed.

McMahon stood, and stretched a hand across his desk, "Colonel, it's been a pleasure to have you with the battalion, I only hope that the next time we meet, it won't be for such an unpleasant cause. Lieutenant," he nodded an acknowledgement to Loren as Mac stood and took his hand in hers.

"It's been good working with you too, Colonel!"

McMahon remained standing, a slight smile on his face while he watched as his two visitors gathered their covers and left his office.

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 1903hrs EDT, Base Medical Facility Camp Lejeune, NC (022303ZApr01)**

It didn't take Mac and Loren too long to hand in their pistols, to Loren's relief as she rubbed at the belt-welts on her side through her peanut butters, at the MP Duty Room, or for Mac to pass the word that the hospital guard could be stood down. The Gunnery Sergeant on the front desk – a different one than on their previous visit – was calm and efficient. Taking full notes and assuring Mac that he would pass the word of their visit and its reasons to the Watch Commander, directly.

On entering the ICU at the base hospital, Mac and Loren Mac and Loren immediately sensed the suppressed excitement at the nurses' station, as well as the smiles on the faces of Lieutenants Baxter and Pasquel.

"Lieutenants," Mac greeted them, "Something happening?"

"Just a Marine being a Marine, ma'am!" Connie Pasquel dared a joke, "Doctor Frazier had just arranged to have Lieutenant Carpenter moved to Bethesda, and she was telling Mrs Carpenter about the arrangements, when the Lieutenant shook her head, and grabbed her mother's hand. We had to take out her tube and wet her mouth, of course, but she finally managed to say that she wasn't going to Bethesda, not if she had any say in the matter!"

"She's awake?" Mac and Loren chorused.

Mary Baxter took up the story, "Not right at the moment, ma'am. Having stated her opinion, she went to sleep. Left Doctor Frazier spitting nails!"

"Why is that?" Mac demanded.

"I'm not sure whether the Doctor wanted to dance a jig, or lay a lump of four by two upside the Lieutenant's head. Mrs Carpenter had all but agreed to sign the transfer form when the Lieutenant woke up, but now she's saidshe won't. Doctor Frazier is pleased the Lieutenant woke up but she said..."

"It was typical of a damned Jarhead to screw with my plans!" a broadly grinning Doctor Frazier finished for her as she walked back into the nurses' station. "And no offence meant to you, Colonel!"

"Well, I don't really like the term,but I guess I'll let you slide this time, Doctor!" Mac said, a grin creasing her own face. "This is good news isn't it!"

"Well... it's a little too early to be dancing in the streets," Frazier replied, still smiling, "so let's just say that now the Lieutenant has recovered consciousness, I'm cautiously optimistic!"

Mac nodded, for some reason she too felt a bubble of happiness at the news, for the Lieutenant to have been killed or permanently damaged during an attack for such a stupid reason as a few stolen motor spares would have been almost unbearable,

"Well, I'd like to stop in and see the Lieutenant, and pass on some good news of my own to the family, if that's possible, Doctor?"

"Of course it is!" Frazier replied, "Good new is always welcome!"

Mac nodded, "Well, if you'd care to join us, you could always share in the good news too!"

"Wild horses wouldn't stop me, Colonel!"

Walking swiftly they reached Lieutenant Carpenter's room in less than a minute where they found Mrs Carpenter and her daughter sitting side by side, their hands clasped and their eyes suspiciously bright, while Robert Carpenter stood with his back to the door, so that anyone entering shouldn't see the traces that tears had left on his face.

Mac spoke first as they entered, "Mrs Carpenter, I've just heard the news! You must be so happy!"

"I am, Colonel, I truly am... We all are... even Robert!"

Mac took time to look at Mrs Carpenter, comparing the smiling woman in front of her with the stressed and worried mother who had barely left her daughter's bedside for days. She seemed to have lost about ten years.

"I must repeat, Mrs Carpenter," Doctor Frazier said gently, "That Marion isn't completely out of the woods yet. Yes, it's a good sign that she's recovered consciousness, and while I hope and pray that she makes a full recovery, that is by no mean certain yet!"

"She will, Doctor, she will! Oh, I know you're duty bound to tell us not to raise our hopes too high, but the Good Lord has listened to our prayers and had given our daughter and sister back to us!"

"Medical science, might have had something to do with that too, mom!" Robert said quietly.

"Indeed yes!" Mrs Carpenter said hurriedly, "You mustn't think we are ungrateful for all your efforts, Doctor!"

"I don't, not for a second," Frazier replied with a smile, "But the reason I've come back is to listen to the good news that Colonel MacKenzie has to share."

"Yes," Mac said, "I've come to let you know that we have arrested two of the four men who attacked your daughter, and we have the names of the other two. They were all Marines , but the second two have gone UA, and local, state and federal authorities are now looking for them, as well of course as the Corps. As soon as they are found, they will be arrested and charged with attempted murder. And now that the danger has passed, there is no need for the Marines to guard your daughter any more, so in a few minutes, I expect, you'll see them being stood down!"

"That is good news... to find out that the threat has gone... but how did you find four men among so many...?"

"Honestly ma'am, we got lucky... Lieutenant Singer glommed on to the one Marine who could give us a lead, and after that it was just a matter of interviewing suspects until we caught a break."

"Well, thank you for your work, anyway, Colonel!"

"You're welcome ma'am! We have to get back to DC in the morning, but depending on what arrangements are made for our movement, we'll try and get in here to see your daughter before we go!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 2015hrs EDT, Female VOQs Camp Lejeune, NC (030015ZApr01)**

Loren barely heard the rap at her door over the noise of her hair dryer and had to turn it off to listen for the rap again. "One minute!" she shouted as she ditched the towel which was her only garment and hastily climbed into her jeans and pulled a T-shirt over her head.

Puffing slightly with the haste of he movements she opened the door to find Mac waiting for entry. Mac took in Loren's dishevelled appearance and her still-damp hair, "Ah you squids still haven't learned to shower as quickly as Marines!" she grinned as Loren stood back to let her enter.

"Oh, we have," Loren denied the accusation, "It's just that when someone else is paying for the hot water..."

"Good point!" Mac conceded as she took up Loren's unspoken invitation to sit, "But what I came over for was to decide what and where we're going to eat!"

"Well if what happens at Lejeune stays at Lejeune," Loren replied, "I hear that there's a Domino's on base..." she added innocently.

"Eating fast food behind Harm's back?" Mac teased her.

"I prefer to think of it as being while the mouse is away the mouse will play!" Loren grinned.

"Works for me!" Mac agreed.

"OK then, give me ten minutes to finish drying my hair and I'm right with you!"

"Deal!"

**Tuesday 2 April 2001 2101hrs EDT, Domino's Pizza Restaurant, Camp Lejeune, NC (030101ZApr01)**

"Half a large meat-lover's feast, with a side of breaded mushrooms and onion rings... and you wash it down with a _diet_ Pepsi? Talk about living dangerously!" Mac laughed across the table as Loren took a long sip of her soda.

"Hey, I prefer the taste!" Loren defended herself, "and at least I'm enjoying this, which is more than you can say for your shake! And didn't we have this conversation before?"

"Similar," Mac grinned, "but you're right about the shakes down here, this is the second place we've tried them, and they're just not up to Beltway standards!"

"You've either been spoiled by Beltway's shakes, or you're getting fussy in your..."

"Don't say it!" Mac warned her, "Remember, I'm not that much older than you!"

"No, ma'am," Loren said docilely, while her eyes, her expression and her body language screamed everything but docility.

"H'mph!" Mac snorted as she snagged another slice of pizza and then paused with it halfway to her mouth, "You're right though, I think I'll get a soda too!"

Loren grinned as she watched Mac walk up to the counter, and reached for another onion ring. Biting it in half, she was still chewing when her cell phone blasted out it's imperative. Fumbling it from the bottom of her purse, her grin turned to a smile as she saw the caller's number displayed, "Hi, Mister Lawyer Man.

"_Hey, sleuth girl! How's it going down there in sunny NC_?" Loren could hear the smile in his voice.

"Pretty damn good, we got two of the guys responsible for the attack; they're in the brig, and two others are on the run. We've got a local and national BOLO out for them and their cars. Mac and I should be back in DC sometime tomorrow. We're just waiting for an itinerary, but Colonel McMahon reckons he can get us out on an Osprey in the morning, sometime. I'll let you know our ETA as soon as I know it!"

"_That's great news... I've missed you..._" Even though he was alone in the apartment, Harm lowered his voice for the last few words, sending shivers running up and down Loren's spine.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I've missed you!" Loren replied huskily, "and when I get home tomorrow evening, I intend to show you just how much!"

"_Don't let your mouth go making promises your body can't keep_!" he teased her.

"Huh! I'll outlast you any night of the week!" she giggled.

Across the room Mac turned away from the counter, a large cup of soda in her hand. She was about to walk back to the table when she saw that Loren was on the 'phone and from the blonde's posture, and body language, the way her free hand was playing with her hair and the smile on her lips, Mac realised that Loren was talking to Harm. And despite the pang of regret for her own missed opportunity she silently acknowledged that what she was looking at was a simple manifestation of happiness in a young woman who was in love with the guy with whom she was speaking. Mac shook her head indulgently, and how that love had changed one Loren Singer. Only four months ago, at Christmas, the blonde was still acting the way she had ever since she had first set foot in JAG Ops, cold, closed, obsessively secretive and ambitious acted, and now... it was almost as if she'd had a personality transplant, and all due to the magic of one Harmon Rabb!

"_Yeah, bring it on_!" Harm teased her.

"Oh, I will, I will!" Loren chuckled, "Just you wait!"

"'_Enry 'Iggins_?" Harm added in an atrocious attempt at a Cockney accent.

"Oh you heard that, then?" Loren laughed after a short puzzled silence while she tried tor remember why her memory was tweaked at the words, and then recalling that she had spoken them the evening Harm and Meg had struck a deal over the lease on the apartment north if Union Station.

"_Nothing wrong with my hearing_!" Harm claimed.

"So you say!"

"I do... but back to business for a second... is Mac with you?"

"She's just gone to get a soda, she didn't like her shake, can you imagine that! she'll be back in a few seconds..." Loren looked across the room at Mac who was still hovering by the sales counter, and made a 'come on over' gesture with her free hand.

"She didn't like her shake...? Loren what are you doing?"

"We missed chow, so we're having dinner out!" Loren defended herself and Mac.

"_A burger joint_?" Harm said disapprovingly.

"Certainly not! We're at Domino's... Oh... crap!"

"_Loren Singer... you are so busted! I'm going to give Mac hell for leading you astray_!"

"You can't!" Loren protested, "It was my idea! And she's here now! It's Harm," she said to Mac as she thrust the 'phone towards the other woman, "he wants to speak with you!"

"Hello Harm?"

"Hey, Mac. How's it going? Loren says to expect you back tomorrow sometime?"

"Yeah, back in DC, but don't expect us to be back at JAG until Thursday staff call. Our transport down here was a helo and both of us got covered in crap, so neither of us have any uniform fit to wear other than BDUs for me and khakis for Loren!"

"_Fair enough_," Harm acknowledged, "_It might make things a little simpler, actually. That's one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you. I'm taking over as JAG again, the Admiral's got to have a procedure done and he may be off recovering for a while, but before he goes he's bullied Admiral Morris into hearing Rivera's Article Thirty-two tomorrow morning. Meg's been landed with prosecuting the case, but the Admiral will be defending. He's determined that Rivera will end up not guilty. In fact, if he could have had the charges dropped, I'm sure he would have done_!"

"What's wrong with the Admiral?" Mac asked in urgent concern.

"_He won't say, he just insists that it's a minor procedure, but that the post operative period can be prolonged."_

"That figures!" Mac said in exasperation, "I've never known anyone quite so stubborn and close-mouthed as him – well, except you of course! As for Private Rivera, that will please Gunny, when he gets to hear of it! He was convinced that a Chosin Marine wouldn't desert."

"_And he didn't Mac. Remember he didn't speak English back then, and when the doctors told him he was discharged and to go home, he misinterpreted their orders to mean that he was discharged from the Marines, and not just from hospital_!"

"So, the Admiral's going to do a Harmon Rabb, is he?" Mac said highly amused by the idea of the gruff former Seal, playing the emotional card that Harm used so well.

"_I have no idea what you mean_!" Harm denied mendaciously but with lofty dignity, "_But if all you can do is make fun of me, I'm going to say goodbye!_"

"Goodbye, Harm... hold on..." she passed the 'phone back to Loren.

"Hi, Harm, just going to say I love you, and I'm looking forward to making you eat your words!"

"_And I love you too... but like I said, bring it on_!"

"Goodnight, Harm!"

"_Goodnight, sweetheart..._"

Loren sighed as Harm broke the connection and took another sip of her soda, "It's funny, how context can change the meaning of a word..."

"How do you mean?" Mac asked taking a bite of now only just warm pizza.

"Well... Harm just called me 'sweetheart', and I didn't feel that he was being patronising or condescending or anything like that... in fact it made me feel warm and comfortable!"

"Yeah, well he's not a dumbass like Franks!" Mac replied.

"No... but who's as stubborn as Harm?"

"Oh... the Admiral. Harm says he's got to go into hospital for minor surgery, but he won't tell anyone what's wrong with him!"

"Yep, sounds like the Admiral!" Loren agreed, the look of disgust on her face an almost perfect match for the expression that Mac was wearing.

"Well... I just hope that it is as minor as he claims. It would be just like him to downplay the seriousness of an illness!"

Loren looked across at Mac in mild surprise, "You still feel... oh... I don't know... respect, admiration, affection for him, after all that's happened?"

Mac's cheeks glowed slightly, "Uh... yeah, well... really... I had a lot of time to think while my mouth was wired shut, and I... uh... sort of realised that I brought a lot of that on myself... So, I can't really blame the man. And even if I did blame him.. I still wouldn't want to wish ill-health on him."

Loren shook her head, "I don't know if I could be that forgiving in your shoes!" she declared firmly.

Mac looked at Loren under her eyelashes as she picked up her soda, and was on the verge of disputing the blonde's verdict on herself, but decided at the last second that maybe the vestiges of the old Lieutenant Witch needed an illusion of some sort to hang on to.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0714hrs EDT, Female VOQs Camp Lejeune, NC (031114ZApr01)**

Loren was expecting Mac's knock on her door so was quite prepared for it when it came, "Enter!" she called, tuning towards the door as it opened.

"Good morning, Loren. All set, Lieutenant?"

"Good morning, Mac. Yes, all set and ready to go, ma'am!"

"Good..." Mac swept her eyes around Loren's room noting the stripped bed and the bulging sea-bag at its foot. "I suggest we leave our bags here and go grab breakfast at the mess hall. God knows when we'll get a chance to eat again!"

Loren laughed, "After last night, I'm not sure that I want to eat today – at all!"

"Not even oatmeal?" Mac grinned, as she led the way outside.

"Oh... I might manage a bowl of that... and I definitely could manage a cup of coffee... or two... or three... Yeah, even mess hall coffee!" she added as she saw Mac begin to grin. And then changing the subject she asked, "Any word on timings from Colonel McMahon, yet?"

"Not yet... he said he was calling in a favour, so I guess it'll take a little time... which works to our... well, to my advantage."

"How _does_ that work out?" Loren asked as she settled into her seat in the Humvee.

"I still want to speak with the OIC Bravo Company about that female Private... Ormond."

Loren nodded, "Yeah, I can't get my head around that, at all!"

"Me neither! That's why I want to talk to Captain... Harriman, wasn't it?"

"Yeah... something like that..." Loren agreed as she tried to remember the man's name.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0724hrs EDT, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031124ZApr01)**

"'Morning, Lance Corporal!" Harm greeted the petite blonde at the CP desk.

"Good morning, sir!" Julia Somers replied, and taking a quick glance at the wall clock, she slid the log-in book across the desk towards Harm, "Still not quite zero seven thirty, sir," she said somewhat apologetically, "You'll have to sign in!"

"Not a problem, Lance Corporal," Harm said cheerfully, while Somers retrieved his building pass from the indexed drawer cabinet.

"H'mm.. the Admiral, Judge Morris, Meg... they've all beaten me in..." Harm murmured as he hastily scanned the page, "Hey, Lance Corporal, who is LN One Makepeace?" he asked spotting an entirely unfamiliar name on the page. It wasn't usual for support staff to sign in so early. Even Tiner's name only made it onto the page on rare and widely spaced occasions.

"Oh... That's Admiral Morris' new Legalman, she arrived on Monday, sir!"

"Oh... thanks!" Harm took his building pass from the Marine and clipped it the breast pocket of his shirt before making his way to the elevator.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0748hrs EDT, Bravo Company HQ, 29th Logistics Battalion USMC, (031148ZApr01)**

Captain Harriman received his visitors with a little surprise but no lack of courtesy, "Can I get you anything, Colonel, coffee perhaps?"

"Uh... no thank you Captain, we've just come from the mess hall.!

"As you wish, Colonel. So how may I help you? I understand that you've identified the sonsabitches that put Marion Carpenter in hospital?"

"We have... and this is an entirely unofficial visit to satisfy our – my and Lieutenant Singer's – curiosity." Mac paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. She was concerned about Ormond, but had to believe that Harriman was aware of her and for some reason sympathetic to her remaining in the Corps. Mac took a breath and continued "During our investigation into the attack on Lieutenant Carpenter, we interviewed a number of your troops, including Private Ormond, and what we saw of her made us wonder just how she got through recruitment, boot camp and manages to stay in the Corps."

Harriman nodded, "Ormond..." he said reflectively and with a wry grin, "Well, Colonel, when discussing Private Ormond it's as well to remember Churchill's description of Russia, an enigma, inside a conundrum wrapped up in a mystery. Private Ormond, on first sight, is as you have said the most unlikely Marine ever. But, she graduated boot camp second out of a platoon of forty-four. She may not look it, but she is tough, fit and totally committed to the Corps. Her PFT scores are consistently very high, topping out at least half the guys in the company – in fact she holds the company record for the timed run and isn't far off Olympic qualifying standard for the one hundred metres. She's qualified as marksman on every individual weapon we have, and in addition she's one of the best, if intuitive, auto mechanics we have. In her Platoon Gunnery Sergeant's words she's a mechanical genius. She's never posed a disciplinary problem. Allied to that, she has a burning desire to stay in the Corps. On the negative side, she is totally inept when it comes to personal interaction even with the other members of her platoon, except when she's directing work on a vehicle, and then her shyness drops of like a leaf from a tree. She gets paralysed with fear if she has to talk to officers, and isn't much better when dealing with NCOs, she shows no potential for promotion, which is why she is still a Private after two years in the unit and I still haven't made up my mind what I'm going to do if she wants to re-up at the end of her contract. But until then, I have to go with the flow and keep her on board."

"What about her psychological testing?" Mac wanted to know.

"Within acceptable limits, Colonel." Harriman answered. "Look... I've spoken to Ormond, as has her Platoon Leader and Lieutenant Carpenter, we have all explained to her that while we know she's performing her routine duties well - more than well - that we don't really believe that the Corps is right for her. On every occasion, she has rightly thrown her record and achievements back in our faces. She says she doesn't want promotion, she's happy to stay where she is fixing things that other bone headed jarheads have messed up – her words, not mine!" Harriman grinned.

Mac and Loren exchanged glances remembering the flash of condescension Ormond had provided when she criticised the First Sergeant and his vehicle crew for messing up the ball race on his Humvee, and both officers had to resist the temptation to grin.

"Do I take it that you've had an insight into that aspect of her character?" Harriman asked mildly.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that, Captain," Mac agreed, but then her expression sobered once again, "But what happens, Captain Harriman, if the Battalion gets deployed?"

"Don't think I haven't wondered about that too, Colonel!" Harriman leaned forward, his elbows on the desk and his hands relaxed on his blotter. "At first I decided that there was no question that Ormond would be left with the rear details rump of the battalion here at Lejeune. But, she's a qualified Maine and a better prospect than some of the men I _would_ leave behind because they would be a danger to themselves and their buddies. Ormond isn't, and it wouldn't be fair to her, leaving her with those sad sacks that are un-deployable!"

Mac nodded her head, "I do see where you are coming from! But here's the thing, you've answered every concern I can put into words about Ormond, and your answers have been reasonable and well thought out... but I still can't help feeling that there is something wrong with this whole picture."

"So do I Colonel," Harriman spread his hands, "But unless and until Ormond screws up, there's not a whole lot I can do! I just hope that she doesn't want to re-up when the time comes and she can walk out the Corps and into civilian life with the honourable discharge she deserves"

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0749hrs EDT, Bull Pen, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031149ZApr01)**

Harm leaned back against the galley work bench, took a sip of his freshly poured coffee and almost spat it out as his face froze in a rictus of horror. Damn! He should have realised that it must have been the Admiral that had brewed this particular pot of coffee. Lowering his cup from his mouth, he poured about a third of it's contents into the sink, though for a few seconds, and then poured a little more away before he plugged in the electric kettle to heat more water with which to dilute the contents of his cup.

"A little too much for you to handle, Commander?" A J Chegwidden's vaguely disapproving voice from behind caused Harm to spin and face his CO, who approached the coffee pot with his own mug in hand.

"Just a little, sir," Harm admitted, "Especially at this time of the morning!"

"This time of the morning?" Chegwidden asked, his eyebrows beginning to climb to his non-existent hair line. "The day's nearly half over, Mister Rabb! Although, I suppose it is early by your standards! So what brings you in at this hour?"

"The prospect of seeing you in action in the court-room, sir!"

"You mean you've come to see the old man make a fool of himself, don't you?" Chegwidden challenged him.

'Oh! This is so not fair! I'm damned for insubordination if I say yes, or I'm damn as a brown nose if I say no!' Harm thought while his eyes fixed helplessly on the Admiral's ace, which to his surprise suddenly split into a grin.

"Relax Mister Rabb, I'm not about to insist you answer that!"

"No sir!" Harm explained, unable to completely keep the relief he felt out of his voice. "I... uh... heard from Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Rabb last evening, sir," Harm said desperately trying to change the subject while he tried to come to terms with the thought of the Admiral deliberately winding him up. "They've found out who assaulted Lieutenant... Carpenter, and they should be back in DC sometime late today, sir. They'll let us know as soon as they have an ETA, sir."

"Good!" Chegwidden grunted, as he drained his mug. "Well if you want to watch the old man in action, you'd best get going. Court-room One!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm swallowed the last of his diluted brew and followed the Admiral out of the galley, where the Admiral crossed to his office to collect his file and Harm walked along the edge of the bull pen to deposit his cover and brief case in his office.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0821hrs EDT, Female VOQs Camp Lejeune, NC (031221ZApr01)**

Mac and Loren sat in the Humvee outside of the VOQs, having turned in their room keys. Their bags rested on the vehicle's back seat, and both were dressed for travel. Mac in C Service dress with newly purchased pants in lieu of her skirt and Loren in freshly washed and pressed peanut butters.

Their conversation was limited, as Mac had her lap top on her knees and was tidying up her preliminary report while they waited for the call from Colonel McMahon.

'In some ways, it might have been easier,' Loren grumbled silently, 'if the Colonel hadn't been so damned helpful, then we could have gotten straight on the horn to Tiner and gotten an itinerary almost by return of post... except by the time we had wrapped up the loose ends, Tiner would have secured and we'd have had to wait until this morning anyhow!'

Something in her body language, or the way she fidgeted in her seat attracted Mac's attention, "Something wrong, Lieutenant?" she asked, slightly irritated by being distracted.

"Oh... just pissed with the same old, same old... hurry up and wait!" Loren grouched.

Mac grinned, not entirely without sympathy, "I'll bet the Israelites grumbled about the same thing while they were waiting for David to take down Goliath!"

"And nothing's changed in the last three thousand years!" Loren just about managed a grin in return.

"Yep, that's military life for you!" Mac laughed, easing her shoulders after the stooped posture she'd adopted while typing.

"Not just a career – it's an adventure!" Loren giggled.

"Yep! Just living the life!" Masc quipped back, before they both collapsed back against their seats as they enjoyed their parodying of all the motivational mantras they could remember at short notice.

Their laughter was cut short though by the keenly anticipated ringing of Mac's cell phone. She almost snatched it out of her purse and flipped it opened, "MacKenzie!"

"Colonel, this is McMahon. Are you ready to go?"

"Ready, willing, able and raring!" Mac replied.

"Good... swing by Battalion HQ and I'll have a driver waiting for you to take you out to the LZ, and bring my Humvee back. Lift off in three zero!"

"Thank you, Colonel!" Mac said, a huge grin splitting her face, and hastily shoving her phone back into her purse, she turned the key in the ignition, "We're off! DC here we come!"

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0749hrs EDT, Court Room One, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031149ZApr01)**

"It's a simple case, Your Honour," Meg said to Judge Morris. "Private Rivera was released from hospital after his wounds were treated, and walked out of the door not to be seen or heard of again until he filed for his VA benefits. He deserted his Corps, and resumed a civilian life, and not once in fifty plus years has he evinced any desire to return to the Marines. The government simply asks that Private Rivera be tried for desertion and face the consequences of his actions." Finishing her statement, she sat down and looked across the aisle at Admiral Chegwidden and the aged former Marine dressed neatly in a two piece suit, collar and tie.

Admiral Morris looked at his Legalman who was acting as court recorder for this unscheduled session, "Got all that?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

Morris nodded and looked across at Chegwidden, "Admiral, does the defence have anything to say?"

A J rose to his feet, "We do, Your Honour. We do not deny that Private Rivera walked out of the hospital and took up the reins of his civilian life, and never gave a thought to returning to the Corps, but it is our position that there are mitigating, indeed excusing circumstances surrounding this case. Private Rivera left the hospital under the mistaken impression that when he was discharged from the hospital he was being discharged from the Corps. I have here a statement from the Doctor who released him from hospital saying that while after all the elapsed time he cannot recall precisely what he said to the Private, it is quite possible, according to the usage of the day that he did use the word 'discharge' when speaking with Rivera. I also have a second statement from Colonel Hazard, USMC, Retired, Rivera's former Commanding Officer, that Rivera spoke very little English at the time and that, if I may quote from his statement, 'The Corps took them like that back then, as long as they spoke enough English to understand Semper Fi and follow me!'

"It is the defence position that Private Rivera, through a lack of knowledge of the English language simply misunderstood an ambiguous order, and cannot be held responsible for that. Further, the government have just stated that Private Rivera showed no desire to rejoin the Corps at any time during his fifty years separation. The defence posits that Rivera returned to his home address, his address of record according to his SRB where he has remained until he was arrested a couple of weeks ago. But during all that time, the Marine Corps may no attempt to find Rivera, therefore if Rivera is to blame and is to face court martial for the offence of desertion, then each and every officer of the USMC who for the last fifty years had responsibility for apprehending deserters should also be facing charges, not of desertion but of dereliction of duty! It is also the defence position that it wasn't until Rivera applied for VA benefits to which he believed he had a right, that the Corps finally stirred off their collective behind and decided that he should be arrested and face charges!"

Judge Morris was hard put not smile as he rebuked his fellow Admiral, "Admiral Chegwidden, I must remind you that the USMC is not on trial here!"

"My apologies,Your Honour, I withdraw those statements," Chegwidden managed to reply with a straight face.

"Has the prosecution anything further to add to its case, Commander Austin?" Judge Morris asked.

"No Your Honour," Meg answered.

Morris sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed as he surveyed the almost empty court room, and lightly drummed his fingers on the arm rests of his chair. After a few long moments he looked across at the defence table, and nodded to the Bailiff. "The defence will please rise."

Admiral and Private stood as Morris surveyed them, "I have given consideration to the argument put forward by both prosecution and defence in this case, and have reached a conclusion. While Private Rivera might be guilty of dereliction of duty, although that is debatable given that he thought he had been discharged from the United States Marine Corps, it is my finding that he is not guilty of deliberately deserting his Corps, and that as a result of that finding, I direct that the charges against him are dismissed!" Judge Morris rapped his gavel sharply on his pad, "This hearing is adjourned!"

"All rise!" the bailiff snapped as Morris left the bench.

Meg waited until the judge had departed before she turned to her CO, "That was one case that I did not mind losing, sir!"

"No... and it was one case that I would have minded, and minded greatly, losing, Commander!" Now, if we've quite finished here, I need to find a cup of coffee for myself and Private Rivera, and I have a few 'phone calls to make!"


	48. Chapter 48

**48**

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0838hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031149ZApr01)**

"have you got a couple of minutes, Harm?" Sturgis Turner asked from the Ham's office doorway.

Harm grinned up at his long time friend, "Sure, come on in and take a seat," he said expansively.

Turner not only came in, but to Harm's surprise he closed the office door behind him before he took the offered seat.

"OK, something's bugging you, what is it?" Harm asked.

"Meg Austin." Turner said flatly.

"what about her?" Harm ask in a disinterested manner, hoping to get Sturgis to drop the subject. It was a hope born in vain.

"There's something about her story, about her visit to her mom that just doesn't ring true..." Turner complained.

"Sturgis, yesterday I distinctly heard Meg telling you to drop this. Why has it become so important to you?"

"Because she's hiding something!" Turner said.

"And that is a bad thing?" Harm asked. "Look Turner, we all have things going in our lives that we may not want to become public knowledge – for example I might be having a hard time convincing my family that I know what I'm doing marrying Loren – that's just an example, please note. And I wouldn't necessarily want that to become grist to the rumour mill. If Meg's got something going on that she doesn't want to talk about that's fine by me too, and it should be fine by you as well. Now, I don't pretend to know what Meg is thinking, but unless and until whatever's going in her life impinges on this office, then I don't give a damn what she does with her weekends. She asked me, as acting JAG, to OK her not returning to DC until Monday, and I did. She didn't say why she wanted the personal time, and I didn't ask. She said she'd be back for staff call on Monday and she was. A far as I'm concerned there's an end to it!"

"You didn't ask... is that because you didn't want her to tell?" Sturgis asked.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Harm exploded, "Again I don't know and I don't care, and you ought to know better than to ask me that question. Meg had a weekend off, she returned to duty on time. Where she went that weekend and what she did when she got there is none of my never-mind, and it shouldn't be any of yours either. Now, this subject is closed!"

Sturgis stood and shook his head, "I thought you had a better developed sense of duty," he told Harm.

"Duty? What duty?" Harm asked getting exasperated, "Or do you mean nosiness? Sturgis, let it go!"

"Why are you defending her, Harm. What you are covering up for her?"

"Sturgis, if Meg would have wanted you to know whatever she did, if she did anything, over the weekend, she would have told you. So if, and I stress, if, I knew what she had been about, what makes you think I would betray a confidence?"

"So she _was_ up to something!" Turner declared with satisfaction.

"If, Sturgis, if. It was a conditional statement! And Sturgis, remember what's about to happen to Alison Krennick for prying into the private circumstances of other officers!"

Sturgis drew himself up quickly, "Is that a threat, Harm?"

"God No! Of course it's not a threat! It is, if anything, a friendly word of caution. Don't let this thing with Meg lead you into muddy waters!"

Sturgis just shook his head once more and let himself out of the office while Harm watched him go, a frown on his forehead.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0843hrs EDT, CO's Office, Twenty-Ninth Logistics Battalion, Camp Lejeune, NC (031243ZApr01)**

"In one way, I'm sorry to see you go, Colonel," McMahon said, causing Loren to conceal a grin as she realised that the CO's sorrow didn't extend to seeing _her_ leave with Mac.

"But on the other hand, your leaving also means that I'm greatly relieved that you've found out who attacked my officer, and even more relieved that it wasn't any of my Marines!"

"Of course, the NCIS investigation is ongoing, and I'll take the liberty of keeping you informed of any developments." For a moment his face became grim, revealing to Mac the warrior who wore a Bronze Star among his ribbons, "I want whoever killed my Marines and those NCIS Agents strapped to a gurney and waiting for the needle!"

Mac shivered slightly, chilled by the implacable tone in McMahon's voice, as well as her memory of watching Corporal Caleb Farmer die by that method of execution last year, but in her heart she agreed with McMahon on this case. The disabling and of the Humvee and the wounding of its four occupants were one thing, as was the theft of the Browning .50 calibre, but the execution of four wounded men was something else entirely.

"I'd be grateful if you would keep me up to date, Colonel." Mac said as she dug her card out of her purse. These are my numbers for the time being, I'm about to go TAD on an LHD as MEF JAG in the near future, and until I get settled there, these are the only numbers I can give you. I don't think my cell is going to work somewhere in the middle of the Pacific!"

"Probably not, Colonel, probably not!" McMahon agreed. He glanced at his watch, "But you'd best be going! Lance Corporal Fischer is waiting to take you to the LZ!

"Before we go, Colonel, there is just one item to cover," Mac said.

"And that would be?" McMahon asked.

"Private Ormond, of Bravo Company. When we interviewed her we warned her that she might be need for an identification line-up. A prospect that didn't exactly fill her with confidence. Now that we've got a confession that implicates Forrest, would you make it your business to ensure that Ormond knows she won't be needed for that line-up, please?"

"Ah... Private Ormond," McMahon said. "Yes, of course I will. But you really had best be getting going! Semper Fi, Mac!"

"Semper Fi!" Mac responded, "Lieutenant Singer, with me!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Loren replied, "Colonel!"

"Lieutenant," McMahon replied.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0918hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031149ZApr01) **

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen, dismissed!"

The room echoed with the usual clatter of chairs being pushed back on the wooden floor, and Chegwidden used the noise to mask his "Commander Rabb, with me!"

Rabb obediently fell in into step with his CO, respectfully lagging one step to his right rear, and followed him straight into the JAG's office, where Chegwidden paused before entering and said, "Tiner, coffee for the Commander and myself, please!" The Yeoman's response was lost in the closing of the JAG's office door and Chegwidden's curt, "Take a seat Commander!"

The two men sat, one each side of the desk and Chegwidden rested his elbows on the arms of his chair as he sat back and regarded Rabb, "Did I get a whiff of a touch of tension at Staff Call, Rabb?"

"In what way, sir?" Rabb asked, fighting for time.

"There seemed to be a degree of... suspicion... resentment... anger, even, between Commanders Turner and Austin? And to a lesser degree between Commander Turner and yourself?"

"It's a minor hiccup on the path to establishing a smooth working relationship, sir. If you recall Commander Turner locked horns with Colonel MacKenzie a few times before they started working comfortably together."

"H'mm... yes, I do recall, but this seems to run deeper?"

"That may be a consequence of my overruling Commander Turner's conclusion during the flight deck incident, sir. I believe I did say at the time it would take Sturgis... uh... Commander Turner some time to accept what had happened and move on."

Whatever Chegwidden had been about to say was forestalled by the knock at the door that heralded Tiner's arrival with the requested coffee. The two officers sat in silence, except for Chegwidden's, "Thank you, Tiner!" as the young man turned to leave the office.

"Well, Turner had better damn' well get over it pretty damn' quickly Commander!" Chegwidden jerked upright in his chair and thumped one of its arms with a hard fist, as he returned to the subject at hand, "I have no time and no sympathy for an officer who acts like some sulky, entitled school kid! Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Good! Because by the time I get back from recovering from this procedure, I want this office humming quietly along like some smooth running dynamo! Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Good!" Chegwidden seemed to deflate slightly, as he leaned forward and took a file folder from the top of the stack in his in-tray. "This arrived in this morning's mail. It's the notification for Commander Krennick's appearance in front of the professional conduct review board. It's for two week's time. It's taken them long enough to get round to scheduling the hearing, but it couldn't have come at a worse time. We need to supply testimony concerning both of Captain Coulter's trials, that is easy enough, we simply submit the transcripts. But we also need to show clear evidence of inadequate defence, which means, considering that she did the groundwork for the new trial, that Lieutenant Singer will have to prep herself for the hearing. Commander Imes may also be required, but if so, her evidence will be less critical. It is Lieutenant Singer's analysis of the original trial, together with her conclusions and recommendations that will form much of the evidence, in addition of course to her deposition! To that end, I strongly suggest you keep her out of any major investigations until the hearing is concluded."

"Suits me, sir!" Harm agreed, unable to entirely prevent a grin flashing across his face.

"Oh?" Chegwidden asked, a look of mild interest on his face.

"Yeah... it's... uh..." Harm stumbled to a stop, realising belatedly that he had revealed far more than he had intended.

"Yes, it's what?" Chegwidden pressed Harm, fighting down his own grin as he became aware that for once he had the cocky hot-shot attorney in front of him on the ropes.

"Uh... nothing much sir, it's just that the apartment has felt kinda empty these last few evenings while she's been at Lejeune..."

Chegwidden nodded an acknowledgement and then let his wry grin show, "Mister Rabb, if we'd had women in the Navy twenty-five, thirty years ago... the way we have them today, not in a separate Corps, then I have a feeling that officers of my generation would have learned the lessons that you're learning today, and maybe, just maybe, not quite as many of my contemporaries would have ended up in the divorce court!" And as he spoke, the former Seal couldn't help feeling a pang of regret over his divorce from Marcella and the subsequent lost years of Francesca's childhood.

"You're not being fair on yourse... uh... on your contemporaries, sir. It was a different Navy back then, hell, sir it was a different world!"

"Not quite so much of the 'back then', Mister! Yeah, the world was different, but it was beginning to change, but we... well, we just didn't see the changes until it was too late!"

There wasn't much Harm could say in reply to that, so he just nodded in acknowledgement of his chief's words.

"And talking of things changing, Mister Rabb, did I detect a couple of signs that you are getting pre-wedding jitters?"

"No sir," Harm replied, wondering what he could have said or done to give the Admiral that impression.

"It's just that a couple of times in the last week you've referred to Lieutenant Singer as Lieutenant Rabb. Are you just jumping the gun, or is there something you need to tell me?"

Harm felt his ears burn red. "Uh... Freudian slips sir? Anticipating the event?" he suggested.

"Maybe," the Admiral conceded.

"Definitely, sir!" Harm responded as his confidence flowed, "We've booked the Episcopalian Church here in Falls Church for the last Saturday in June. We're waiting on the invitations so we can send them out, the ones for people here at JAG we'll hand deliver of course – and yours will be the first!"

"That's damned good of you, Rabb!" Chegwidden said, and to Harm's surprise, almost shyly.

"Nonsense, sir – if you'll allow the expression. Without your support, Loren and I could never have made it this far – it's the very least we could do!"

"Yes...well... It's all very good talking about wedding plans, but that wasn't what I called you in here for! Let's get back to cases, Alison Krennick!"

"Yes, sir!" Harm replied, and in fact he was relieved to get off the subject of his forthcoming wedding, and he admitted silently to himself, he hadn't even realised that he was already beginning of think of Loren as a Rabb.

"Apart from Krennick's standards committee hearing, there's also the matter of her court martial. I know you've seen the file, but it still needs to wait until after the hearing. That's for two reasons, it wouldn't be fair on her to put her in front of the committee with a fresh federal conviction already to her name, and secondly it needs the committee finding her guilty of inadequate defence to support the dereliction of duty charge. The court martial will again rely on evidence from Lieutenant Singer and yourself, as well as evidence from Commander Austin. This is a nasty mess, Rabb. I want the court martial to be as quick and as surgically clean as possible... There's something inherently distasteful about a Navy Officer sneaking around, keeping tabs on his or her fellow officers!" Chegwidden paused significantly before he continued, "I hope I've made myself clear, Commander?"

"You have, sir! Eminently so!" But once again he wondered where the hell the Old Man was getting his information. He certainly seemed to be hinting that Sturgis was overstepping his bounds, and unpleasant though the prospect was, it was beginning to look as if he, Harm, needed to have a further word in Sturgis Turner's ear!

"Well, if we understand each other, Commander, then I suggest we adjourn now until our scheduled meeting at fourteen hundred!"

Harm got to his feet and adopted the position of attention, "Aye, aye, air!" he acknowledged his dismissal and turned for the door.

Chegwidden watched him go, a sombre expression on his face. He hoped the veiled warnings he had just given had been well and truly taken on board by the younger officer. Although he had no knowledge, and no way of knowing just how Meg Austin had passed the previous weekend, he had his suspicions, and if he was right then Rabb had either turned a blind eye, or was condoning or even seconding a forbidden relationship. Chegwidden really had no objection to Victor Galindez as a fit mate for Meg Austin, or any other woman, under any other circumstances. It was a blessing in disguise, perhaps, that Victor Galindez was hors de combat and likely to remain so for some time. Without the two of them in the office for the foreseeable future he may be able to maintain plausible deniability. As long as Turner didn't rock the damn' boat!

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 0937hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031337ZApr01)**

By the time Harm returned to his own office his face was creased in a wide grin. No sooner had he stepped out of the Admiral's office when he was accosted by Yeoman Two Tiner, "Sir, I didn't have time to sort through the telephone messages before you went into speak with Admiral, but while we were in Staff Call, Colonel MacKenzie called for you. She and Lieutenant Singer were about to board an aircraft to bring them into Andrews, she's given an ETA of ten fifty hours, sir!"

Harm had felt the grin forming even as he'd replied, "Thank you, Tiner! Thank you very much!"

Tiner watched the Commander cut across the bull pen. He had seen the grin spreading across the officer's face and was damn' sure that it wasn't the Colonel's return that had caused it. He made a little wish that one day, he too, would find a woman, the news of whose return home from a short absence would make him as happy as Commander Rabb was right here and right now.

Harm was still grinning as he picked up the Richardson file from his in-tray, There was a faint hope that he would get full co-operation from the ONI, but he was far more certain that it would take judges' orders to get the minimum co-operation from that department and that the first thing they would say would be to deny everything and then if he persisted to plead an inability to disclose information because to do so would be against the interests of national security.

Harm sighed and ran his hand though his hair in irritation. He had (reluctantly) worked with the CIA on previous occasions, and had come to despise their hole in the corner attitude. If ever heard 'question of national security' or 'need to know' ever again in this life it would be too soon. Thinking of the CIA however sparked an almost forgotten memory buried at the back of his brain. It had been way back at the beginning of ninety-seven, a Marine, an escaped prisoner from the brig at Groton, had finagled his way into JAG and had taken the Admiral, Mac and Bud hostage, demanding an investigation into his conviction for treason, claiming he had been set up under circumstances remarkably similar to those under which Captain Richardson had been convicted, right down to the use of a female 'foreign' agent and the photographs showing an exchange of envelopes.

Already knowing that what he was about to do would probably be a waste of time, Harm reached for his 'phone and called a long-unused number.

The female voice which answered was light, almost musical, and came as a compete surprise to Harm.

"_Commander Carmichael's office, how may I help you_?"

"Good morning, this is Commander Rabb at JAG HQ, I'd like to speak with Commander Carmichael, please."

"_If you'll hold the line for one moment, sir. I'll see if he is free to speak with you_."

Harm settled back and waited for what seemed an age but was probably no more than two minutes before the female voice sounded in his ear again.

"_Putting you though now, sir_."

A couple of clicks sounded in the telephone's ear piece and Harm heard a faintly incredulous voice over the wire, "_Rabb_?_ Harmon Rabb_?"

"Yes, Bruce, it's Harm Rabb."

"_Well, well, well.., after all this time... let's see now... it must be ...oh... over four years. Four years without a word, and now suddenly, just like a bolt from the blue... Must mean you want something from a guy who thought he was your friend, but hasn't heard from you in so long.._." Bruce Carmichael loaded his voice with sarcasm.

Harm bit his tongue. It was true he hadn't spoken with Carmichael since the ONI clusterfuck that led to Meg getting shot in the head. "Yeah, it's true, I do want something, and no, it's not personal. I'm calling you because we used to have a pretty close friendship and I need some information."

"_Yeah, we used to, didn't we? But we don't anymore... and who's fault is that? Who totally lost it and blamed me for something over which I had very little control? But, let's put that behind us for the moment. Suppose that I can help you, and that I want to help you – and they are not necessarily the same thing,_ w_hat's in it for me? Quid pro quo, and all that_," Carmichael said coolly.

"The same that I'm getting out of it, the knowledge that an injustice has been put right."

"_Ah... Rabb the idealist... And what makes you think that would be good enough for me?_" Carmichael asked.

"OK, how about a sense of having done the right thing, and then add in that I'd owe you one!"

"T_he right thing... h'mm... that and a coupla bucks will buy you a coffee, I suppose. But, yeah the thought of you owing me sounds more like it... but, if this is official business, why are you throwing around offers of favours to be called in?_"

"Because I'm hoping that you'll be able to help me without me having to go through all sorts of bureaucratic BS."

Carmichael sighed, "_OK... run it past me so that I can see the brand.._."

"Right. It's a case from fourteen fifteen years ago. A Captain Richardson was convicted of treason, but it's beginning to look as if he was innocent all along, just as he claimed, and that he was set up by an ONI Officer that the witness only knew as 'Captain Smith'..."

"_Stop! Stop right there, Rabb. I don't want to hear any more. What you're looking into is way, way, higher than my pay-grade! All I can tell you is that there is not, and never has been a Captain Smith that works or has in the past worked for this office!_"

"For Christ's sake, Bruce, don't start giving me the old 'classified' and 'national security' crap!" Harm protested.

"_That's exactly what it is,_" Carmichael replied, "_And for the sake of our old friendship, take a neighbourly word of advice; let this one drop, Rabb. Although it's probably too late for that now. If you know either of those names then you are already in too deep for comfort. So, if you want to stay alive and free, forget you ever heard either name and forget the case, and most importantly, for both our sakes, forget that we ever had this conversation! Call me back in another four years – if you're still around_!" With a resounding 'click' the line went dead, leaving Harm staring in disbelief at the silent handset and muttering sulphurously under his breath.

Taking a deep breath, Harm called on his inner reserves to calm himself down while he thought about his next step. Obviously there was something dark and dirty going on with the Richardson case. Carmichael's reaction was sufficient evidence of that on its own, but whatever it was it only served to convince Harm that his client had been railroaded, and with ONI refusing to play ball, he would have to try another, equally dubious source.

With a grimace of distaste Harm dialled a second familiar but mostly unused number and waited for the a reply.

"_Webb_."

"Webb, this is Rabb. Are you free to talk?"

"_Why_?"

"Because if you're not, I don't want to spoil your game or put you at risk, and I'll call you back later!"

"_What do you want, Rabb_?" Webb asked querulously.

"Do you remember Corporal Maguda?"

"_Maguda? Of course I remember him! You nearly cost me my job on that one, Rabb_!"

"Yeah... well... here's the thing, Webb, I've just been handed a case, an appeal against conviction and sentence. Which is almost a carbon copy of the Maguda case, except that it foreshadows it by about ten years. This case was brought by the ONI, who seem to have been guilty of entrapment at the very least."

"_And how would you know this_?" Webb demanded, in not quite a sneer.

"A death-bed confession by the female agent provocateuse."

"_So if you've got a confession – duly signed and notarised, I assume – what do you want from me_?"

"The problem is that the confession only names a Captain Smith of the ONI. The ONI of course deny that they ever had a Captain Smith on their strength at that, or any other time, and are refusing to tell us the names of their then-active agents on the grounds that it affects national security!"

"_I repeat, what do you want me to do_?"

"Well the investigation involved a purported foreign national – Chinese to be precise – and with the foreign angle figured in I reckon that the State Department moght have an insight into the case," he deliberately referenced Webb's favourite cover story.

"_Why should I help you_?"

"Because beneath that spook suit you wear, at heart, you know it's the right thing to do!"

"_OK... look Rabb, I've got to go now... something's about to break. But once it's over I'll do a bit of digging and see if I can come up with something, OK?_"

"Yeah... thanks, Webb. When can I expect to hear from you?"

"_I'll call you when or if I find anything, otherwise, sayanora!"_

For the second time in the space of a few minutes Harm ended up glaring at the silent handset in his grasp before he slammed it back down into its cradle.

He stared at it broodingly for a few moments longer before giving a mental shrug. With things as they now stood, there wasn't much he could do with the case unless and until Webb got back to him, and he privately resolved that if he hadn't heard from the spook within a week he'd call him back and try if a little extra persuasion wouldn't bear fruit. In the meantime, he still had more than enough in his in-tray to keep him occupied, and reaching out he grabbed the next file from the top of the stack.

A Petty Officer Bosun's Mate Second Class, stationed at the Navy Yard, DC, was accused of fleeing the scene of an accident, an Article 134 case. Harm was to prosecute, while Meg Austin was to defend. Despite the mundane nature of the case, Harm's face split into a grin. It had been a long, long time since time since he and Meg had appeared in the court-room, and this, if he remembered correctly, would be the first time they had faced off against each other.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 1148hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031548ZApr01)**

Harm had gotten through a tolerable amount of paperwork in the past two hours in anticipation of being tied up in the Admiral's office for most of the afternoon, and had even persuaded a reluctant Commander at the Navy Yard to send Bosun's Mate Two Edwards to Falls Church for a ten hundred hours interview tomorrow morning. He would have preferred an earlier time slot, but the need to chair the staff call in light of the Admiral's absence precluded that.

Taking a break from his copious note-taking he glanced up at the clock, wondering if he could risk standing easy for lunch a few minutes early. He still hadn't quite made up his mind, when he was disturbed by the chirping of his cell phone, "Rabb," he announced as he flipped the phone open.

"_Hey, Mister Lawyer Man, just to let you know I'm back in town_!"

"Loren!" His face split into the widest gin it had worn in days, "Where are you?"

"_I'm in the parking lot, Mac just dropped me off to collect my car_." Loren answered.

"I'll be right down! I was just considering an early lunch!"

"_Oh... I wish I could! But I'm in peanut butters, and you know that's a huge no-no in the DC area..._"

"OK, no sweat. Do you remember Cathy's Cookie Corner, off Broad Street?"

"_Yes, of course I remember it! But really Harm, no can do! I need to get home, get out of this rig and then I've got a host of chores to do this afternoon."_

"Are you sure you can't...?"

Loren pulled face when she heard the disappointment in Harm's voice, _"I am sorry. Sweetheart, but perhaps if you could secure early...?"_

"Not much chance of that," Harm replied regretfully, "I've got a fourteen hundred meeting with Admiral, and God knows how long that's going to take... But I will be home at the earliest moment I can manage!"

"_We'll just have to make do with that, then. But mind now, no bringing work home with you. I'll fix dinner before you get back, and then.._." Loren's voice dropped to a low husky whisper, "_and then, Mister Lover Man, you're going to have to live up to your promise!_"

Harm swallowed twice before he could speak through a suddenly tight throat, "You are so going to pay for that!" he warned Loren in a voice almost as husky as her own.

"_Hah! More promises_!" Loren laughed.

"Just wait and see!" Harm chuckled.

"_I intend to... see you later, sweetheart! I love you_!"

"Love you too!" Harm rejoined and waited for the click that told him that Loren had hung up.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 1358hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (031758ZApr01) **

Tiner looked up as he sensed Harm's presence at his doorway and checking his watch said "Go on in Commander, he's expecting you!"

Harm raised an eyebrow slightly, and then rapped on the Admiral's door-jamb.

"Enter!" the gruff voice called.

Harm did as he was bid and closing the door behind him, he turned back towards the Admiral and crossed the expanse of carpet, coming to a halt in front of the polished expanse of the desk top. "Commander Rabb, reporting as ordered, sir!" he rapped out.

"'Afternoon, Rabb, take a seat!" the older man commanded and waited, leaning back in the Big Chair as Harm did so. "Now, we have a lot to get through this afternoon! So let's get to it! First off, strength of headquarters. I expect Commander Imes and Lieutenant Barlow to be back on duty tomorrow, as I do Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer. However, bearing in mind Colonel MacKenzie's impending departure and the loss of either you or Lieutenant Singer – I have spoken to the SecNav, and there is no way that he agrees that keeping both you and Lieutenant Singer falls under the heading 'for the benefit of the service', so one of you will have to go., that's an end to it!" he added as he saw Harm about to speak.

"I agree, sir!" Harm said, startling his chief, "So far Lieutenant Singer and I have been lucky. She hasn't burnt the breakfast and I haven't forgotten to take out the garbage. But it's in human nature, sir, that those things, or similar will happen, and when it does, or they do, it would be difficult to keep a personal issue from intruding into the office." Harm fell silent for a few moments before he continued, "And this might sound strange, but much as I've missed Loren these past few days, it's actually been refreshing. I know that sounds weird, and I can't really explain it, but it's added a little something to our relationship,,, and I can't help feeling that, on my part at least, that if we were to continue to work together as well as live together then pretty soon we'd find ourselves getting... I don't know, I guess stale?"

"Not the most eloquent or most perfectly constructed sentence I've ever heard from your lips, Rabb, but it actually did make sense! But that wasn't the point of my remarks. What I was about to say was that given the anticipated loss of two attorneys, I have pressed the SecNav to approve an increment to our current budget for two extra attorneys, one O-Four and one O-Five – that's over and above a replacement for you or Lieutenant Singer, whichever of you decides to go." He opened a folder on his desk and took from it two brown envelopes which he handed to Harm.

"One of those is addressed to you, the other is for Lieutenant Singer. Each contains a letter offering three options for future appointments. All involve you both retaining your twenty-five hundred designator; in your case it would be professional suicide to change your designator for a third time, and quite frankly, I don't really see what Lieutenant Singer could change her designator to. However, if you disagree with my thinking, then you are of course completely free to contact your detailers and have them look for other appointments. But before you do, bear in mind that I have researched the possibilities very carefully, with regard to both your future appointments and spousal co-location." He grinned bleakly, "I also had to twist one or two arms to make sure that the appointments weren't just a sideways step!"

Harm made as if to open his envelope but was stopped by the Admiral's upraised hand, "No, don't open it now, take them home with you and then you and Lieutenant Singer can take the time to think about what you want to do and discuss it between yourselves. I take it that is how you decide things?"

"Yes, sir!" Harm grinned.

"H'mm..." Chegwidden fixed him with a beady-eyed stare. "Very well. Now as to the two other attorneys, I don't expect for a moment that anything will happen before I return to duty, but it does no harm to be prepared. So have Lieutenant Sims get everything ready for them. This is going to be a squeeze, but it was bound to happen. Open up the old Chief of Staff's office and get the archives stored there moved down to the basement storage. You'll have to muster a working party and it will probably take a couple of days, at least, and don't forget to have someone update the archive catalogue so that we know where everything is – it might be a chance to let PS Three Hawkins show us what she can do!"

"Aye, aye,sir!"

"All right, let's move on... What's your case load?"

"The Richardson appeal, sir and three minor cases, all fall under Article One Three Four."

"Any of the minor cases seem particularly complex?"

"No, sir!"

"Very well, hand them off to Barlow, Warren and Fairchild!"

"The unholy trinity, sir?"

Chegwidden gave a crack of laughter, "So that's what they're being called, is it! Well, it could be worse! Yes, hand the minor cases off to them. This Richardson case is going to take a while I reckon, and you'll have your hands full with this job as well as that. Remember that for the moment you've got four senior attorneys. Colonel MacKenzie and Commanders Turner, Imes, Austin and Mattoni, so don't be afraid to use 'em. You've also got two good lieutenants, Roberts and Singer."

"Now... Private Rivera. As soon as I got out of court this morning, I sent the results of the article thirty-two hearing and Colonel Hazard's recommendation for the Silver Star on to the SecNav to have him resurrect the award. I also took the opportunity to speak with the CMC – we're in pretty good shape with him at the moment, thanks to you and the Maxwell, Lucas and Dawson business!" Even now, Chegwidden couldn't prevent an expression of disgust appearing on his face as he recalled that case.

"The upshot of that conversation is that Rivera will stay with me for the time being, and will spend some of that time being fitted for a suit of Marine Corps Dress Blues. As soon as the award is ratified then Rivera will be formally presented with his medal at a ceremony to be held at Eighth and I. The office will be closed for that ceremony and except for essential duty personnel attendance at the ceremony is mandatory! Uniform of the Day will be Dress Whites for Navy personnel and Dress Blues for the Colonel and the Gunny. And come hell or high water, Rabb, I _will_ be there, even if I have to have two sailors to hold me upright! You will also need to ensure that Colonel Hazard is invited to attend! And while you're waiting for the award to be ratified and arrangements made, chase the VA and make sure that Rivera gets the full scale of benefits he has earned!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm replied enthusiastically.

"Well... that's the dull uninteresting stuff over and done with. Now down to the real business," Chegwidden spoke dryly, "A case by case review!"

"Uh... before we do, sir..."

"Yes, what is it Commander?"

"Colonel MacKenzie sir..."

"What about her?"

"Sir, did you know that she has recently discovered she has hitherto unknown family?"

"I heard she had a cousin, one that bears a remarkable resemblance to the Colonel."

"Yes, sir. It was a bit eerie. If you remember the case of Lieutenant Schonke, way back when you first took command, the cryptographer on the Seahawk, found murdered at Norfolk?"

"Yes, I remember. Wasn't she your girlfriend?"

"Uh... sort of sir, but it was the fact that she was almost identical in looks to the Colonel that threw me at the Rose Garden. It was like seeing a ghost."

"I can only try to imagine, and now this MacKenzie cousin turns up also looking like your dead lieutenant?"

"Exactly sir. But the point is, the Colonel and her cousin, a Captain USMC, have hit it off pretty good, and Mac would like the opportunity to meet with the Captain's family before she goes TAD, and if I'm going to be in the Big Chair, I would be of a mind to grant her a few days leave, so that she can visit with them in Fort Sill."

"Fort Sill? Army?"

"Yes, sir, as far as I can gather her uncle is a Bird Colonel, Field Artillery."

"So... you're telling me this, why?"

"I guess, I just wanted to know what your feelings on the matter might be,sir."

"Well, if you're sitting in the Big Chair, it's got to be your executive decision, but for what it's worth a six month deployment is generally preceded by a period of leave. And if you're happy that you can cover her absence for that week then I have no objections in principle. Just bear in mind that the Colonel's orders are already cut and signed; all that is needed on them is the effective date. That date, Commander was to have been within a week of the resolution of the Brumby court case. However in the light of what you have just told me, I'm happy to grant a further week's extension so that the Colonel can visit her family. Is that clear?"

"As daylight, sir!"

"Good!" Chegwidden grunted, "Now unless there is anything else we need to discuss, shall we get on with the case review?"

"I can't wait, sir!" Harm grinned.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 1742hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington DC, (032142ZApr01) **

Loren had spent a busy afternoon. Her first order of business after returning home had been a lengthy shower and hair washing session, followed by the welcome sensation of putting on civilian clothes after the last few days of wearing nothing but uniform. That had been followed by a trip to the basement with arm loads of underwear for the washing machine and then to the cleaners where she handed over her heavily soiled summer whites and her three sets of peanut butters for professional cleaning.

The cleaner had sucked his teeth and shaken his head doubtfully as he saw the state of the whites, the combination of perspiration and the reddish North Carolina dust had marked them up pretty permanently, he had told Loren, but he'd mark them for special attention and see what happened. The peanut butters, or khakis as he called them weren't too bad, and she should call back in a couple of days for them, but the whites? A week at least.

It wasn't what Loren had been hoping to hear, but she had been semi-prepared to hear that they were a hopeless case, and the prospect of them being restored to pristine whiteness, even if was going to cost her extra, was infinitely preferable to spending on a new set of whites.

Now back in the apartment she changed into a simple pale blue floral pattern shift dress that fell to her knees and and set about starting dinner. The salad was soon shredded and tossed and then stowed away in the fridge to keep it crisp while she layered spinach leaves, mushrooms and onions between sheets of pasta for a vegetable lasagne.

The smell of the baking lasagne soon filled the kitchen and wafted into the lounge and was the first thing that Harm noticed when he opened the door. Tossing his cover onto the side table by the door, he dropped his briefcase in alongside it and crossed to the arch leading to the kitchen.

Loren had heard the door close, and hastily wiping her hands she spun around just as Harm almost filled the arch, "Hi, sailor," she breathed.

"Hi yourself, sailor," he growled in a voice pitched to cause shivers to run up and down Loren's spine while she could see the goose bumps spring into life along her arms.

"Have a good day?" she asked as she took a single step towards him.

"Not bad," he replied nonchalantly as he too took a step to close the gap, "How was yours?"

"Oh the flight up from Lejeune was much better than the trip down there, and I've managed to run a few errands while I've was waiting for you to get home," she answered lightly as she took a second, slow step.

"Well... I'm home now," Harm said, although he could barely squeeze the words through his tightened throat, and took another step towards Loren so that there was now less than a foot between them.

"You took your own sweet time!" Loren smiled through her mock pout.

"I came as quick as I could..." Harm grinned in reply.

"Just as long as you don't later!" Loren shot back at him, her smile now on of pure naughtiness.

"No, ma'am..."! Harm agreed and then he lost his smile, "Do you think that maybe, just perhaps, this pantomime has reached it's final act?"

"I think it might just have..." breathed Loren, reaching for him.

Three minutes later, both of them dishevelled and breathing hard, Loren slid down from the island where Harm had sat her after picking her up off her feet. "The... rest... of that... is going... to have to... wait... sailor!" she gasped.

"I don't know... if I... can!" Harm protested, reaching for her again, "God... I missed you... so much!"

Loren looked up at him through lust-darkened eyes and gulped convulsively, "Me too!" she agreed fervently, "But we... we're going... to have to wait..." she said as her breathing slowly steadied, "I haven't... spent all afternoon... trudging around the stores... and... then cooking... dinner... just to let it... burn! And... and..." she closed her eyes and fought for control, "You... need to... take... a shower..."

"Loren..." Harm protested.

"No! Go... shower... change... then dinner... and then..."

"You're a cruel woman!"

"Am not... I'm just letting the anticipation build... Please... Harm?"

"Ohhhh!" he groaned as he backed away.

If either of them had thought the atmosphere in the apartment had ever been electrical before, they were quickly disabused of that belief. The tension between them as they ate dinner, barely tasting it, despite Loren's kitchen craft, was almost palpable and more than once as they ate, they gave silent thanks that the table was between them.

At length Loren laid her knife and fork neatly on her plate and taking a sip of the chilled Chablis, which for all its flavour this evening, might have been water and whispered huskily, "Dessert?"

"No!" Harm growled emphatically, and jerking to his feet, let his chair skitter across the floor behind him. He rounded the table and took both of Loren's hands in his, "No dessert, no coffee, and no..." he bent and scooped her up into his arms causing her to give a little squeak of surprise and wrap her arms around his neck for support, "no damned washing up!"

"Harm – you caveman!" Loren yelped in laughing protest, as he spun on his heels and carried her into the bedroom.

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 1812hrs EDT, Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington DC, (032212ZApr01) **

It was hardly surprising that Mac, once she had dropped off Loren at the Falls Church parking lot, followed pretty much the same routine of laundry visiting the cleaners and grocery shopping. About the only thing different she did was to repack her sea-bag and replace it in the trunk of her car.

Returning from her visit to the store she played her messages whole she unpacked the single grocery bag of mostly canned vegetables and ready meals; there were the usual cold-calls from double-glazing and loft insulation salesmen and one from a Madame Josefina, offering Tarot readings and a glimpse of her hidden future, 'Huh, not much of a clairvoyant if she couldn't tell I was out when she called!" Mac grinned. But there were two calls from Sue, the first merely asking her to call back when convenient, the second, sounding a little more urgent.

Now... that was an idea, maybe it would save her from eating alone this evening. She dialled the number Sue had left and was rewarded four rings later by a slightly breathless and cautiously whispered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Sue, it's Mac – Sarah. I've just got your messages. I've been out of town on an investigation and I'm just getting my stuff sorted out. Was there anything urgent? You sounded a bit... urgent on your second call."

"Oh... Hi. Sarah. Yeah I was a little worried when I couldn't reach you... I... uh... lost your cell number..."

"Well... I'm back, safe and sounds and all in one piece, so quit worrying. And I'm sorry I didn't call... it's just that over the years I've gotten out of the habit of having people worry about me and what I'm doing, so it never crossed my mind that I should maybe call, and I'm truly sorry for that."

"Oh... it's OK... just as long as..."

"No, Sue, it's not OK." Mac drew a breath, "Maybe I can make it up to you slightly, if you're not busy this evening. Why don't you call round at about nineteen thirty hours hours, I'll put something in the oven and I'll even lay on a quart of ice-cream...

"Chocolate chip mint?" Sarah asked hopefully.

"If that's your preference, chocolate chip mint it is!" Mac agreed with a grin, "And once we've eaten we can put a movie on the DVD... whaddya say?"

"OK, sounds great, but since I got to choose the ice cream, you choose the movie!"

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 1942hrs EDT, Galway Bay Pub, Annapolis, MD, (032342ZApr01)**

"I don't see why we had to drive all the way out here," Raoul grumbled as Julia applied the parking brake.

"Because I wanted a quiet evening with you, away from our usual haunts where we've seen that we can't sit down on our own for more than ten minutes before one or more of our 'buddies' come and join us, and you're too soft hearted to tell them to get lost, and you won't even let me do the same!" she explained with the air of someone who has just finished stating the obvious for the forty-eleventh repetition in a short time. " Besides this place does the best crab cakes for miles around, and the best Guinness anywhere!"

"What so wrong with having a drink with a buddy or two?" Raoul demanded.

Julia looked at him and shook her head sadly, "Nothing at all!" she exclaimed, and opened her car door. "But... it's just every now and then when we go out on a date, I'd like to have you all to myself for the evening. Having our friends around all the time, and it never being just you and me is kinda cramping my style!"

"Don't bother me none!" Raoul declared with a grin as he rounded the front of the car, swung Julia off her feet in an embrace that was impossible for her to wriggle out of, and kissed her soundly.

"Raoul Hernandez! You put me down this instant!" the diminutive blonde yelled once he broke the kiss.

"Quiet woman, or I'll just tuck you under my arm and carry you into the pub!" Raoul grinned down at her.

"You wouldn't dare!" Julia yelled, and then as she saw the gleam in his eye she hastily added, "I take it back! I take it back! You would, wouldn't you?"

"You want to make a bet that I wouldn't?" Raoul responded.

"No! I believe you! Now, please, put me down? Pretty please?" Julia begged turning soulful eyes to his.

"Damn! You know I can't resist you when you do that!" Raoul groaned.

"Just makes up for you being a big bully!" Julia grinned as her feet touched the ground, although behind her smile she was wondering what the hell had just happened. She gazed at big, gentle man she'd fallen for, and then just when she thought she had him all figured out, he went and pulled a stunt like that in public!

Raoul returned Julia's smile with a broad grin of his own. To his mind Julia had become far too complacent, too certain of his biddable nature under all circumstances. It had been time, and past time, to remind her that she didn't hold _all_ the trump cards in her little game.

"So... did someone mention crab cakes?" he asked

**Wednesday 3 April 2001 2311hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington DC, (040311ZApr01)**

Harm awoke from his doze, conscious of three sensations, the first was the chill of the air on his sweat dampened skin and the second was the warmth of Loren's body pressed against his side and the weight of her head on his shoulder, the third was her voice whispering in his ear, "Harm... I can't sleep..."

"H'mm... he tilted his head and squinted down at the pale glow of her hair in the light seeping around the edges of the window blinds. "So..." he twisted in bed and loomed over her, tilting her face towards his with a gentle hand

"No... not now... not yet... You kept your promise.. I'm done for now..."

"So what do you want, sweetheart?" he propped himself on one elbow and idly twirled a length of her hair around his index finger

"I want to talk," she answered, staring up into his eyes.

"About?"

"About us." Loren answered.

"Why?" for a second a cold hand gripped Harm's heart and he was hard pressed to keep his voice at a conversational level.

"I want to know what's going to happen to us... oh, not personally," she added as she felt Harm, despite his best efforts, tense as he heard her words, "but professionally... has the Admiral said anything to you yet?"

"Yeah... he has. But I think before we get into that, I'd best let you know what's happening in the immediate future. First off, Gunny's still in hospital and it looks like his full recovery is going to be a matter of months, not days or weeks. Secondly, the Admiral is going into hospital tomorrow for a procedure which he says isn't drastic, but will keep him out of the office for a few weeks while he recovers. And that, my darling, puts me firmly back into the Big Chair, just in time to cope with Mac and her participation in Brumby's trial which is coming up in just under two weeks time, and then to pack her off on her TAD."

"So... she's not going to be in town for our wedding?"

"Unlikely," Harm agreed and then as Loren fell silent, "What's going through that mind of yours? I thought you weren't too eager to have her at our wedding?"

"I wasn't... but that was before Lejeune..." Loren answered.

"Things worked out between you?" Harm asked. It was the result he'd been hoping for, but he had thought that just one investigation wouldn't be enough to cause a volte face in Loren's feelings.

"Not fully, not yet," Loren admitted, "But they could be, very easily. I think we have a pretty solid base from which we can work together and move forward."

"That's good to hear!" Harm enthused, "but I spoke with the Admiral today, for most of the afternoon, actually, and one of the topics we talked about was Mac. I'm afraid there's no leeway there. He has cut and signed Mac's TAD orders for the Guadalcanal, and the effective date will be two weeks after Brumby's trial. I managed to get him to agree that she should have a week's leave before she deployed aboard, but that's as much slack as he would agree to cut her."

"That's a shame," Loren said mournfully, "She's changed so much over the past few weeks since Brumby was arrested. I even saw some flashes of the Mac that could have attracted you in the past!"

"Not worried about that?" Harm teased her gently.

"Nuh-huh."Loren shook her head, "Do I need to be?"

"Hell, no!" Harm denied firmly. "I'll admit that at one time yeah, I thought there was something between Mac and me, and I confess I hoped that there might be something more. But that was before a bad-tempered, cold-hearted, sharp-tongued and totally adorable blonde Lieutenant came into my life!"

"Bad tempered? Cold Hearted? Sharp Tongued? Mister, if I weren't so damned tired I'd make you eat those words!" Loren huffed and glared at him. "But as it is, that was a nice save with the 'totally adorable'! So this time you get to slide! But that, Mister," she poked him sharply in the ribs with a finger-jab, "Is a one time event, only!"

"The prosecution rests, you have just made my point!" Harm grinned so broadly that even in the gloom Loren could see the flash of his teeth.

"Hey, you keep pushing and you'll really see some bad temper!" she scowled.

"Nope, ain't got the energy for that," Harm smiled, and resettled himself on the pillows, his arm tightening around Loren's back to bring her head back to rest in the hollow of his shoulder.

They lay in a warm comfortable shared silence for a while until Loren spoke again, "Harm... what are we going to do about billets once we're married?"

Harm sighed, "Damn... I was so comfortable that I was hoping to put this off until tomorrow!" He rolled over and switched on the lamp on the night-stand leaving both of them blinking and squinting as their eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

"Where are you going?" Loren asked while she propped herself up on one elbow as Harm swung out of bed and pulled on his boxers.

"Back in a moment!" he replied leaving her to glare after him, her question completely unanswered.

But he was true to his word, he was back in under a minute holding the two brown envelopes that Chegwidden had given to him that afternoon. "This one's for you, and this one is mine!" he said somewhat superfluously, as he handed the first to her.

Loren took it, and looked at suspiciously for a second or two before she tapped it against her free hand and asked, "What is it, do you know?"

"It should be pretty self-explanatory," he answered as he slid back under the covers, "but from what AJ said, it's our options for billets once we're married. He said we were to discuss our options and then let our detailers know, and orders would be cut for when we get back off our honeymoon."

"Oh! We are going on honeymoon, then?" Loren asked temporarily diverted.

"Of course we are!" Harm said in astonishment, "What kind of cheapskate do you take me for?" he demanded, hoping that he would never let slip the details of _that_ conversation he'd had with Frank, and then making a quick recovery he added. "but we can talk about that later! Let's see what sort of wedding present AJ's come up with!"

"Wedding present?" Loren asked.

"Yeah... you don't think he's going to come up with anything else do you?"

"No... probably not!" Loren agreed, before, with an other mercurial switch of topic, she added,"OK. Who's going to open their envelope first?"

"How about we do it together?" Harm proposed, "On the count of three?"

Loren nodded, "OK... One... Two... Three!"

The two envelopes were torn open and each emptied of the single sheet of paper it held. Across the top of each sheet were their respective names and a short list directly under it. Harm looked at his list of choices:

_Remain at JAG HQ. This is not an option should LT Singer make the same choice.  
>Take up a billet as lecturer in International and Maritime Law at USNA Annapolis.<br>Take up a billet as legal advisor to the Director of Naval Intelligence, The Pentagon.  
>Take up a billet as legal advisor to the House Defence Sub Committee for the Navy.<em>

He read them out to Loren, who looked at her own list of options and read them through silently before repeating them to Harm.

_Remain at JAG HQ. This is not an option should CDR Rabb make the same choice.  
>Take up a billet as SJA at USNA Annapolis.<br>Take up a billet as junior legal advisor to Director of Naval Procurement, The Pentagon.  
>Take up a billet as legal advisor to Director of Recruitment, Navy Personnel Services, The Pentagon.<em>

"There's not much for either of us, if the other stays put at JAG HQ," Harm commented, "Especially as I'm just about to hand the ONI a bloody nose. Somehow I don't think I'll make their _persona grata_ list for a long time to come! So, I either stay put or take up the Annapolis post."

"H'mm... So if I elect to stay, you'd have to go to Annapolis... How would you feel about teaching?"

Harm shrugged, his arm find its way around Loren's shoulders as he did so, "I don't know... In some ways it seems quite appealing, and I'm sure I'd find it challenging at first, but after the first year... " he shrugged again, "I'd just be recycling what was taught the the first couple of semesters."

"What about the House defence sub... whatever?" Loren asked.

Harm shuddered, "No thank you! I had enough of that when I was TAD there a couple of years ago! Working with Bobbie Latham and trying to deal with all the party politically motivated wheeler-dealer and back-stabbing? No thank you!"

"So that's a no, I take it?" Loren chuckled, as she snuggled deeper into the circle of his arm and picked up her own letter, "OK... let's see. Stay put at JAG – I don't think so! I think you should stay there. No, don't interrupt, I explain once I've done a quick recap on my other options. Junior legal advisor at Procurement? That sounds like non-stop contract law! No thanks, I'm beginning to find my feet as a litigator and an investigator – thank you for that opportunity – and contract law: breaches of contract, claims, counter claims, torts! Ugh! Like you said, No thanks! Besides, 'junior' legal advisor – probably nothing but scut-work!" Loren shook her head, "Legal advisor to the Director of Recruitment? That job sounds so obscure I haven't got a clue what it would entail!" She looked inquiringly at Harm.

He shrugged again, "Don't look at me like that! I haven't got a clue either!"

"So... that only leaves me with the Annapolis job, Harm. Look... I know it's not ideal you being here in the DC and me out at Annapolis, but it is only thirty-five miles or so door to door, it's doable as a daily commute, and if I pick the right route I won't get hung up in that God-awful morning gridlock around Fourteenth Street Bridge. And anyway... SJA at the Academy for a Lieutenant? That's a pretty darn good billet! And what would it mean in real terms. Would I have to get up any earlier than we do? Well, maybe half an hour or so. Would I be any later back in the evenings? Again, possibly, but then again we're both liable to have to work late at JAG as it is! So, realistically no change there! So... it looks like our futures are settled. You stay at JAG, I take the SJA slot at the Academy!"

"That's pretty decisive, Loren. Are you sure you see it as cut and dried as all that?"

"Yep. We're not going to lose much. I might even be able to get gas mileage, seeing as I'll be losing BAH once we're married."

Harm nodded, "I see your logic... but we've still got a little time to think things over. Why don't we put the decision on hold for say... forty-eight hours, that'll give me some time to make some 'phone calls and find out exactly what's involved in the two Pentagon billets!"

Loren twisted around and looked up into Harm's eyes, "Yeah, OK. I can live with that – I guess!"

"Well that's settled!" Harm said with a sigh of relief. He gathered up the two envelopes and the two letters and put them on the night-stand, And then reaching over he turned out the light and snuggled back into the pillows, never once relinquishing his hold on Loren. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for sleep only to hear Loren whisper, "Harm?"

"H'mm?"

"Where are we going on honeymoon?"

"That my darling, is need to know, and for the moment, you don't have that need!"

"Oooh!" Loren almost ground her teeth in frustration, but she had heard the note of finality in Harm's voice and knew that was all he was going to say on the subject.

Harm was well aware of the thoughts that were seething through Loren's brain, and with a self-satisfied smile he closed his eyes again.

Loren gave him a few minutes before she slid her hand down the ridged muscles of his abdomen and said, "I'm not tired anymore, Harm!"


	49. Chapter 49

**49**

**Thursday 4 April 2001 0750hrs EDT, CP, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church. VA (041150ZApr01)**

Raoul Hernandez look up from his desk as he heard the front door open and the strains of a slightly off-key whistling of "Anchors Aweigh" came to his ears, He looked across at the desk where Lance Corporal Julia Somers sat, but before he could say a word, she was on her feet at the counter.

"Good morning, sir, ma'am!" she greeted the smiling commander and the disgruntled appearing Lieutenant. He was looking far too cheerful, and she was looking far too pissed off for it to have been anything other than him pushing her buttons. She retrieved their building passes from the indexed drawer while they were signing in and handed them across the counter with a smiling, "Here you are, ma'am," and a more frosty and laconic "Sir".

The results were not quite what she'd hoped for, true, Lieutenant Singer did manage a small smile and a murmured "Thank you," but Commander Rabb's smug, self-satisfied smile merely broadened into an outrageous grin.

Julia Somers turned away from the counter just as Lieutenant Singer wheeled about and made for the elevator and so missed the grinning Commander's silently mouthed "Women!" aimed at Sergeant Hernandez. She did however catch Raoul's hastily smothered answering grin, and vowed to herself that whatever it was he was laughing at he was going to be on the receiving end of some richly-deserved payback – once they got of duty.

Satisfied with her admittedly somewhat nebulous plans, she sat down at her desk again and looked up to glare at her beloved only to see him smiling in an annoying, knowing manner, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking! Maybe she'd best reconsider her plans for vengeance, a little voice at the back of her mind told her, remember, you thought you had him all neatly figured out – until last night!

**Thursday 4 April 2001 0807hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church. VA (041150ZApr01)**

Loren almost threw her briefcase onto the cadenza and then sailed her cover after it, knocking askew the framed photograph of Harm, his aviator's grin firmly in place, leaning back against Sarah's fuselage.

For a heart-stopping second Loren froze, afraid that the photograph would fall to the floor and that the glass or frame, or both, would break. It tottered perilously close to the edge of the shelf and then settled back on to its rest. As if that wasn't just like the man! Loren's little voice piped up, lead you on to the very edge of something, and then just lean back against the nearest support, and grin that infuriating... flyboy grin!

Which was just exactly what he'd done with his teasing her over their honeymoon destination. And at the moment she'd had just about enough of that grin! Which was the only answer she'd received to repeated questions about the honeymoon. She asked, pleaded, wheedled, begged, promised all sorts or rewards, she had even tried to seduce him into giving up the secret. OK, she had to admit, the seduction technique had worked... well, on one level, but the end result had merely been an increase in the broadness of his grin.

She had tried logic, "Harm, I do have a need to know; if I don't know where we're going, how will I know what to pack?"

"All sorted, mom will pack for you!" he had grinned.

And she'd even made him his favourite breakfast, the only result that had was to make him start whistling that damned "Anchors Aweigh," which he had kept up all the way from Georgetown to the CP downstairs.

Ohh! She was so going to get payback for this... frustration! And that thought was enough to smooth the frown lines from her forehead and allow a blissful smile to occupy her face as she dreamed of plans of revenge.

**Thursday 4 April 2001 0807hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church. VA (041150ZApr01)**

Harm had dropped his cover and briefcase off in his temporary office before making a bee line for the galley where he found, as he'd hoped, a freshly brewed pot of coffee. Taking a cautious sniff, he nodded his head as his suspicions were confirmed. Coffee that strong would have to be made either by Mac, the Admiral, or the Gunny, and as the latter two were either en route to hospital, or were already in hospital, that only left Mac as the prime suspect. And he knew better than to try to drink Mac's coffee in its natural state. Running water into the kettle, he plugged it into the wall socket and waited for it to boil.

Carefully carrying his mug of diluted coffee he returned to his office, "As you were"-ing the bull pen's inhabitants' leap to their feet in response to the cry of "JAG on deck!", and also waving off Tiner's leap to attention behind his desk, pausing to say to the Yeoman, "Pass the word for Colonel MacKenzie to see me, ASAP, and then pass the word that I want Lieutenant Sims' presence at staff call!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!" Tiner replied smartly.

"In the meantime," Harm warily eyed the teetering stack of files in Tiner's out-tray, "is any of that for me?"

The young Petty Officer followed Harm's line of sight and ventured a grin, "All of it, sir!"

"OK... once you've passed the word for Colonel MacKenzie, bring it on!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Tiner replied, with what Harm that was just a shade too much enthusiasm, and which earned the Yeoman a darkling look from Commander Rabb.

Knowing how volatile interaction between Commander and Colonel could be, especially first thing in the morning when neither had had time to enjoy their coffee and tune in to the day, Tiner waited five minutes, by which time he figured that both would have at least made major inroads into their coffee, if not outright finished it, before he passed the word for Colonel MacKenzie to report to the JAG.

The word passed, it wasn't many minutes before Mac announced her arrival by a sharp rap on the door frame.

"Come on in, Mac, and have a seat," Harm invited her, smoothing ruffled feathers of which he wasn't even aware. Mac had been rather taken aback by the peremptory summons, and to add to her ire she had just started typing up the final draft of the report in the assault on Lieutenant Carpenter, and had been hoping to get it completed in time for staff call. Not a hope of that now! She had grumbled to herself as she crossed the bull pen, while wondering at the same time about the reasons for this unceremonious summons. But Harm's smile and his quiet invitation to sit were enough for her to bank her angry fires and, smoothing her skirt beneath her, she took her accustomed seat in the left-hand wing chair, and waited for Harm to speak.

"How was Lejeune, Mac?"

Mac shrugged, "Hot, humid, dusty, sweaty... same as always."

Harm nodded, "I understand you did good down there, wrapping up the assault on that Marine Lieutenant..."

"Marion Carpenter," Mac supplied, with just a note of rebuke in her voice.

Harm nodded but continued, "and tying it in with the missing Humvee parts. But, given the deaths of the NCIS Agents I'm just as glad that you and Loren weren't involved in that end of the investigation!"

"No... it was your two favourite NCIS Agents, Franks and Gibbs flew down to take up that line of investigation once Adams and Gomez were killed..."

Harm nodded again, "Just as well... so if you can let me have your report by... say... secure tomorrow?"

Mac blinked, by giving her twenty-four hours longer than normal, Harm was definitely cutting her a lot of slack. "Thanks, yeah, I can definitely do that!"

Harm smiled, "Good... once that's been filed and the weekend's over, you need to schedule a meeting with Anthony Baker, Esquire, he's the DC Deputy Attorney General prosecuting Brumby. The date for the trial has been set, it's April sixteenth at eleven hundred hours. Seems the civilian courts don't start as early as we do!" He handed her the Deputy AG's card as he spoke.

Mac managed a smile at the tired, old joke, "You are going to be there, aren't you?" she queried.

"Loren and I will be there. I promise you!"

"Don't make a promise you can't keep!" Mac grinned weakly "I'd hate for you to spoil your record!"

"Not going to happen this time 'round either!" Harm affirmed. "I'll still be JAG pro-tem, so I get to decide who gets sent on investigations, and for that week, it won't be me and it won't be you, and it won't be Loren!"

"Almost wish it was me!" Mac muttered and then exhaled noisily, "Yeah, I'll call him on Monday, and yeah, I'll testify. I won't like it, but I'll do it!"

Harm grinned and gave Mac a quiet "Oorah!" of encouragement, and then continued, "But what's really important here is that the effective date for your TAD to the MEF on board the Guadalcanal was to be for a week after the end of the trial. I have managed to persuade the Admiral to extend that to two weeks, to allow you time to take a week's leave and visit your newly discovered family at Fort Sill, if you should wish to. Does that give you sufficient time to make the necessary arrangements with Sue?"

Mac blinked, her eyes had prickled, but she wasn't about to let Harm know just how much his words had affected her, "Thank you, Harm," she managed in a quiet voice. "I'll call Sue and see if we can get the ball rolling!"

"Good!" Harm grunted approvingly, and then sat back in his chair and looked at her unspeaking, for several long moments, and then, just as Mac was uneasily beginning to feel as if the other show was about to drop, he grinned and said, "Well? What are you waiting for? Haven't you got a cousin to call?"

**Thursday 4 April 2001 0904hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church. VA (041304ZApr01)**

Harm surveyed the assembled officers, even not counting Harriet Sims, it was the largest assemblage of JAG officers for weeks, and nodded with satisfaction.

"First off, congratulations to Colonel MacKenzie and Lieutenant Singer for wrapping up the assault case at Lejeune so swiftly. I know they had a slice of luck, but it was their investigation that turned up that piece of luck, that and the stupidity of the perpetrators. I have asked NCIS to keep this office informed of the progress, if any, they make in tracking down the person or people who murdered their two agents and their Marine escort."

He paused to allow the murmur of acknowledgement run around the table before he picked up his train of thought, "Lieutenant Roberts, what progress with the forensic accountants at the DoN?"

"It's slow going, sir," Bud admitted. "I spoke with the lead accountant yesterday afternoon, and he tells me that the maze of deception false entries and counter entries is... uh..." he looked down at his notes, "Byzantine in it's complexity!"

"That is a quotation, Lieutenant?" Harm asked.

"Yes, sir! And I haven't the faintest idea what it means when applied to this case!" Bud grinned.

Harm waited for the chuckle to die down, "Lieutenant Fairchild, you and Lieutenant Warren are now completely up to date on that short stack of minors?"

"Yes, sir!" the two young lieutenants chorused, Fairchild adding proudly, "And none of 'em gone to court, sir!"

"All the convening authorities were satisfied?" Harm asked in mild surprise.

"Yes, sir!" Warren affirmed.

"You must tell me how you managed that..." Harm mused aloud, and then held up his hand as he saw the young man open his mouth to reply, "But not here and not now!"

Warren's "Aye, aye, sir!" was decidedly crestfallen, Harm grinned behind a masking hand.

"Moving swiftly on... Some of you may be wondering why Lieutenant Sims is gracing us with her presence this morning," he grinned as the assemblage, almost as one, turned their eyes towards the blonde lieutenant. Harriet raised her chin defiantly but was unable to conceal the blood that rushed to her cheeks, turning them a delicate shade of pink.

"The Admiral," Harm raised his voice and spoke slightly more sharply to draw everyone's attention back to him, "Has finally prevailed upon the SecNav, to augment our numbers. In addition to a replacement for myself or Lieutenant Singer, he has authorised an increase in our numbers by two O-Fours and an O-Five. And what has this to do with Lieutenant Sims, you ask. Simple, Lieutenant Sims has the task of finding office space for them."

Harm was not alone in grinning when Harriet gave a little shocked but fortunately wordless gasp. "It's not quite so bad as it seems, Lieutenant, the Admiral has given the go ahead for the old Chief of Staff's office to be re-opened as an office, and the archives that are stored there moved down to the basement. It is perhaps the sort of job that can be left to a Petty Officer's supervision, maybe PS Three Hawkins can be allowed to have a stab at it, show us what she can do? But, I'll leave all that to you to organise!"

Harriet's faint, "Yes, sir," went almost unheard.

Harm nodded and then turned his attention to Alan Mattoni, "What about your assault case?"

"I've spoken to the convening authority and I have interviewed both parties. It remained a case of 'he said, she said,' with both parties being equally obdurate. However, in the last twenty-four hours a compromise has been reached. The convening authority has dropped the charges, the Lieutenant has withdrawn her claim of sexual harassment slash assault and both officers will have received PCS orders by Monday morning. The Lieutenant as admin officer to the SAR flight on Diego Garcia, and the errant senior officer as OIC Weather Station Keflavik."

There was a collective wince from the assembled officers, even the new lieutenants were aware that two careers had just been ended. Neither officer would now be promoted, and eventually they would be forced into retirement through the 'up or out' mechanism.

"And you were going to report this, when?" Ham asked severely.

"Just as soon as you gave me the opportunity, Alan Mattoni replied steadily, "Seeing that I got the phone call a scant ten minutes before this staff call!"

"In that case, thank you," Harm replied, making as much of a public apology as a senior officer could to a junior, even if that superiority was only temporary in nature.

"Moving on again..." Harm pulled the stack of file folders towards him and quickly scanned the top one on the pile, "Commander Imes, our green brethren – or some of them – still do not seem to have quite grasped the fact that hazing is now prohibited by Marine Corps Order seventeen hundred twenty-eight of June Ninety-Seven. Ten E-Fives from MCCDU Quantico charged with Disobedience to a Lawful General Order or Regulation contrary to Article Ninety-Two of the UCMJ. You'll prosecute..." Harm swept his gaze around the table, "Commander Turner you'll defend... Lieutenant Fairchild second chair to Commander Imes, Lieutenant Warren, second chair to Commander Turner."

Harm's brow wrinkled faintly in disgust as he looked at the next folder, "Commander Krennick will face her professional standards review board on April eighteenth. Lieutenant Singer, you will present the case for the board, Commander Austin, you will act on behalf of Commander Krennick." Once again Harm held up a hand to forestall any protest or comment, "Yes, I know, this is not quite how the Admiral had planned it, but circumstances alter cases."

"Lieutenant Roberts, Staff Sergeant Edward P McIlroy, Second Tank Battalion, drowned his M1A1 Abrams and damned near drowned his turret crew when he put it over the side of a pontoon bridge during a night tactical problem. The SJA at Lejeune is prosecuting for Negligently Damaging Government Property under Article One Zero Eight, but McIlroy requested you as his attorney. You travel down on Monday. See Tiner for movement orders and an itinerary when we finish here."

Harm looked around the table, "Lieutenant Barlow, I haven't forgotten you. You are my tactical reserve, and you shall be working with me, in a behind the scenes sort of way on the Richardson appeal," he glanced at his watch, "Clear a spot on your calendar for fourteen hundred, and report to me in the JAG's office at that time. I'll give you a fuller briefing then on what I need from you! Are there any questions?"

A chorus of denials greeted his question.

"Good, dismissed!"

**Thursday 4 April 2001 1048hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church. VA (041448ZApr01)**

The office door closed behind Bosun's Mate Two Alvarez as he almost scurried out of the office. The young man had been over-awed, almost intimidated by his surroundings, and by the end of the first two minutes of the interview Harm was giving himself a savage mental kicking for not arranging to speak with the Petty Officer in less formal surroundings.

It had taken nearly ten minutes of Harm painstakingly putting the younger man at his ease before he had been able to say anything other than 'yes sir' or 'no sir', but eventually Alvarez had blurted out, "It wasn't me sir!"

"It was your car seen fleeing the accident, Petty Officer," Harm reminded him.

"It wasn't, sir! It can't have been!"

"Why not?"

"Because it was parked up on Benton Place, just off Rock Creek Drive at the reported time of the accident, sir!"

"What was it doing there?"

"I was running trail in the Park, sir. I do it two, maybe three times a week, and I usually park on Belmont, it's handy for the park and it's a pretty upscale neighbourhood and I reckon the car is safe there, sir!"

"So... if you do that regularly, the folk who live there should be able to recognise your car?"

Alvarez had shrugged, "It's a ninety seven Toyota Camry, sir, that's just about the best-selling car in the States..."

Harm nodded, the Toyotas were becoming ubiquitous, so much so in fact that they were to all intents and purposes, invisible.

"Still doesn't explain why the witnesses gave your car licence plate details?"

Alvarez had looked bewildered, "I can't answer that, sir... an honest mistake, or maybe I've pissed... uh... sorry sir, maybe I've made someone mad at me?"

"Do you know anyone who might be that mad at you? Enough to try and pin the blame for this on you?"

Alvarez had shaken his head "No sir," he admitted in a crestfallen voice. "But I do know it wasn't me. Please, sir, you gotta believe me!"

In the face of such clear-cut evidence Harm would normally have counselled his client to take a plea bargain, but there was something about Alvarez beseeching eyes, and his insistence, despite the evidence stacked against him, of his innocence.

"All right, Alvarez, leave it with me. I'll do some digging around, and I'll be in touch. But don't get your hopes up too high!"

"Yes, sir! Thank you sir!" Alvarez had almost gasped and was halfway to the door before Harm had finished his 'Dismissed.'

Harm waited until the door had closed and then gave a slow count of ten before stabbing the intercom button, "Tiner?"

"_Sir_?"

"Get me a line to the traffic division at Metro PD, please."

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

Harm waited, his fingers drumming on the desk until a crackle in his ear told him the line was connected. The crackle was followed almost instantly by a female voice, "Metro Police, Traffic Division, how may I help you?"

"This is Commander Rabb of the Navy JAG Corps at Falls Church, I need to speak the officer commanding the division..."

"One moment, please, Commander."

Why is it, thought a rapidly becoming exasperated Harm, that whenever some organisation or other has piped music it is always Vivaldi's damn' Four Seasons!

Fortunately for his temper the music was broken by a further click and a second voice, "Lieutenant Hamilton, how may I help you?"

"Good morning, this Navy Commander Harmon Rabb at Falls Church. I'm defending a sailor, a Petty Officer Second Class Alvarez, on a charge of fleeing the scene of an accident. Although we're dealing with it by a court-martial, I understand that the accident and his fleeing of the scene was originally reported to your division."

"Alvarez? What was the date of the incident?"

"Uh... that was March Seventeenth, Saint Patrick's Day..." Harm confirmed the date from the file.

"Seventeenth... Yeah, got it. What do you need?"

"Can you fax over everything you've got on the incident, witness statements, initial police report, the whole shooting match? I know... It looks like a slam dunk case, but flying in the face of the evidence, the Petty Officer says he wasn't in the area in which the incident occurred, and at the time of the incident his car was parked up near Rock Creek Park."

"Yeah, they all say that!" was the cynically amused answer, "Like you said, it's a slam dunk, why bother?"

"Because there's something about this sailor that leads me to believe he might be telling the truth."

"OK... it's your time, you're wasting. What's your fax number?"

Harm gave him in the number and thanking him, terminated the call, shaking his head at the other man's cynicism, but then giving Hamilton the benefit of the doubt, he realised that the police officer probably heard more false protestations of innocence in a month than Harm heard in a year.

**Thursday 4 April 2001 1215hrs EDT, Commissary, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church. VA (041615ZApr01)**

Harm balanced his loaded tray while he looked around the room. It was more crowded than usual for this time of the year, thanks no doubt, to the spring shower washing some of the humidity from the air. At last he caught sight of what, or rather who he was looking, for and weaved his way through the tables with Loren's blonde head fixed firmly in his sights. It was only as he drew nearer he realised there were three blondes at that table, Loren, Carolyn and Meg. It was too late now to sheer off and pretend he hadn't seen them, so with a gulp and a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was about to make a mistake, he approached the trio and smiled, "Hi ladies, mind if I join you?"

"I don't know... " Meg said straight-faced, "He's your fiancé, Loren,"

"But he's your former partner, Meg," Carolyn observed.

"But you are the senior officer, ma'am," Loren said to Carolyn.

"So... I suppose it's a command decision, then..." Carolyn said, pretending to give the matter some consideration. "Can he be trusted?" she asked in a stage-whisper to Loren.

"He'd damn' well better be!" Loren said with a scowl in Harm's direction

"If I promised to be good?" Harm said resignedly, deciding that lack of resistance was probably the least painful of the options remaining to him.

"Of course, Harm, we'd be delighted with your company!" Carolyn smiled, and then dropped an obviously broad wink at Loren. She waited until Harm had settled and taken a mouthful of his tuna and pasta salad before she smiled sweetly at him again and asked, "So... where are you planning to take Loren for your honeymoon?"

"Yes, do tell," Meg chimed in, her eyes shining with mischief.

Harm shot a suspicious look at Loren who, her eyes cast down and her most demure expression on her face seemed to be studying her plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. "I don't think so!" he said in minatory accents to the two blonde Commanders who were looking at him expectantly. "You see, it's one of those need to know things. If I told you, then I'd have to kill you."

"If you don't tell me, then I will kill you!" Loren muttered mutinously, just loud enough to be heard.

"Ah, but if you do that, you'll never learn where we 're going," Harm grinned, surrendering to the atmosphere of nonsense that had enveloped the table.

"You are totally impossible at times!"" Carolyn laughed, "Not so, Loren?"

"Always the over-achiever!" Loren agreed, but then grinned, "But he is my over-achiever, so that gets him a lot of passes – but not this time! Now: Where are we going on honeymoon?" she glared at Harm.

"You know I'm not going to tell you that!" Harm grinned.

"Damn," Loren muttered, "Oh, well, it was worth giving it a try!"

"No," Meg shook her head, her expression mournful, "No, it wasn't!"

Harm looked smug, which drew him an angry kitten glare from Loren while Carolyn and Meg's burst of laughter caused curious fellow diners' heads to turn in their direction

**Thursday 4 April 2001 1048hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church. VA (041448ZApr01)**

"_Lieutenant Barlow to see you, sir_!" Tiner's voice, preceded by the usual crackle came through the intercom on the JAG's desk.

"Send him in Tiner!" Harm answered and waited for the tap on the door frame, calling "Enter!" when it came.

Harm observed the younger officer as he crossed the expanse of carpet between door and desk. The sandy-haired Barlow was in his late twenties, twenty-eight, maybe twenty-nine. Just a shade over six feet and weighing in at about one hundred and eighty pounds. It was obvious that he worked hard to keep in shape; that was no surprise to Harm, but as he'd only just discovered from a quick scan of his SRB, Barlow was a useful Light-Heavyweight boxer who had boxed for the Navy against teams from Army, Air Force and Marines and had won eleven out of his twelve fights; his only loss being on points to a much more experienced Army Staff Sergeant.

"Lieutenant Barlow, reporting as ordered, sir!" he snapped crisply as he came to a halt and stood at attention in front of the desk.

"At ease, Lieutenant,"W Harm responded and then nodding at the two wing chairs in front of the desk he added, "Have a seat."

He waited until Barlow had seated himself before he began to speak, "Navy Captain Richardson was convicted some fourteen years ago of treason. He always protested his innocence..." he held up a forestalling hand, "Yes, I know... they always do. But in this case a piece of evidence has just come to light that might corroborate Richardson's story. Added to which, the method by which the evidence against him was procured is virtually identical to another case of treason, where subsequent to trial and imprisonment, it came to light that the evidence was entirely manufactured. That miscarriage of justice has been put right. Richardson's hasn't. Now... I'm locked in behind this desk for the foreseeable future, and I need a second chair who has the freedom to get out and about that I won't. Before you leap up and start shouting 'yes, sir, no sir, three bags full, sir' I need to tell you that my initial probe into this matter was met by a warning for me to sheer off, with a thinly veiled threat that my career might suffer if I continued to ask questions. That threat will, I'm sure, extend to anybody who assists me."

"Is Captain Richardson innocent, sir?" Barlow inquired.

"I believe so," Harm answered deliberately.

"Then we wouldn't be doing our jobs if we wouldn't investigate, would we sir?"

"No, Lieutenant, I guess not."

"Then I'm in, sir!" Barlow declared.

"Good man!" Harm said getting up and walking around the desk to take the other wing chair on Barlow's left. "Now, here's what I want you to do..."

**Thursday 4 April 2001, 1547hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (041847ZApr01)**

Loren put her pen down and leaning against the back of her chair she rolled her shoulders to ease the slight tension, and as she did so a soft smile appeared on her face. It had been fun teasing Harm at lunch, especially as he had been fairly defenceless in the face of a three-pronged attack, but she wondered what he would think of as payback. She was certain that there would be payback!

Of course, she hadn't expected him to divulge the honeymoon location, and truth to tell, she didn't really want him to, but it was just so much fun yanking his chain!

**Thursday 4 April 2001 1621hrs EDT, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (042021ZApr01)**

Mac frowned in minor irritation as the 'phone interrupted her train of thought. She had filed her post investigation report with Harm and was expecting, well, half-expecting, a summons to the JAG's office for a verbal debrief, but in the meantime, she was getting stuck in to the mass of paperwork that had built up in her Chief of Staff's tray while she had been at Lejeune, and she could do without the distraction of unnecessary phone calls. Still, the blasted thing wouldn't stop ringing, and it wasn't going to answer itself

"MacKenzie!"

"_Uh... Mac? It's Peter McMahon at Lejeune_."

The tension oozed out of Mac and she settled back in her chair. She had been wondering if she would hear from McMahon, and if so how long she would have to wait. "This is a pleasant surprise," she greeted him.

"_Not so pleasant, I'm afraid, Mac,_" He spoke heavily, "_Private Hind's car was found earlier today by a local LEO, about a mile and half from the hole in perimeter fence, parked up and apparently abandoned on the verge of a dirt road. The County sheriff is organising a foot search of the area between the road and the perimeter fence . I just thought you'd like to know, even if you no longer need to._"

"Yes... thanks Colonel... will you please keep me informed?"

"Of course."

"OK... well, thanks again..." Mac waited until she'd heard the click on the other end of the line, and then picking up a pencil tapped it against her teeth in an habitual move while she considered the ramifications of both the discovery of one of the UA Marines' cars in an isolated area, and the fact of Peter McMahon's call. One boded not so well, the other... well, it might have possibilities.

**Thursday 4 April 2001 1713hrs EDT, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (042113ZApr01)**

"Come on in Carolyn," Meg smiled as the other blonde commander tapped on her door-frame. "You've only just caught me, I'm ready to call it a day."

Her smile faded as Carolyn entered the office and then carefully closed the door behind her. "Is there something wrong, Carolyn? Meg asked, thinking 'Oh God, no, please don't let anything have happened to Victor.'

Carolyn saw the blood drain from Meg's face, "No, relax, it's not bad news... well... not that bad... May I?" she indicated the visitors' chairs.

"Oh, yes, of course! My wits have gone begging! What can I do for you?"

"Well... you know that Harm and the Admiral, between them, had myself and Barlow make a side-trip on our way back from Twenty-Nine Palms?"

"No, I didn't know that," Meg said, desperately trying to keep the fear and apprehension she felt from showing in her face.

"Yes, he had us call in at Yuma to see Gunny Galindez in the hospital, there."

"Oh, how is he?" Meg replied, feigning indifference.

"In pretty good shape for a man with a hole blown through his belly," Carolyn answered, as she watched Meg for any signs of distress, but was forced to acknowledge that the Texan blonde was exerting an impressive degree of self control. "He put the funniest spin he could on his misadventures while he was telling them to myself and Barlow, and according to his nurse he was being a typical Marine, giving his nurses a really hard time over taking his meds and submitting to treatment."

"Sounds like a Marine," Meg agreed non-committally.

"Not that he gave them much trouble while we were there... In fact one of his nurses – I didn't catch her name – complimented us on keeping him under control. She said that the only other time he'd been so compliant was over the weekend when his sweetheart stopped by for a couple of days. A nice young woman she said, a blonde by the name of Meg."

Despite her control, Meg couldn't help but gasp and raise her hand to her cheek in an old childhood gesture of self-reassurance, and stare at Carolyn with wide yes.

"I told her that of course I knew Meg, I'd seen the Gunny and her dancing at the wet-down on Eighth and I the other week. The nurse seemed quite satisfied, and I think I satisfied any curiosity young Barlow might have had."

"So... I don't suppose there's any use in denying it was me?" Megan asked faintly.

"Not to me," Carolyn agreed, "Look Meg, I don't care. In a way I'm even a little bit jealous. Victor Galindez is a good man, any woman would be lucky to have him love her. But for God's sake be careful. As I said, I think I nipped in the bud any suspicions that Barlow may have had, but there are others who might pick up on any clues. Look, I understand that the Gunny is in for a long recovery period where he'll be on hospital leave. And I guess you're going to find it pretty hard to stay away from him and you'll want to help him. Try and resist that as much as you can, and when you succumb to temptation tell me so that I can go with you. That way we're just two officers sharing our concern for an inured subordinate. OK?"

"Carolyn... I... I don't... I mean, I... Thank you!" Meg stammered, "But I can't ask you to do that, you'll be putting your own career at risk! In fact you already have! You should have reported this to the Admiral the minute you got in from Yuma!"

"Yeah, well, should have ain't always did!" Carolyn replied cryptically as she rose from the chair, smoothing down the creases on her skirt as she did so.

"Thanks again," Meg repeated, "I owe you, big time!"

"No... no, you don't." Carolyn denied, "Just be careful! I'll see you in the morning!" she smiled and whisked out of the door leaving Meg sat behind her desk her mouth hanging half open.

**Thursday 4 April 2001 2017hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (050017ZApr01)**

To say Loren was tense would be like saying the Ocean's damp. Every time Harm passed out of her sight she tried to crane her neck, surreptitiously, to see what he was up to.

Her heightened state of nervousness had started as they climbed into the Lexus to come home. He had collected her from her office in the usual manner, and had inquired how her afternoon had gone as they rode the elevator down to the first floor, and had smilingly waited until she had signed out at the CP and then completed the little ritual himself.

She hadn't expected any less of him. While they were on duty, or even in the official parts of the building, he acted as he normally behaved towards her, friendly without being amorous, saving personal matters for when they were off the premises. Like when they were safely buckled into their car-seats. And Loren was expecting some sort of payback for the lunchtime pantomime, but no, he had remained polite, courteous, smiling at her with his usual warmth, and even at one red light, reaching out, picking up her hand and carrying it to his lips to plant a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

He had continued in the same light-hearted vein when they'd arrived home. Ceding to her first use of the shower while he brewed a pot of coffee, sending her on her way, with kiss to the pulse point of her neck and a gentle swat to her six.

All though dinner he had acted the same, as if nothing untoward had occurred to interrupt the smoother tenor of his day, and with each passing minute Loren became more and more nervous, becoming certain that when he did go for payback, it was going to be a doozy.

Now he returned from the kitchen area, bearing two large mugs of cocoa, hers with her preferred whipped cream and cocoa powder topping, his with a marshmallow floating in it. He sat down beside her on the couch, and raised an arm inviting her to cuddle up to him as she usually did, but he was forced to raise his eyebrows as she actually moved a little further away from him.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" he asked in a tone of voice that was just a little too surprised, too sweet and too solicitous.

"Yes!" She glowered, "Will you please get on with it! This waiting is killing me!"

"Get on with what?" he asked intrigued.

"Damn payback!" She nearly yelled.

"Payback, payback for what?" he inquired mildly, taking a sip from his drink.

"For lunchtime! For the way the three of us teased you!"

"Oh, that!" he exclaimed in mild surprise, taking another sip of his drink, "I've had my payback for that!"

"When?" Loren yelped.

"Oh... it started at about seventeen twenty hours, and finished a minute or so ago." he replied smugly.

"W... what? How? When?" Loren asked completely dumbfounded.

"All evening. It was much more fun watching you waiting for the other shoe to drop than actually doing anything. And it was just like it says in the Bible..." he smiled blissfully, "The guilty flee where no man pursues!"

Loren sat stock still while she digested what Harm had just said, and then she drained her cocoa and asked in an apparent non-sequitur, "Have you finished your drink, Harm?"

"I have," he replied gravely, not lulled for a second by her apparent calmness.

"Good, pass me your mug, and I'll go and rinse them out," she offered with a smile.

Harm stayed on the couch waiting for Loren to return which she did in a matter of a couple of minutes, but now with the light of battle in her eye. Passing one of the armchairs, she picked up the throw pillow and advanced on Harm, "Right mister!" she growled "You asked for it!" and hurled the pillow straight at Harm's head.

He fielded it with no difficulty and swung it one-handed at her as she came within his arm's reach, only for her to snatch it out of his hand and swing it back at him.

Harm yelped in mock alarm and ducked under the swinging cushion, grabbing a second cushion from behind him to counter her attack.

Ten minutes later they were both lying breathless on the floor trying to regain their breathing through their gales of laughter.

"You... are so... bad!" Loren gasped between bursts of giggles from where she lay at ninety degrees to harm, her head resting on his tummy as she gazed up at the ceiling.

"Does.. pot, kettle, black mean anything to you?" Harm wheezed, one hand playing gently with a lock of her blonde hair.

"I refuse to... answer that... question on the... grounds that... anything I... say might incriminate myself," Loren answered, still breathing hard.

"Yeah, cop out!" Harm scofffed.

"No such thing!" Loren protested as her breathing returned to normal, "Just exercising my constitutional rights!"

"Huh, so now everyone's a lawyer!" Harm complained dryly.

For some reason that struck Loren as excruciatingly funny and she went off into fresh peals of laughter. Harm tried to resist the contagion of her laughter, but to no good end, after a few seconds he too started to chuckle and once more they were reduced to supine and breathless helplessness.

Their laughter gradually subsided and Harm groaned, "Are you going to let me get up, woman?"

"I might if you can come up with an alternative," Loren smiled.

"How about, I carry you into the shower, and give you a shampoo and a back massage and then..."

"And then what?" Loren asked gently, rather liking the sound of Harm's plan.

"And then I wrap you up in your huge fluffy bathrobe, sit you on the bathroom stool and give you a foot rub."

"Uh huh... and what will you be wearing?" Loren challenged him.

"Oh, I thought a towel around my waist ought to do it," Harm said suggestively.

"So... let me get this straight, you'd be kneeling at my feet, dressed only in a towel?" Loren asked, and her eyes sparkled at the prospect.

"Yeah, that just about covers the situation," Harm agreed, his tongue tip just appearing between his teeth as he grinned.

"Yeah... sounds like a plan..." Loren smiled dreamily.

"Good... you go and get ready for your shower madam, I have a phone call to make!" Harm said decisively.

"Phone call?" Loren rolled over onto an elbow so she could look at Harm, a slight frown furrowing her forehead.

"Yeah, to the Boar's Head. You did want to go flying this weekend, didn't you?"

"Damn straight!" Loren agreed emphatically, a grin wreathing her face.

**Thursday 4 April 2201 1713hrs EDT, Meg Austin's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th** **Street NE** **North of Union Station, Washington DC (050201ZApr01)**

Meg sniffled, sighed and reached for the box of Kleenex on the coffee table in front of her, mopped her red-rimmed eyes and blew her nose, Whoever had decided that a good cry had therapeutic value was definitely on to something she decided.

He she took a glance at the congealing. Cold mess on her plate and sighed, another sigh was for the barely touched glass of expensive red wine that stood next the plate. Fortunately the bottle had a metal screw top rather than a cork, so she carefully replaced the cap and stood the bottle to one side.

Get rid of the mess into the garbage disposal, wash the plate, and then see if there was anything on the television that she could watch for an hour or so and that wouldn't set her off crying again, while she finished the glass of wine, and then shower and bed. Yep, that all sounded like a plan to her.

And tomorrow she was definitely going to find a surveyor!

**Friday 5 April 2201, 0450hrs EDT, Carolyn Imes' Apartment, Eleanor Apartments, West Virginia Ave, NE, Washington DC (050850ZApr01)**

The unwelcome shrilling of the alarm clock dragged Carolyn from the depths of sleeping and she groaned protestingly at its summons. Flailing around, her hand finally found the mute button and Carolyn drew a deep breath, stretched and finally open her eyes, squinting in the darkness to make out the luminous hands of the old clock.

Why on earth, she asked herself had she set the time for such an ungodly hour of the morning, and then as she remembered the presence of the body sharing her bed, she rolled over onto her elbow and gave him a shake.

"Wassamarrer?" he grumbled.

"Up an' at 'em, Marine!" she encouraged him. "You're on first this morning!"

Pete Murray grudgingly opened an eye a crack. "Oh God, must you be so damned cheerful in the morning?"

"You bet!" Carolyn replied. Pete couldn't see her grin the pre-dawn darkness, but he knew it was there.

"You're a cruel woman, Imes!" he protested.

"But not as cruel as Jack will be if you're adrift for first formation," she grinned even more widely.

The mention of his martinet CO's name was enough to force Pete from the warmth of Carolyn's bed. "I shoulda joined the damned Navy!" he grumbled as he looked around for his clothes, bending to pick up his boxers from where they had landed last night on one of the bedroom chairs, he pulled them on and turned back to Carolyn, giving her a gentle kiss. "I'll see myself out, and then I'll see you this evening!" he promised.

"M'mm..." Carolyn murmured as she prepared to give herself up to a further hour's sleep.

Pete gave her a disgusted look and then quietly let himself out of the bedroom.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 0727hrs EDT, Main Entrance, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051127ZApr01)**

"Morning, sir, ma'am!" Gunnery Sergeant Waters greeted Harm and Loren as they crossed the parquet floor to the CP.

"Morning Gunny," Loren smiled, replying for both of them as Harm contented himself with a brief smile and nod of his head in acknowledgement of the Gunnery Sergeant's greeting.

"Corporal Brogan, this is Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer, they are both attorneys in JAG HQ. Commander Rabb is also acting JAG until the Admiral gets back off leave!"

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant," the young man replied, looking keenly at the faces of the two Naval officers. His scrutiny was returned by Harm, and just the faintest lift of an eyebrow showed that the young Marine's Bronze Star and Purple Heart ribbons registered with him.

"Gunny? Walk with me." he suggested, and Gunny Waters fell into step with Harm as he and Loren headed for the elevator. "What's the story on the Corporal?" Harm requested.

"Embassy security detachment at La Paz, Bolivia" Gunny Waters replied succinctly, transferred in on Friday last week. This is his first early tour on the CP."

"How's he doing? Harm asked.

"Early days yet, sir, but seems like he's a good Marine, one of The Few, The Proud!" Gunny Waters elucidated.

"His Purple Heart?" Harm asked.

"The attack on the Embassy, sir. The same time he got the Bronze Star."

"That was nearly two years ago Gunny, what was his rank then?"

"PFC, sir. But he's on the list for the next E-Five board, I'm told!"

Harm nodded, "Good. Keep me informed, Gunny!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Friday 5 April 2201, 0937hrs EDT,Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051327ZApr01)**

Harm was not pleased. As he had taken his seat at the head of the table for Staff Call, he had swept his eyes down the twin rows of officers, and to his displeasure had seen that two of them looked as if they were hungover, and this despite the Admiral's recent warning, and if they thought they could get away with flagrant disregarding of the Admiral's words because Harm was sitting in the Big Chair for a while, they had another think coming!

He had refrained from saying anything at the table, instead he'd gone around the table asking for progress reports on ongoing cases, and as he had thought no-one was anywhere near finishing an investigation or ready to take anything to an Article Thirty Two.

With a shake of his head, he pulled the short stack of files towards him and opened the top one, "Lieutenant Singer, Fire Controlman Three Edwards, the_ USS Michael T Sawyer_, currently alongside at Norfolk, UA, resisting apprehension, drunk and disorderly, jumping ship – literally in this case. Striking a superior Petty Officer, disrespect to a superior commissioned officer!" He allowed himself a wintry grin before turning to the next file.

"Lieutenant Warren, Sergeant Matthew Phillips, Marine Corps Band, DUI, negligently damaging government property. He crashed the band bus."

"Commander Mattoni... This one may strike a little near home..." Harm paused and grimaced. "Chief Petty Officer Walter Grimsdale, beat his seven year old son so severely that the child required hospital treatment for fractured ribs, fractured skull and a broken arm. The child is now in the care of the CPS."

Alan Mattoni looked grim, "Not a problem, I'll just have to be careful about bringing home any casework on that."

Harm nodded. "Good. That just about wraps it up for this morning, except, Commanders Imes and Austin, report to me in my office once we're done here!"

**Friday 5 April 2201, 0958hrs EDT,Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051358ZApr01)**

Harm stopped at Tiner's desk on his way into his office, "I'm expecting Commanders, Austin and Imes in a few minutes, send them straight in, please!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Harm had barely seated himself at his desk when the anticipated tap came at his door-frame, and in response to his "Enter!" the door opened to admit Carolyn Imes and Meg Austin.

Harm watched them cross the expanse of carpet between door and desk and come to attention in front of him, "Commanders Austin and Imes, reporting as ordered, sir!" Carolyn as the senior of the two reported.

Harm remained silent for a long minute, regarding each of the two women with a gimlet like stare before he spoke. "Ladies, I'm going to be blunt. The pair of you look like crap this morning. Bearing in mind the Admiral's recent, very recent I might say, strictures on turning to looking as if you were suffering from a hangover, please tell me that your present condition is not due to over-indulgence last night, and that you thought you could get away with it just because I'm standing in for the Admiral!"

"No, sir!" they both chorused.

Harm regarded them levelly for a few moments, in the face of their flat denial he no other option than to take them at their word, and truth to tell, now that he's had a chance to study them more closely, they didn't look as if they'd spent the night imbibing large quantities of alcohol. "OK... if you're not hungover, why do you both look as if you were?"

He sensed their hesitation, "Sit down, if you weren't drinking this isn't a disciplinary matter, so maybe I can help with whatever's going on?"

The two sat and looked at each other and then Meg nodded her head to allow Carolyn to speak first, "I'll admit to having two beers last night, Harm, but there was no way that I was drunk on that. I did have a late night 'though, and an earlier than usual wake up, but that's just one of those things that happens from time to time. I'll try and ensure that I manage my down time better in future."

"OK... I can accept that; we've all had to put in late nights from time to time. In return Carolyn, I guess you'll have to accept that you're not a law student any more, and the days when we could put in two or three all-nighters in a row are sadly behind us! So what I'm saying is, take care of yourself, OK?"

"I'll try!" Carolyn answered with a hint of her usual grin, "Although I didn't really need the reminder that I'm not as young as I used to be!" she added reproachfully.

Harm gave a short laugh, "None of us are, Carolyn, none of us are! Now, Meg, what's your story?"

"I had one glass of wine with dinner, this is just the result of a bad night... lots of things to think about, I just couldn't sleep..."

"OK, that does it for me, but both of you, take it easy if you can over the weekend, and let's see you back on top line on Monday! Carolyn, we're done here. Meg stay for a moment longer please; we have another, separate topic to discuss."

Harm waited until Carolyn had closed the door behind her, before he looked back at Meg. "Just a heads up, Meg. Despite you tearing him a new one the other day, Sturgis is till poking around, says he suspects that you weren't entirely truthful with him over your activities last weekend. I've told him to butt out, and even held up Krennick as an example of what he shouldn't do. He didn't appear to take my advice on board and I can't do much more without raising his suspicions even higher, so just be careful, hey?"

Meg nodded, "I will... and Harm? Thanks... for everything!"

"Yeah, well..." Harm felt embarrassed by her thanks, "but I didn't really do anything..."

"Yeah, you did. You put yourself and your career on the line. If the Admiral ever found out you'd tipped me off about Victor being in hospital and then basically conspired with me to get me there to see him..."

"Yeah, well, we didn't know how badly he was hurt at the time, and if I hadn't told you, and he hadn't made it... well. I don't think you'd have ever forgiven me, and I really didn't fancy you coming after me with your Mom's shotgun. So if there was a risk, it was risk to my hide that I didn't fancy!"

In spite of her worries Meg managed a half-smile at the image Harm had drawn for her, "But..."

"But nothing, Meg. Now go on get back to work!" he smiled, rising from his chair as he did so, and walking to the door with her.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 0949hrs EDT, Lieutenant Singer's Office JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051349ZApr01)**

Loren was checking she had sufficient stationery supplies in her briefcase before she called down to the motor pool for a car when Harm loomed in her office doorway.

"All set?" he asked, seeing her purse and cover ready to her hand on the desk.

"Just about," she agreed and then pulled a face of disappointment, "This is going to play havoc with our plans for this evening," she grumbled.

"Not so... or well, maybe not, depending on how late you are getting away from Norfolk. Your sailor is in the brig there, so you won't have to hunt him down. Have you done anything about transport yet?"

"Uh, no... I was just about to call the motor pool."

"Well don't. Your weekend bag is in the Lexus, right? Well, I'll get a car to run you home, so you can take the Miata to Norfolk. That way you can drive direct to Charlottesville once you're done. And we'll meet at the Boar's Head. Just give me a heads-up on an ETA when you leave Norfolk, and promise me that this time you'll remember that you drove yourself to Charlottesville, before we get half-way home on Sunday!"

Loren half-laughed and half-scowled. You're not going to let me forget that, ever, are you?"

"Not a chance!" Harm laughed, "In about thirty, forty years, I shall take great pleasure in sitting on the porch seat at Grams, telling our grandchildren all about that!"

It was Loren's turn to smile, which she did mistily, at the picture Harm had created, "Oh well, if you're going to tell our grandchildren, I'll let you slide on that, but I bet by the time you tell it, we'll have had to drive five hundred miles back to the hotel!"

"Oh... at least that!" he grinned.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1006hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051406ZApr01)**

Harm sat back and rolled his shoulders. Loren had just left for Norfolk, it should be about fourteen thirty by the time she got there, a bit longer if she ran into traffic on the I-95, but it wasn't a peak-time journey, so with any luck she should be able to wrap up her interviews at Norfolk by seventeen hundred, so by rights, she should be in Charlottesville by...

His musings were interrupted by a rap on his door frame. Sitting up in his chair, he called out "Enter!"

The door opened to reveal Tiner, a bulky file in his hands, "This just came in by fax from metro PD, sir. It's marked up for your attention..."

"Thank you, Tiner, just drop on the blotter, please!" Harm instructed the Yeoman, and waited until he had done so, "Thanks, Tiner! That will be all!"

Tiner left, almost reluctantly and Harm grinned, knowing that the younger man's curiosity was probably eating him alive. He shook his head indulgently and settled down to read what the Metro PD Traffic Division had top say about Bosun's Mate Two Alvarez

Nearly an hour later, he stopped reading the file and looked at the notes he had made in disbelief. Apparently the word of the single witness who had made the Toyota's licence plate was sufficient for Metro Police to arrest Alvarez. There was no mention on the file of a physical examination, let alone a forensic examination, of the Toyota, and there was something about the sketch plan of the accident scene that didn't sit quite right. The diagram showed the position of the two vehicles involved and the position of the various witnesses to the incident. Witness D was the only one who had come up with the plate number, and the only one who had provided the description of the fleeing driver as "Hispanic male in his early to mid twenties, wearing Navy enlisted uniform."

Admittedly, Harm wasn't too familiar with the design details of the Toyota Camry, but given the relative positions of both vehicle and pedestrian witness, it didn't seem feasible that witness D could have made out the driver's features, nor did it seem right that if Alvarez adopted a normal driving position, that anyone standing in the indicated position could have seen enough of what he was wearing to be able to describe it as a Navy uniform, enlisted or officer!

Standing up, he moved to the window and scanned the vehicles in the JAG parking lot. As Alvarez had said, the Camry was fast becoming the most popular car in the USA and there were three different examples of that make and model in the parking lot right now.

Nodding decisively, Harm crossed to the desk and stabbed the intercom button. "Tiner, get on to the CP, I want to know who owns the three Toyota Camrys in the parking lot. Once they've told you who the owners are, pass the word for all three of them to report to my office!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

"But before you do that, get me a line to the Director at NCIS!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

Tiner reacted to Harm's demands with his usual efficiency and Harm's phone rang less than two, admittedly finger tapping, minutes later.

"Director Morrow, good morning, this is Commander Rabb at JAG HQ, I'm acting JAG while the Admiral is away for a time. I need an urgent physical and forensic review of a motor vehicle owned by a sailor."

"A criminal investigation, Commander?"

"I'm hoping that what the examination will show will actually close the investigation, Director."

"How urgent is this?"

"It's not top priority, and it can't go any further until I sign off on the case, but I'm not about to so that until I get the physical forensics report through."

"All right, Commander, I'll see what can be done as quickly as it can. What are the details?"

Harm quickly read out Alvarez' details and the vehicle particulars, and after thanking Director Morrow one final time, he hung up and sat back, linking his fingers behind his head. That should start things rolling with a vengeance, he thought to himself, and then sat up again as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the drivers of the three Camrys parked outside the building.


	50. Chapter 50

**50**

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1020hrs EDT, Parking Lot, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051420ZApr01) **

Harm stood on the bottom step of the short flight that led from the parking lot to the main doors and looked at the four expectant, and slightly troubled faces gathered in a semi-circle before him.

Staff Sergeant Baldwin was one of the court bailiffs, Legalman One Makepeace was Judge Morris' Legalman, and Personnel Specialist Three Donahue worked as an archives clerk. Legalman Three Szaszkiewicz had been grabbed from the bull pen by Harm as he had led the other three through, with an instruction for Szaszkiewicz to grab a legal pad and pen and follow him.

"Relax, people, none of you are in trouble, I'm just carrying out a little exercise to find the answer of to a question that's been niggling at me. What I want you to do is go and stand by your cars while Szaszkiewicz goes to each of you in turn and takes down the vehicle particulars... No..." he added as he saw concern cross their faces, "I don't mean the licence plates or anything that could identify the vehicle, just the year, and model particulars, like it's an LKS, or however Toyota differentiate between variations of the same model. Once he's done that, drive your cars to the VCP and meet me there, understand?"

The chorus of "Yes, sir," reassured him that everyone knew what he wanted of them

It took only a few minutes for Szaszkiewicz to make the notes Harm wanted against each of the driver's names and Harm called them all together for briefing ion the second stage of the exercise.

"OK, now what I want you to do, is give me a five-minute start, and then, at two-minute intervals, Staff Sergeant Baldwin first, followed by Legalman One Makepeace and then Personnel Specialist Three Donahue, drive out of the parking lot and turn right and then at the junction turn right again on to Broad Street. Drive one block and then circle around and come back to the parking lot. Once you've done that, you can return to your duties. Understood?"

Once again the chorused "Aye. Aye, sir," assured him his instructions had been understood.

Harm nodded, "Szaszkiewicz, with me!" and headed out of the lot at a fast walk. Harm reached his intended destination before the three cars drove in succession past his chosen spot, and as Donahue's car headed for the next turning to take it back to the JAG parking lot, he nodded again in satisfaction, and turned to Szaszkiewicz, "That's it Legalman Three, we're done!"

"Yes, sir!" Donahue hesitated, it wasn't his placed to question an officer's actions, but there seemed to be little sense in what the commander had just done, "Sir, if I may...?" he began nervously. "But what just happened here?"

Harm grinned, "Just a little experiment into lines of sight!" and turning on his heel he walked back to the JAG building, the Legalman two strict paces to his right flank rear.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1153hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051540ZApr01) **

"Enter" Harm called out, disturbed from his reading by a knock on the door-frame, and slightly irritated that it hadn't been heralded by Tiner.

The door opened to reveal Lieutenant Warren, who not closing it behind him, marched across the carpet and halted at attention in front of the big desk.

Harm leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, "What can I do for you, Mister?" he asked.

"Sir, I apologise for intruding, but I need you to sign off on this, please, sir." Warren placed a slim file-folder on the desk.

"What is it?" Harm asked reaching for it.

"A pre-trial agreement, sir. Sergeant Phillips, the Marine Corps Band Sergeant. He's agreed to loss of one pay grade to E-4, and three hundred dollars a month loss of pay for six months, sir."

"That's hardly a severe penalty for a one zero eight together with a one eleven, Lieutenant," Harm said regarding the younger officer levelly.

"No, sir. But it was at the suggestion of the convening authority, sir. Apparently Phillips is a first rate musician sir, with an exemplary record up to now, and the OIC Band doesn't want to lose him. Phillips was dumb and then unlucky. He'd had a few beers the previous evening, and then when he was detailed to dive the bus the next morning, he didn't give it a thought. The crash wasn't his fault, the bus was t-boned by some kid who shot a red light. The bus was empty at the time, except for Phillips, sir."

"Was Phillips the usual bus driver?" Harm asked. If so, then he was doubly stupid to have been drinking so heavily on a school night.

Warren heaved a quiet sigh, "No sir, he was a last second replacement. The band was due at Annapolis for a graduation ceremony rehearsal, and the usual driver, a Corporal... I'm sorry, sir, I can't remember his name off-hand, but it is in the file, sir, well the Corporal slipped going down the stairs from his barrack at Eighth and I, and rendered himself unconscious. By the time the Corpsmen arrived and dragged him off to Bethesda the whole Band was running late, so when Phillips was ordered to drive, he just picked up the keys and ran with it sir."

"Who ordered him to drive?" Harm asked.

"The OIC Band, sir. Phillips drove to Annapolis without any incident or any thinking that he was impaired in any way. The Band debussed at the Academy, but Phillips had to then park the bus... you know how parking is at Annapolis, sir..." Harm nodded his agreement. "So Phillips decided to use the parking lot two blocks away. He was on the way there when the bus was hit. The local LEOs were called, and it's their policy to breathalyse any driver involved in an MVA, that's when Phillips picked up the DUI, sir."

"This has just about got to be a record, Mister," Harm noted. "I only handed you this case this morning!"

"Yes, sir. And the first thing I did was to call the OIC Band to arrange for an interview. He had already drawn up a proposal, so I had him fax it over to me, then I just redrafted it into a formal agreement, drove over to Eighth and I, spoke to the OIC and to Phillips, together and separately. They both signed off on it, and all we need is your signature, too, sir."

Harm nodded, he had suspected that Warren had rushed into an agreement to clear up a 'petty' offence, but the way the younger man had related the facts of the case reassured him that he had taken the trouble to investigate the case pretty thoroughly, and had done so in what was a record time. Harm picked up his pen and scrawled his signature across the bottom of the the agreement and asked, "Has this been been entered in the docket yet, Mister?"

"No, sir. I'm on my way to the Judge's Legalman as soon as I leave here sir."

Harm nodded again, "OK, good work, Warren!"

The younger man almost wriggled with pleasure at Harm's praise, "Thank you, sir!"

"You're one of Commander Imes' section, aren't you?" Harm asked mildly.

"Yes, sir."Warren looked faintly puzzled at the question.

"Well next time, run anything like this by her, before you bring it to the Admiral, or me!" he said severely.

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir!" Warren gulped.

"Very well, Lieutenant, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Warren paused, and then about-faced and almost ran out of the office.

Harm gently shook his head and allowed himself a fleeting grin. Had he and his contemporaries ever been as keen and as bumbling as that?

A glance then at his watch conformed what his stomach had been hinting at, it was time for lunch, almost. Looking out of the window he decided that it was probably warm enough to eat outside, so grabbing his cover from the hat-tree as he passed, he closed his office door behind him, noting with raised eyebrows that Tiner was away from his desk. Well, that explained Warren's unheralded entrance, but Tiner was rarely away from his desk for so long. Stopping in the bull pen he looked around and laid eyes on a young Latina Legalman Three, who from her desk had a clear view of Tiner's, "Martinez, did you see where Tiner got to?"

"Uh... he... he had a visitor, sir... and... and he left... with her about ten minutes ago...to... to wa... walk her out... I think, sir." the young woman went crimson and was obviously flustered.

Harm shook his head, slight annoyed, why is it that none of these youngsters seemed to be able to string a coherent sentence together. "Very well," he replied in severe accents, "When Tiner returns, tell him I've gone for lunch!"

With that, he turned half left and made his way around the edge of the bull pen toward Loren's office. Reaching his goal, he stopped at the door and frowned, remembering at the last minute that Loren had already left for Norfolk.

Shaking his head at his own absent-mindedness he turned away from her office for the bull pen door that led to the elevator, when he heard his name called from behind, "Going to lunch, Harm?"

Turning he saw Meg grinning at him. Her purse already slung over her shoulder and her cover in hand "Indeed I am! And I was thinking I could maybe play hookey, just grab a sandwich and a soda and go eat in the park. Join me?" her asked casually.

"Sounds wonderful," Meg sighed, but I've got a thirteen hundred appointment... can we settle for an outside table?"

"Sure, why not? It won't do my reputation any harm to be seen with a beautiful woman every day this week!"

"Nor your ego!" Meg said not quite quietly enough for Harm not to hear, "Oh, never mind," she giggled when she saw his face, "I'll be good, and you can drool over me while pretending it's your egg salad!"

Harm grinned at the teasing note in Meg's voice, "If I drool in public it _will _be over my egg salad – otherwise Loren would kill me!" Harm grinned in his turn as he walked Meg to the elevator, "but what make you think I'll have an egg salad?"

"Harm, I've known you for too many years not to know your eating habits. It's a glorious spring day, warm enough to eat outside, without the summer humidity, and given your vegetarian diet, it doesn't take much to figure that you'll order a salad, and if you have a green salad today, then it will be an egg salad!"

"And you know this, how?" Harm asked as the elevator door slid open

"Ah. I have friends underground!" Meg quipped.

"What? In the resistance?" Harm asked thoroughly confused by Meg's answer.

"No! In the basement kitchens!" Meg crowed in triumph

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1214hrs EDT, Commissary, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (051614ZApr01) **

Harm grinned as he dropped his cover onto a spare chair as he and Meg took their seats at one of the white painted cast-iron tables that were dotted between an below the cherry tress outside the commissary. Meg's source of intelligence had been spot on, the only non-carnivore green salad available today was indeed made with hard-boiled eggs. Of course Harm could have opted for the commissary's favourite stand-bys, the vegetable lasagne, or tuna and pasta salad, but he preferred his own home-made version of those two dishes, and besides, Meg had got that right too, today felt like a salad day. Well it did to him; Meg apparently had no such scruples and had opted for braised liver with onions and mashed potatoes.

"Dead cow is bad enough!" Harm complained, "But the innards of dead cow, yeccch!"

"Am I asking you to eat it?" Meg grinned unrepentantly, "No? Well stop complaining!"

When Harm's expression of distaste did not change, she put her knife and fork down, took one of his large paws prisoner in both her hands, "Harm, listen to me a minute, please," she said earnestly.

Harm gave her a level look from under his eyebrows.

"OK, you know I don't eat red meat very often, it's not as if I had a Beltway habit. But every once in a while I get a craving... and no, before you ask, I'm not pregnant, and today when I saw the liver on the hot-plate, I knew I had to have a piece. Maybe it was my body's way of letting me know that I need the vitamins and trace elements that are in liver; I don't know. I do know that it will be months before I fancy a slice of liver again – unless, of course, I do get pregnant!" she finished with a joke.

Harm shook his head, in way he did get what Meg was saying, but it didn't make feel any less nauseous at her choice. The best he could come up with was a sickly grin and a muttered, "I'll hold you to that! Say... Christmas?"

"No deadlines," Meg warned him gently, "but trust me, normally I'm not that fond of liver... In fact... I don't think anyone is!" she finished thoughtfully.

"Hardly surprising, when you think about it!" Harm stated, and then he dropped his eyes and shifted, a bit uncomfortably in his seat, Meg thought.

"The other thing, Meg, forgive me for asking, and you might think it is none of my never-mind, but is there any reason that you might think you might be... uh... that... I mean..." Harm stuttered to a halt, uncomfortably aware that he was trespassing onto very private ground, and that as a result his ears were probably glowing a bright crimson.

"Is there any reason to suspect I might be pregnant?" Meg asked, declining to take offence, but her eyes clouded momentarily. She gave herself a shake and responded in her usual sunny manner, but with a hint of an edge to her voice, "No, not yet, and there won't be until Victor and I have resolved this damned commissioned and enlisted situation! I'd like to know what asshole..." whatever she was about say never reached Harm's ears when Meg stopped herself from completing her sentence as she looked up to see Mac and Harriet approaching.

"Unless you two are hip deep in love-talk, do you mind if we join you?" Mac asked, with a grin.

"Not, not all, I could do with some back up!" Meg grinned lazily, "Harm's getting pretty intense about my menu choice!"

"Oh, in that case, he can lecture me instead," Mac grinned as she deposited her tray on the table to reveal that her plate was filled with a double cheese-burger, fries and coleslaw, "I'm used to it!"

"But never learned a darn' thing!" Harm defended himself, "Hi, Harriet, pull up a pew! No Bud?"

"No," Harriet pouted "he had an appointment at Bethesda, and he's been such a pain in the six about it that I kicked him up there and told him he could bend their ears about it!"

"Nothing serious, is it?" Harm asked, concern for his friend evident in his voice.

"No... nothing like that, thank God! It's just his wisdom teeth are finally starting to come through, and after the accident to his jaw... Oh! Sorry, sir, I didn't mean..."

"It's OK Harriet, go on," Harm encouraged her.

"Well he's been in dental pain, so he's gone the dental services wing at Bethesda to have his jaw looked at, and if necessary they'll make arrangements to have those teeth pulled."

"That's a minor procedure these days, isn't it?" Meg asked.

"I believe so, ma'am," Harriet said, a bit stiffly, then she pouted again, "I hoped with his wisdom teeth coming through, Bud might give up his obsession with Star Trek!"

"Believe me, Harriet, that's not an obsession!" Mac said, with a sidelong look at Harm.

"Hey, a guy's got to have a hobby!" Harm protested.

"Oh yeah, what's yours?" Meg challenged him.

"Sarah," Harm answered simply.

"You've still got that thing?" Meg asked feigning disbelief.

"Damn straight! In fact I'm going down to Charlottesville straight after secure, and we – Loren and I – will be flying all weekend! In fact, if you were to get there about Sunday lunchtime, I might even take you up for an hour or two!

Mac picked up her burger and raised it to her mouth, but paused in the act and with a wink at the Texan officer warned her, "Don't do it, Meg! The first time he took me up, we crashed and then he got me shot by poachers!"

"We did not crash! We had to make an unscheduled landing" Harm objected, "And you got yourself shot without any help from me!" but his protests were drowned out by a wave of female laughter as he tried to defend himself from the spin Mac had put on their adventure.

Mac grinned at him and picked up her burger again, and with every sign of enjoyment took a healthy bite out of it, causing ketchup to ooze out between the two patties and drip onto her fingers, which she sucked clean with a noisy slurp.

"That... that... that is just plain disgusting!" Harm complained and then as he saw the response in Mac's dancing eyes, he grinned and added "And no! I am not about to 'just suck it up'!"

Harriet grinned at the by-play between the two long-term partners, and then as she looked up she saw her own amusement reflected in Meg's eyes. She had pretty well avoided Meg since she had torn Harriet a new six for interfering in Harm's personal life. Her grin froze in place to be gradually replaced by a thoughtful expression, and then when she noticed that Meg's own expression became quizzical, she hastily dropped her eyes and covered her momentary confusion by taking a bite of her chicken sandwich followed long sip of her diet soda.

For a few minutes the four were silently busy as they finished their meals, until Harm placed his knife and fork neatly on his plate and took a gulp from his bottle of mineral water, "Mac, did you get through to Sue, OK?"

Mac picked up the last two fries on her plate, popped them into her mouth and chewed for a few moments before she swallowed, and then blotting her lips with a paper napkin, she answered, "Yeah, it looks like we're good to go. We've tentatively scheduled the visit to begin on Friday April Twentieth. Sue will fly me down and stay until the Sunday afternoon, then she'll come back on Friday April Twenty-Seventh and we'll both fly back up on the Sunday, so I'll be ready to ship out Monday, April Thirtieth."

Harm nodded, pleased that Mac was finally getting something to go her way. "OK, I'll start the ball rolling and have the thirtieth entered as the effective date on your orders, get them issued and get Tiner to organise your movement details. The_ Guadalcanal_'s in the Pacific, so it looks like your primary movement will be to MCAS Pearl, and I'm sure the Corps will see to your needs from there!"

Mac made a momentary grimace of distaste, but swiftly replaced it with a resigned smile, "Sounds like a plan," she agreed, reaching for her own bottle of blackcurrant tinted water.

"A J is so going to miss his 'Aun'ie Mac', when you're gone, ma'am," Harriet said with a watery smile, "Hell... Bud and I are going to miss you!"

"Hey, it's only for six months. With any luck, I'll be back for Halloween, and definitely for Thanksgiving, right, Harm?" Mac replied encouragingly.

"Damn right!" Harm agreed, although now that he and Mac were heading back towards the easy, bantering relationship they had once shared, he wondered how badly he was going to miss working with her. Of course, the thinking part of his brain reminded him, things would never again reach the intensity of feelings they had shared before he returned to flying. Mac's rejection of that part of his make up had seen to that, and now the role she had filled back then, that of his best friend, had necessarily been taken over by Loren. Still, he would be sorry to see her go. He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he became aware that Harriet was trying to attract his attention.

"Sir?" she said, and it was obvious from the strange looks he was receiving from Mac and Loren. That it wasn't the first time.

"I'm so sorry, Harriet" he turned the apologetic version of his mega-watt smile on the blonde administrative officer, "I was wool-gathering, how can I help you?"

"I was just saying, sir, that when the Colonel gets back, we'll truly have something for which to give thanks!"

"That we will, Harriet, that we will!" Harm agreed enthusiastically and had the added gratification of seeing Mac's cheeks turn a deep, rose pink.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1448hrs EDT, Commissary, Admin Section, Naval Base Norfolk, VA, (051848ZApr01) **

Loren had shoved her half-finished coffee to one side and tried to re-read the case file she had brought with her from Falls Church. It was no good, it still wasn't making any sense. Shaking her head in perplexity, she now closed the case file in front of her and resting her elbows on the table in front of her, she buried her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes, she then leaned back and closed her eyes for a second. Opening them again she sat up and shook her head in irritation, she had been firing on only three cylinders all morning, unable to concentrate one hundred per cent on what was in front of her. Now, having spent the drive from DC mentally gnawing at the case that had brought her to Norfolk she was no better off than when she had climbed into the Miata.

Oh, she didn't have to wonder what was wrong with her. She knew. It was the limited choices that the Admiral had turned up for her and Harm's future billets. Reaching for her briefcase she retrieved the two lists of billets and read them through again while she pondered the decision she had made. Annapolis was a good career step for her, not so much for Harm, and the daily commute was doable, but she also had a nagging feeling that while it wouldn't be any great hardship in the short term, the repeated journeys could well add, little by little, to chronic fatigue, and she knew from past experience that she reacted badly to being tired, and that wouldn't be fair to Harm... or to herself. Besides she had a vague idea that most of the work would be Article Fifteens or reviewing the Midshipmen's Honour Board findings. The more she studied the two lists the greater her discontent grew. There had to be something better for her... and maybe there was... with a faint lift of hope she leaned forward, brought up her contacts list on her cell-phone, checking a rarely-used number, then with a half smile she pressed the buttons to call that number.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1645hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (052045ZApr01) **

Yep! Harm thought, mentally popping the 'p', that was enough for today, hell, and for the week! He had cleared his in-tray of the pile of folders and documents that Tiner had so generously heaped it with, and his hand was cramped from scrawling so many signatures in so short a space of time.

Having stretched and rolled his head around his neck, Harm leaned forward and pressed the intercom button, "Tiner?"

"_Sir_!" the reply was almost instantaneous.

"I'm about to secure for the weekend. Who's duty attorney?"

"_Lieutenant Barlow and then Commander Turner, sir_!"

"Very well. Make sure my cell phone is in the duty book in case of need!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

"And how's the clearing of the old Chief of Staff's office coming on? There was a fair amount of noise coming from that direction earlier."

"_Going well, as far as I can see, sir. Hawkins was running a tight ship from what I saw, si_r!"

"And Lieutenant Sims has sorted out your wet-down, Tiner?

"Y_es, sir! It's going to be a joint celebration for myself and Hawkins, sir. Lieutenant Sims agreed that it wasn't right to celebrate one achievement and not the other, sir! So it's going to be at McMurphy's __at nineteen hundred a week today sir. We're hoping the Admiral will be fit enough to put in an appearance, sir._"

Harm nodded, although Tiner couldn't see him. "Good thinking, there, Tiner. Keep me informed!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1707hrs EDT, I-64 Hampton Roads Beltway, Norfolk, VA (052107ZApr01) **

Loren surrendered her visitor's pass to the Marines at the guard-post and then turned left out the navy dockyard gates on to the I-64 which would take her all the way Charlottesville, and steeled herself to the potential boredom of the unaccompanied drive. She'd turned on her car radio and smiled as the sounds of smooth jazz came to her ear. She really must tell Harm – again – not to alter her station preferences, in the meantime it wasn't unpleasant listening, and she had plenty of time before she reached Charlottesville; three hours by her reckoning, unless she got hung up in traffic at Richmond, in which to retune the radio if she wanted.

Making a slight moué of discontent, Loren glanced down at the speedometer and nodded, she was keeping a steady sixty mph, not speeding, but keeping up with the flow of the traffic. She'd have to reduce speed at the Hampton Roads tunnel a couple of miles ahead, but if she could keep that speed up once she was through that bottleneck then she'd be happy.

It was as she emerged from that bottle neck and drivers started to adjust the interval between themselves and the car in front that, glancing in her mirror, she checked that the dark red mid-sized sedan behind her wasn't tail-gating and reassured on that count settled back again.

While she drove she pondered on the events of the afternoon. Her interview with Fire Control Man Three Edwards had almost been straightforward. He couldn't remember committing any of the offences with which he had been charged, and his Divisional Officer and Chief Petty Officer had both made statements declaring that his behaviour on that day was completely unlike his normal behaviour, which they both described as dutiful but not stellar. A breathalyser test applied by the Masters at Arms who had arrested him had shown that there was no alcohol in his system, and that had at least resulted in the drunk and disorderly charged being dropped, but his errant behaviour had warranted further investigation and Edwards had consented, although without the benefit of legal advice, Loren noted, to having blood being drawn for forensic analysis. All parties were now waiting for the results of that blood test, and until they were received there was not much else either prosecution nor defence could do. In the meantime, Edwards stayed behind bars, Loren to her immense dissatisfaction with the man had failed to persuade Edwards' Captain to have him released from pre-trial confinement.

She was, despite that last disappointment, fairly satisfied with the results of her interview this afternoon, and relieved that the 'phone call she had over her cup of coffee has at least settled her mind to the degree where she could concentrate on making a start on Edwards' defence. Of course, the problem she had lying ahead of her now, was to get Harm to agree to her plan. At that thought, a little smile played around the corners of her mouth, somehow, she didn't think that she'd have any major problems in that direction.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1713hrs EDT, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (052113ZApr01) **

Mac had her purse already slung over her shoulder and her cover in hand when her desk phone rang. For a second or two she debated whether to pick it up, but a call at this time on a Friday was probably important, and even if it wasn't she had been half-expecting to hear from Sue today. With an expression on her face that registered her inner conflict between resignation and annoyance, she perched on the corner of her desk and picked up the handset.

"MacKenzie."

"Mac? Hi, this is Peter McMahon at LeJeune..."

"Peter, this is a surprise!" Mac said, a finger unconsciously twirling a tress of her hair as she spoke.

"Not a very pleasant one, I'm afraid," MacMahon said heavily, "But I thought you might want to know that following the discover of Hinds' car the County Sheriff's department asked for Corps help in searching the woods outside the perimeter fence. Private Hinds' body was found about an hour and a half ago. It was difficult to tell, but it looks liked he'd been shot twice, once in the back and a second time at the base of the skull, but we won't know for sure until we can get an ME to do a post-mortem."

"Difficult to tell?" Mac asked, the frown on her face transmitting through her voice to McMahon's ears.

"Yeah..." he said, and in her turn Mac could hear the discomfort in his voice, "It appears he's been dead a while... and lying out in the woods, the critters got to him..."

Mac gulped, and fought down a sudden spasm of nausea, "I see... You say you don't have an ME immediately available?"

"No... at least that's that Baxter at the MP battalion tells me."

"OK, here's a suggestion. Have Baxter get on to the VA hospital at Memphis, and request Commander Theresa Coulter, she's a forensic pathologist. She's reserved her commission, but she's been recalled to active duty a time or two, and I've worked on a couple of cases with her. She's good, very good, at what she does!"

"Coulter..." McMahon spelled out the name. "Thanks for the suggestion, Mac. I'll keep you in the loop!"

"Yeah, thanks, Peter, I appreciate that!" Mac replied, although she wasn't particularly keen to hear gruesome details, she wasn't about to let a fellow Marine office know that she could be squeamish about such things.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1721hrs EDT, US-29 Gainsville - Culpepper, VA (052121ZApr01) **

Harm eased the Lexus off the I-66 West at junction 43A to join the US-29 South, which would take him straight into Charlottesville. He had taken ten minutes at JAG to scramble out of his whites and into jeans and a casual corduroy button down shirt, before signing out at the CP, where Lance Corporal Somers had taken his building pass with a slight, and to Harm's puzzled eyes, knowing smile. And for some strange reason the Gods that oversaw traffic and traffic signals had decided to smile on him that day, every traffic signal he approached turned green and particularly for a Friday afternoon the traffic was extraordinarily light.

Until he had neared the junction of the I-66 and US-29 Harm had rethought the career options facing him and Loren. He had managed to push them to the back of his mind for the working day, but his brain, now freed of the need to attend to the requirement s of the office, had attacked the problem anew. Just before he needed to concentrate on negotiating the interchange he had reached a solution and had smiled in satisfaction at his decision, This way round would be much better. Of course, he still had to sell the idea to Loren, but that, he told himself rather smugly, shouldn't be too much of a problem!

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1731hrs EDT,Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (052131ZApr01) **

Meg waited until the duty Petty Officer had made his tour of the offices, ensuring that all computers, particularly the shared-use ones in the bull pen were properly closed down and that all the attorney's offices were locked. He hadn't been particularly surprised to find Meg still at her desk, it wasn't unusual for attorneys to have to work late, although it was a bit unexpected on a Friday. He had merely smiled and asked, "Don't forget to let me know when you leave, ma'am!"

"I wont, Samuels, thank you! But I don't expect to be more than another five or ten minutes," Meg smiled and unwittingly gained another supporter.

She waited until Samuels had continued his security check before she carefully checked a telephone number on her VDU and then equally carefully dialled that number. The phone at the other end picked up after only three rings and a clipped, professional, female voice said, "_MCAS Yuma, __Base Medical Facility_."

"Uh... Male surgical ward, please," Meg asked.

"One moment, ma'am, transferring you now!"

A series of clicks on the line ended with another female voice saying, "_Male Surgical, Lieutenant Riordan, how may I help you?_"

"Good afternoon Lieutenant, this Commander Austin, at JAG Corps HQ in Falls Church. You have one of our NCOs with you, recovering after surgery for a GSW to the abdomen...a Gunnery Sergeant Galindez."

"_We do, ma'am_."

"How's he doing? I know you can't give me specifics, but a general idea would help..."

"_Are you his CO, ma'am_?"

"No, no I'm not, and neither am I family, I'm just the senior officer at HQ at the moment..."

"_Well.._." Riordan hesitated, "_I really can't go into details, but his recovery is going well, and if it continues at this rate, we might be looking at transferring him to Bethesda by the end of next week_."

"Thank you, Lieutenant, that's good news, and I'll pass it on up the chain of command on Monday. In the meantime, can you let the Gunnery Sergeant know that I called, and that I wish him a speedy recovery?"

"_Of course, ma'am_!"

"Thanks again, Lieutenant!" Meg put down the phone with a smile on her face. Victor was getting better and his improved condition was going as scheduled. And with any luck he'd be back in the DC area in a week's time! Glancing at her watch however, soon wiped the smile off her face. If she didn't hurry she's miss the appointment she'd finally made with the surveyor.

Grabbing her cover and purse,she closed the office door behind her, and with a bright, "Goodnight, Samuels!" she practically ran to the elevator.

"Goodnight, ma'am!" a grinning Samuels replied to the bull pen's swinging door.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1850hrs EDT, I-64 West, Short Pump, VA (052250ZApr01) **

Loren watched carefully for traffic filtering on to the I-64 from the right as she negotiated the junction with the I-295 and once again eased her foot off the gas as she dropped back to a safe distance from the car that had come dangerously close to cutting her up as it had joined the traffic flow, 'The further I am from that idiot, the better! Where did some of these morons learn to drive? Sheesh!' was the thought that ran through her head. The look of disgusted impatience at the other driver's incompetence or recklessness was, however, replaced by a slightly concerned frown as she automatically checked her mirrors, to see the same dark red sedan till at a safe distance behind her.

'OK, there's no real reason why somebody else shouldn't be taking the same route as I am on a Friday evening, but, after last week, I wish I'd taken Mac's advice and brought my side-arm with me! OK. Yeah, nice one Loren! Now you're getting paranoid' she thought. 'There was one way way to tell if I am being tailed, and that was to do something unexpected, and if the red car stayed with me, then it would be a pretty solid clue. Of course doing something unexpected on a multi lane highway wasn't quite as easy as driving a couple of time round the block back in Georgetown, but on the other hand, if the red car was following her, the driver would hardly be likely to try and force me off the road or to a halt on a busy highway, to do so would attract more attention that would be wanted by somebody involved in nefarious activities.

Loren thought for a few moments and then a sign advising that the next junction, Virginia Highway 288 was approaching solidified a vague she'd been forming. Moving over to the right hand land Loren let the slip road take her off the I-64, and lead her onto the 288 South. At the next junction she checked her rear view mirror, the dark red sedan was nowhere in sight, and Loren grinned at her own paranoia as she followed the slip roads around the junction until she was once more facing north and approaching the I-64. 'Still, better safe than sorry,' she told herself as she again merged into the west bound stream of traffic, all she had lost was ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and she had put her mind at rest.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1859hrs EDT,****Meg Austin's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th** **Street NE** **North of Union Station, Washington DC (052259ZApr01)**

Meg had made it back to her apartment, panting and flushed, just in time to prevent the surveyor from giving up. Stumbling over a breathless apology, she led him into the apartment and asked him to sit while she regained her composure and explained what she wanted to do to the bathroom.

All had gone well, he had taken his time and had been forced to lever up a floor board in the living area, but eventually he had risen from his knees, smiled and said, "You know, you could install an Olympic-sized pool in here, if you had the room, and those joists wouldn't even feel it!"

"I take it that's an exaggeration?" Meg asked.

"Yeah, just slightly," the surveyor grinned, "but you can go ahead and install your bath just as soon as you like!"

**Friday 5 April 2201, 1922hrs EDT, I-64 West, Gum Spring, VA (052322ZApr01) **

Loren leaned forward and pressed the station select button on the radio, tiring at last of the jazz and grinned as the strains of country music filled the car, _Real Live Woman _sung by Trisha Yearwood. One of Loren's guilty secrets was her love of country music, and Yearwood was one of her favourite female vocalists, and in short order, Loren went from beating time on the steering wheel with her fingers to joining in with the song. Her enjoyment of the song didn't interfere with her driving skills. But he enjoyment of the song didn't last long. A glance in her mirror prompted a classic double take and the words died in her mouth as she saw what she was prepared to swear was the same dark red sedan in her six o'clock.

An instant of panic gripped her, how the hell and it picked her up again? Loren was tempted to put her foot down hard on the gas-pedal, but she was already doing a steady sixty mph and in the current traffic she didn't feel safe pushing any faster. 'Relax, Loren, relax, this could all be coincidental... there was more than one reason that the sedan could have ended up behind me... a comfort stop, or a wrong turning... or... or, it could actually be following me.' Biting her lip, Loren wished not for the first time that she had a hands-free phone set-up in the car, so she could call Harm... he'd probably be at the hotel by now...

'Stay calm, stay calm... all I've got is suspicion... we're on a public road, whoever it is has just as much right as I do …'

By her own reckoning, Loren had about another half hour ahead of her, maybe a little more, until she reached Charlottesville, and the succession of turns she'd have to make once she got there would either discount or confirm her suspicions. 'Next time, I don't leave Falls Church without my weapon!' she vowed silently.

The next thirty five minutes kept Loren dividing her attention between the road ahead and her rear-view mirror. Her heart leaped into her throat as she swing off the I-64 onto the US-29 North as the dark red car followed her down the off-ramp, and it lodged in her throat and started beating harder when it followed her left turn onto the US-250. By the time both cars turned onto Ednam Drive Loren was running on pure adrenalin and her anger had risen to overcome her fear. When the red car swung into the Boars Head parking lot behind her, she pulled into a parking slot and watched in her mirror as the other car parked. Slamming the gears into reverse, Loren peeled out of the parking slot and slammed to halt across the red car's - a Honda Accord – trunk and springing from the seat, she rushed up to the driver's door and yanked it open, "OK, what the hell are you playing..." she yelled heedless of any danger, but then she fell silent and her mouth dropped open as she gazed in amazement down into the startled eyes of a dark-haired woman who not only wore heavy rimmed glasses, but also wore Navy Summer Whites with the shoulder boards and Mill Rindes of a JAG Lieutenant Commander.

The strange Lieutenant Commander quickly took in Loren's uniform and the startled look on her face gave way to anger. Loren had almost literally scared the crap out of her when she had yanked the Accord's door open, and now, just as Loren's fear had given way to fury a few minutes ago, so was hers giving way now.

"Lock it up, Lieutenant!" she practically snarled as she swung her legs out of the car and stood facing her accuser. "Just what the hell do _you_ think you're playing at?" she demanded, loud enough for the two couples at the hotel's main door to turn their heads.

"Why were you following me, ma'am?" Loren's tone was only just short of insubordination.

"Following you? I was doing no such thing!" the Lieutenant Commander denied, "I'm here to meet my husband!"

"So... how come you were on my tail, practically all the way from Norfolk, and even when I tried to lose you by ducking off the sixty-four, you still managed to pick me up again?" Loren demanded hotly.

"I wasn't following you!" the strange Lieutenant Commander denied hotly, "I've just driven up from Little Creek, the same as I do most weekends! I can't help it if we were on the same stretch of road at the same time. In fact we were almost bound to be, if we both secured at about the same time and had the same destination in mind!"

"So how come you got behind me again, after I circled back?" Loren insisted.

"Oh... I don't know... maybe it was when I stopped to use the head at a gas station..."

That gave Loren pause to think... "Umm... yeah... but... you still scared the crap out of me!" she shot at the brunette officer.

"No more than you just did to me!" the Lieutenant Commander retorted.

The two female officers stood glaring at each for long moments, neither willing to give an inch, until Loren's sense of humour kicked in. The ghost of grin lifted the corners of her mouth and after a further moment of incredulity the brunette's mouth turned up and less than a second later, both were leaning back against the cars behind them, both in the grip of a fit of giggles as laughter bled away the tension.

"Oh... I am sorry for scaring you!" Loren almost wept as she dog in her purse for a Kleenex.

"M...me... t... too!" the other officer hiccuped.

Loren blotted her eyes, shook her head and offered her hand, "Loren Singer," she introduced herself.

"Angela Williams!" the other replied taking Loren's hand in her own. And looking more carefully at the blonde, she mentally undid Loren's bun imagining her hair falling to her shoulders, "And I think I've seen you here before on at least one occasion..."

Loren blinked, "Yes... my fiancé has a plane at the airport, we often come down and fly at weekends! And I think I know who you are... although I think I've only ever seen you out of uniform and with your hair down... Your husband's name is Robert, right?"

"Yes... "Angela answered warily, but to her relief, Loren merely grinned.

"Apparently he came that close," she held up thumb and forefinger with a minuscule gap between them, "to reporting Harm and I for fraternisation!"

Angela closed her eyes in embarrassment, "Oh, God, I know... believe me I tried so hard to get him to drop it, but you know what men are like!"

"Yes, stubborn, obstinate and pig-headed!" Loren affirmed.

"And deaf to good reason too!" Angela added.

Both women chuckled again and then fell into an awkward silence, "Look, I wish I could say it's been a pleasure meeting you, Loren," Angela said, "But maybe things'll go better next time?"

"Yeah... and anyway, I need to go and park my car again," Loren agreed, "But maybe we'll see each other again soon..."

"Yeah," Angela nodded and ducked back into her car to retrieve her purse and cover.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 2011hrs EDT, Room 214, The Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (052322ZApr01) **

"You're late," Harm remarked teasingly as he and Loren broke their kiss and stood smiling each into the other's eyes.

"It's a bit of a long story..." Loren began as she stripped off her uniform, "What time did you book our table for?"

"Twenty thirty hours," Harm replied. "I figured you'd be here about half an hour ago?"

By the tone of his voice Loren could tell that Harm was fishing for details, but she merely replied, "Damn! That means I haven't got time for a shower – or a bath, and that I've been looking forward to." She grabbed her sponge bag and headed into the bathroom. "I'll have to make do with a lick and a promise for now, but I'm having a long hot soak after dinner!"

Harm shook his head and sat on the end of the bed while he waited the ten minutes it took for Loren to freshen up. Her return to the bedroom in only bra and panties made his grin grow even broader, a fact that made Loren eye him suspiciously and then to eventually reprimand him, "Down boy! You can put all thoughts of anything like that right out of your mind until after you have fed me and I've had a shot at that long, hot soak! And then... if you're lucky..."

"M'mm... did I tell you I'm feeling 'strordinarily lucky this evening?"

"Yeah?" Loren asked acerbically, "Try your games with Marie or Sandie then and see how lucky you get!"

"Why on earth would I want to do that when you're all I want?" Harm asked, "Anyway I'd be wasting my time... I'm pretty sure those two bat for the other team!" he added with a shit-eating grin.

Loren had jut wriggled into her jeans when he said that, and stopped buttoning them up as she glared at him, "O! You! You... you... man!" she half laughed, "That was exactly what I meant!"

"I know," Harm replied smugly, "But you didn't really expect me to fall for that one did you!"

"H'mph! I'll get you for that in the school yard!" Loren threatened.

"Yeah? If you do, I'll dunk your pig-tails in the ink-well!" Harm retorted.

"Yeah riight!" Loren scoffed, and continued fastening the buttons on her lilac blouse, and having dressed she turned to the mirror and gave her hair, now loosened from its bun, a couple of cursory strokes with her hair-brush and turned back to Harm. "Hungry sailor here, Commander. Feed me!"

Harm stood and opened the door with an exaggerated flourish, "My wish is your command!" he assured Loren grandly.

Loren gave him a searching look, then shook her head as if in wonder, grinned and skipped smartly through the door, in order to evade the swat on the butt that she was sure was coming her way.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 2028hrs EDT, Restaurant, Boar's Head Inn, Ednam's Lane, Charlottesville VA (060028ZApr01) **

Marie greeted Harm and Loren with a huge smile, "We missed you last week Mister Rabb! Welcome back Miss Singer!"

"Hello, Marie," Loren smiled, "We missed being here too! We just couldn't make it last weekend. Harm was needed in DC and I was down in North Carolina!"

"Ugh! Swamps, sand-flies and high humidity! Sooner you than me! Ah, Sandie! Show Mister Rabb and Miss Singer to their table please!"

"We can find it," Harm objected.

"I'm sure you can sir, but Sandie's got to do some work to earn her pay!" Marie answered in a stage whisper, just loud enough for Sandie to hear.

"Pay no attention to her, Mister Rabb," the blonde waitress smiled, "she's in a bit of a snit tonight!"

"Oh, about what?" Loren asked as they crossed the floor.

"I have absolutely no idea!" Sandie said with a smile at Marie that was definitely naughty.

Loren was about to say something when Harm nudged her with his elbow, "Who's that woman smiling at you?" he demanded, and then as the angle opened he saw the face of the mystery woman's table companion, he said "Uh... How come you know her?"

Loren looked across and acknowledged Angela's smile with a smile and a nod of her own, "That's part of the long story!" she said as they reached their table and she stood while Harm drew back her chair for her. "I'll tell you all about it while we eat!"

Sandie waited patiently menus tucked under her arm as they seated themselves and with a smile handed them both a menu. "The vegetarian special tonight is Creole style red beans with with steamed wild rice," she told Harm. We have a new Chef from Louisiana and he's introducing a different special dish every couple of days, or of course there's the usual range of vegetarian options." She looked at Loren, "If you wanted to try a fish dish, there's blackened catfish that's been highly recommended, by other guests; it's served with scallops of potato..."

"OK... tell you what, Sandie, why don't you get us a couple of bottles of chilled mineral water while we look over the menus, and we'll let you know when you get back..."

"Certainly, Mister Rabb!" Sandie smiled cheerfully and whisked away in the direction of the bar, and as soon s she was out of earshot, Loren looked reproachfully across the table at Harm and said in a chiding tone, "Harm, you didn't have to be so rude to the poor girl, she was only doing her job! She's probably been told to push those items!"

"I wasn't rude!" Harm denied but seeing Loren nod solemnly, he added,"Was I? I didn't mean to be... actually the rice and beans sounds good. Harriet serves something similar at the July Fourth softball game... I might give this version a try!"

"Good! Because I'm pretty sure you'll have to!" Loren said sharply, "Just to make up for your rudeness!"

Harm nodded, his attention now wholly taken up by the re-worked vegetarian section of the menu, which as Sandie had promised still contained all the old dishes, but also a selection of new ones, and one that caught his eye in the starter section was okra and red lentil soup. It was something he hadn't tried before, but then again... he was having a main course that he thought he knew... so he decided to take a chance.

He and Loren closed their menus at just about the same time that Sandie returned to the table with their mineral water. Smiling she asked if they were ready to order. Loren in an unconscious duplication of Harm's lunch ordered the egg salad starter followed by the blackened catfish, while Harm decided on the okra soup and the beans and rice.

"Oh... and a bottle of..." he paused and cocked an eye at Loren.

"Oh... the Muscadet, again?" Loren looked back at Ham, who nodded his agreement. Sandie bestowed another smile on the pair and whirled away to place their order.

"OK..." Harm poured them both a glass of water, "Give, why were you late... and how come you know Lieutenant commander Williams' wife?"

"Well... firstly... I don't think I'll let you slide on the way you asked that, Harmon Rabb," Loren said her eyes flashing with displeasure. "I don't know what's got into you this evening! First you were rude to Sandie, and now you _demand_ that I explain myself to you. And I don't think I will! If this is what a couple of days sitting in the big chair does to you, then all I can say is hurry back Admiral Chegwidden!"

"Whoa!" Harm was taken completely aback, "Is that the way I've just come across?" he asked in pained surprise.

"Damn straight it was! Loren replied firmly taking a sip of her water.

"Wow, I certainly didn't mean to be all dictatorial," Harm said ruefully, "So perhaps it's a good job you're here to give me a reality check! I am sorry, Loren, truly, but I guess you still don't get how worried about you I get. And it's only because I love you. Do you remember what a mess I was, the night you got caught in that storm on your way back from Norfolk!"

"Yes, I do, and it's got to stop Harm. I am a naval officer, not some sixteen year-old schoolgirl who needs daddy sitting up waiting for her after a Saturday night date!" Loren said, not quite ready to let Harm off the hook. For their future happiness he had to learn when to step back and give her room, conveniently forgetting at this point that how only a couple of hours ago she'd wished for a hands-free car-phone to call him when she'd been feeling vulnerable

"OK, OK..." Harm said holding his hands up in mock surrender, "But given that I _was_ worried about you, would you please tell me what took you so long to get to here from Norfolk?"

Loren looked across the table at Harm's earnest expression. It was no good. She wanted to stay mad at him, but was totally unable to do so. She took a deep breath, "OK... it started just after I got the through the Hamptons' Tunnel on the sixty-four...

Loren gave Harm a run-down of her journey, skipping over the fear she'd felt as the mysterious car kept with her, and that she had worried that it might somehow be connected with last week's investigation at LeJeune. She was also careful to avoid mentioning that she wished she'd been armed, and resolved to raise the issue of hands-free kits for both their cars in the near future.

Her narrative was disrupted by the arrival of their starter courses and then their meals, and was slowed down by the need for them to eat. And despite Loren's story telling skills and Harm's avid interest in her tale, both paused to enjoy the dishes in front of them.

"So... by the time I pulled into the parking lot here I was so mad, that I just stormed up to the Accord, wrenched the door open and started to give the driver a piece of my mind!" Loren giggled, "I'd already started to tear her a new one, when I saw she was JAG Lieutenant Commander! Honestly, Harm, I really did feel the ground drop away beneath my feet. She saw who I was, well at least that I was a Lieutenant, and she practically erupted out her car and told me to snap to. Well, we were both so mad at each other that we just stood there yelling at each other for a couple of minutes until the absurdity of the situation hit both of us at about the same time. And..." Loren blushed, silently cursing her mother, "and we both just dissolved into giggles!"

Harm shook his head, but with an effort held his tongue. He had seen the shadow of remembered fear flit across Loren's face on a couple of occasions, but in light of her recent scold, he decided that now was not the time to raise those issues. But Loren had also mentioned that she thought there might have been a connection with the case at Lejeune, and he silently resolved that on Monday he would ask Mac exactly what had happened that she hadn't put in her report.

"So... she's not going to charge you with insubordination, disrespect or assault?" he grinned across the table.

"No... we both agreed that men were fools and a pain in the ass, and we parted on very good terms!" Loren grinned.

"Men? How did we come into it?" Harm asked in surprise.

Loren merely gave him 'that' look and returned her attention to her dinner.

**Friday 5 April 2201, 2323hrs EDT, Room 214, The Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (050323ZApr01) **

Harm stripped out of his jeans and shirt and pulled on the remaining terry-cloth bath robe that hung on the back of the room door and opened the door to the perfumed and steam-filled atmosphere of the bathroom. Loren lay back with her head resting on the folded towel she had placed on the edge of the bath and had her eyes closed as she surrendered to the sensuous feel of the perfumed water on her skin.

Harm smiled down at her as he sat on the edge of the tub. "I seem to recall this bath being big enough for two..." he said reminiscently

"M'mm..." Loren murmured.

"So if you were to scoot forward just a tad," Harm suggested, "Then I could ease into the bath behind you..."

"M'mm... why would I do that? I'm pretty comfortable just as I am," Loren demurred.

"Well you could be a little more comfortable with your head resting on my chest or shoulder instead of that hard bath tub?" Harm suggested in a reasonable voice.

"S'pose so..." Loren murmured lazily, "But would the benefit actually outweigh the effort I'd have to make to get comfortable again?" Loren asked,

"Well there's only one way to find out out..." Harm answered as he undid the bath robe's tie.

"I guess," Loren agreed, peeping through half opened eyes at Harm as he stood fully nude for a second before stepping into the bath.

Loren sat up for a few second while Harm lowered himself into the water, one leg each side of her and his hands resting on her stomach. Loren gave a sigh of utter contentment, closed her eyes and relaxed back against the chest of the man she loved so much


	51. Chapter 51

**51**

**Saturday 6 April 2001, 0640hrs EDT, Room 214, The Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (061040ZApr01) **

Harm awoke to the buzz of their travelling alarm clock to find himself tightly spooned against Loren's back, his right arm trapped between the side of her chest and her right arm, his left arm draped over her waist with his hand resting on her stomach. As he gently tried to work his trapped arm free Loren stirred, "Turni'off," she mumbled into her pillow.

"Trying to," Harm whispered, "but I'm stuck..."

The sense of his words must have gotten through to Loren as she mumbled something indistinct and rolled over onto her front. Harm propped himself up on his right elbow and stretching out a long left arm reached over Loren and slapped the offending clock into silence.

"M'mm 'sbetter..." Harm heard his somnolent fiancée reply, he smiled and leaning over her, gently parted the hair at the nape of her neck and dropped a gently kiss on her skin just above the neckband of the T-shirt she'd worn to bed.

Loren wriggled against the pillows and murmured something which Harm figured betokened some degree of content, and with a regretful sigh he eased himself out from under the covers and into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later showered and shaved, dressed in his jeans but still bare footed and bare chested he sat on the side of the bed and gently waved a mug of freshly made instant coffee under Loren's nose, which as the aroma reached it, he could have sworn twitched. One blue eye opened and identified the object waved in front of it and then Loren sighed, flopped over onto her back and propped herself on both elbows, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

"Morning, booful..." Harm grinned, leaning for a brief kiss.

"Ohhh... mornin' yourself..." Loren smiled blearily, "'Smine?"

"Sure is," Harm grinned, "mine's on the night-stand..."

"Oh... gimee... please..."

Harm surrendered the mug and smiled in pure pleasure as Loren closed her eyes as she took her first sip. The brand of instant coffee with which the Boars Head supplied its guests was one of the best available, and came surprisingly near the taste and aroma of fresh brewed coffee, and that first early morning mug of coffee for Loren marked the real start of the weekend.

**Saturday 6 April 2001, 0811hrs EDT, Room 214, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (061211ZApr01) **

"'Morning Pop," Harm and Loren chorused, as they strolled into the hangar, so close together that their shoulders bumped as they walked side by side.

Pop straightened up from his work bench and wiped his oily hands on a piece of cotton waste as he watched the couple more from the sunlight into the comparative darkness of the hangar. "She's all gassed up 'n' ready," he said laconically with a nod towards the veteran bi-plane. "Nothin' but routine maintenance to get her through her certificate.

"Didn't expect there would be, Pop," Harm acknowledged, "You and your boys keep her in tip-top condition!"

"Yeah, well, once she's up an' running, it's easier to keep her that aways than let her fall off an' then have to work twice as hard to bring her back on line!"

"I hear you, Pop!" Harm agreed fervently. "The inspection costs will be on the next bill?"

"Uh-huh," the old man nodded, "I can get it ready for you for tomorrow, or next week?"

"Next week's fine, Pop. Just as long as you don't need gas money!"

"Not today, son." Pop answered.

Harm grinned, the grin transforming into a smile as he turned to Loren, "If you want to get rigged out, I'll grab one of the boys and wheel her out!"

Loren nodded, "The Ladies' Room all fixed up Pop?"

"Nuh-huh, but there ain't no-one around 'cept me an' the boys, an' we're all too busy to try an' sneak a peek, you jest get on in there!"

"Why, Pop, you take all the fun out of life!" Loren retorted, and with a roguish wink that sent the older man into a paroxysm of gasping laughter, she turned and headed for her make-shift dressing room, and left Harm standing and staring after her with his chin on his chest.

"Heh, keeps you on your toes, does that one!" Pop wheezed, mopping his eyes as his laughter came to an end.

"She sure does," Harm said with a smile, "And I wouldn't have it any other way!" his smile faded though as he saw the older man was still struggling to breathe after his fit of laughter. It was a disturbing realisation for the Navy Lawyer; Pop had always seemed to him to be indestructible, he had cheerfully confessed to working on B-29s 'back in the day' and had pretended to wax indignant when Harm had accused him of being Wilbur and Orville's flight mechanic at Kitty Hawk, but to see the former Air Force man knocked sideways through a mere fit of laughter was a shock.

"Hey, Pop, are you OK?" Harm asked in a low, anxious voice.

"Hell, yes... just getting over a bitta bronchitis! I get it ev'ry year!" Pop waved off Harm's concern irritably, "Don't you go to start fussin'. I don't need it! Got me a wife at home does more'n enough of that!"

"OK... if you're fine, Pop, you're fine." Harm said placatingly as Pop's chest started heaving again. "So... just to save me from going all the way over to the tower... what's the met for today?!"

Hell, you got eyes, ain'tcha? Stick your head out the door and use 'em! Damn pilots!" Pop grumbled as he returned his attention to the piece of aero-engine on his work bench, "Ain't got nuthin' better to do than ask damn-fool questions..." his voice slowly faded off into silence as he became absorbed, or pretended to become absorbed, in the task at hand.

Harm turned and moved towards the hangar door as if he was going to do what Pop had suggested, to check the weather with his own eyes, but in reality to prevent the hangar owner from seeing the concern that filled his face. Irascible as the old boy was, and it seemed he was becoming more cantankerous with each passing month, he was genuinely fond of the former crew chief . Pop's skin was so tanned, so leathery in appearance and was so weather-beaten that he looked indestructible, now this evidence of ill-health, on top of the Admiral's stunning admission of sickness, had, in some small measure brought Harm face to face with his own mortality, and he really didn't like that idea,

Harm walked out into the bright daylight so that the warmth of the sun would banish the chill that had crept over him in the hangar, knowing even as he did so the clammy coldness he felt had nothing to do with the temperature indoors or out.

"Hey Mister Sailor Man, you're looking a bit pensive?" Loren observed as she joined him on the apron.

"Yeah... that cantankerous old buzzard!" he complained half-laughingly.

"Who? Pop? Why what's he done?"

"Oh the old fool's apparently getting over a touch of bronchitis, and didn't take too kindly about me asking after his health!"

Loren wound her arm through his and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, "I love that you're so caring, sweetheart, but you can't look after the whole world, you know..."

"I know... but I also learned another lesson, back in January. You just can't self-medicate, and soldier on as if nothing was wrong. Just because you got away with it in the past, doesn't make it safe..."

Loren shuddered as she realised that Harm was referring to his malaria attack, "Oh... don't remind me, please!"

"Sorry Loren, didn't mean to upset you..." Harm said awkwardly.

"It's just when I think of how close I came to losing you, before I even knew you properly..."

"So... you know me properly know, do you?" Harm replied, injecting a teasing note into his voice in an effort to change the mood before it became too morbid.

Loren picked up on that note, and looked up at him suspiciously, "Yes... I think so..." she said cautiously.

"So you can tell me what I have in mind for today?"

Loren's blue eyes searched his face which he was deliberately trying to keep impassive, and other than the glint of humour in his eyes, Loren could detect nothing and sighed in defeat, "OK... I can tell by your eyes that you've got some sort of trickery planned, but I'm damned if I can tell what it is!"

"So... maybe you don't know me as well as you thought?" Harm grinned.

"I know you well enough to know that you've got some sort of... mischief planned, but you're pulling your Mister Inscrutable act. But I warn you, buster, you let that mask slip, and I'll be on it like... like... like... Oh! Something very fast!"

"I'm sure you will..." Harm smirked.

"Don't you start patronising me, buster!" Loren warned with a grin.

"Wouldn't dream of it!" Harm replied airily, and then nudged her with his elbow, "Looks like our ride's arrived!" drawing her attention to the Stearman being pushed out onto the apron in front of the hangar. "Want to do the pre-flight?"

"Of course!" Loren huffed, and turned on her heel to walk across to the biplane, but swung her hips as she did so, looking back over her shoulder to make sure that Harm had noticed.

If the appreciative grin on his face was any indication, he had.

Harm hung back and let Loren complete the pre-flight walk around on her own, a grin of pleasure on his face. It was also a grin of anticipation, he had something up his sleeve that he was sure would rock her world, and he could hardly wait to put his idea into action.

Loren took her time checking the veteran airplane, using the same routine that she had painstakingly garnered from Harm, remembering with a smile as she did so, that he had airily informed her that the routine hadn't changed since Daedalus fitted Icarus with his wings. 'Yeah, and look how well that turned out!' she had thought at the time, but now the procedures were becoming ingrained and she found herself moving to check item after item without having to think about where she was going or what she was going to do next, but each item she checked, she checked thoroughly, her life – and Harm's might well depend on how conscientious she was during the pre-flight.

At last, satisfied with her inspection, she straightened, and grinned over at Harm, "I'm done!"

"Everything checked out?" he asked lazily as he strolled towards her.

"Well, I don't figure the wings are going to drop off any time real soon!" she quipped and then gave a startled, "Hey!" as he scooped her up into his arms and silenced her incipient protest with a deep kiss.

"Wha... what was that for?" she demanded breathlessly, her face still tilted up to his and her hands still grasping his upper arms.

"Oh, I jut thought I'd start a new tradition today. You know, like we always kiss after we've flown, this time I thought we'd kiss before we flew as well. You got any objections?"

"No... no objections... but you might have let me in on the plan!" she smiled.

"What? And spoil the surprise? Not a chance! Now, how about you climb aboard, and then we can blow this popsicle stand!"

"Huh! You just want to drool over my butt – again!"

"Damn straight!" Harm laughed.

Loren shook her head, but laughed too, as she climbed up into the front cockpit. Once she was settled, Harm climbed up into the rear cockpit and strapped himself in and switched on the radio, checking that the set was tuned to Intercom and not broadcast, "OK Loren, we'll spend an hour or so, doing touch and go, and then transition to the WMA where you can take her through her paces, OK?"

"OK!" Harm grinned at the enthusiasm in her voice.

"She's all yours, take it away!"

Loren called the tower and obtained clearance for their plans, and with growing confidence she taxied to the end of runway zero five, and then receiving permission to take off, she opened the throttle and to the increasing pitch of the engine note, the little bi-plane rolled down the runway and lifted, seemingly effortlessly, into the air.

Loren banked the aircraft to port at fifteen hundred feet, joining the circuit for landing and followed the markers until she crossed the runway threshold, and lining up on the centre of the asphalt strip she brought the Stearman in a three point landing, which although not quite as smooth as it could have been was within acceptable limits.

Loren gritted her teeth and swore silently as she opened the throttle again and the Stearman once gain increased speed until its wings bit the air and generated enough lift to make it airborne once again. "Sorry about the rough landing!" she said into the mic, once she had regained her equilibrium.

"Not a problem!" Harm answered, "Just take it around, and try again!"

Ten more times Harm had her land and take off again, and by the end of the session Loren could feel the sweat running down her spine and down between her breasts, so it was with relief that after the tenth take off she heard Harm's voice in her headset, "OK, climb to Angels eight and steer course two eight zero for the WMA!"

"Angels eight and two eight zero, aye!" Loren replied with relief. He relief however was short lived. On arrival over the WMA Harm had her put the Stearman through every manoeuvre she'd learned, from gentle side slips, to stall-spin recovery, and kept her going at it for nearly two hours. Not every attempt was perfect, but on those occasions all Harm ever said was, "OK, let's try that again," in a calm, reasonable voice.

His reaction to a shaky Loren once they were safely back on the ground was far from being calm, or in Loren's opinion, reasonable. He could barely wait for her feet to touch the ground, when he swept her up in an embrace so fierce that she squeaked in surprise, before his lips captured hers, in a deep, demanding, but still loving kiss, in full view of Pop's boys who roared their approval of the proceedings.

When he broke the kiss, a red-faced Loren found her arms around his neck and his hands resting gently on her hips, while they smiled into each others face

"There is a reason for that little display, I hope?" Loren asked, still smiling.

"Other than I love you, and I'm proud of you? Nah, I don't think so..." Harm said teasingly, as he regretfully dropped his hands from her hips, but then immediately compensated for the loss of that contact by taking her hand gently in his as he led her towards the office.

Grimacing at the colour of the coffee in the pot Harm nevertheless poured two mugs and added liberal doses of creamer and sugar in the hope of making it if not drinkable at least less foul tasting. He brought the coffee to the desk, where Loren had already taken her seat, opened the bag of sandwiches and had taken a healthy bite out of her first. In response to Harm's raised eyebrow she coloured slightly and said, "What? I'm hungry! You really put me through it this morning!"

"You felt it this morning, then?" Harm grinned pushing one of the mugs towards her and helping himself to a sandwich.

"Damn straight! And..." Loren paused for emphasis, "I know you, Mister, and you did that on purpose!"

"True," Harm confessed. "I did deliberately push you... I wanted to make sure you could still control her when your muscles got a bit tired.

"H'mph! And did I pass the test?" Loren snorted.

"With flying colours – literally and figuratively!" Harm smiled.

"So... if that was a deliberate test, and I passed, why do I get the feeling that you've got more...surprises... something... in store for me?" Loren asked suspiciously.

Harm put on a wounded expression and melodramatically clapped his hand over his heart, "Would I do that to you?" he demanded in a tone that was both aggrieved and mournful.

"Damn straight you would!" Loren averred, taking another healthy chunk out of her sandwich.

Harm winced as he watched her tear off a good part of the tuna and mayo stuffed bread with her white, even teeth, mentally thanking the gods of the air that she wasn't, at this particular moment, within biting range.

Loren caught him watching her and giving him an angry kitten glare she said, "And?"

"And I was just thinking I was glad that it's a sandwich you've got your teeth into and not my ear." Harm said easily.

"What?" Loren said, completely thrown by his answer.

"Well you've heard of biting someone's ear off, haven't you?" Harm asked.

Loren stared at him open-mouthed for a second or two before she shook her head, grinned, and said lovingly, "Clown!"

"Guilty!" Harm admitted with a grin and took a bite from his own sandwich.

"Yeah, I know. God, this coffee's awful!" Loren replied.

"Yeah, I know..." Harm mimicked her intonation exactly, causing Loren to poke her tongue out at him.

Lunch, such as it was, over they gathered their gear and walked out through the hangar where Sarah stood waiting on the apron. Loren climbed up into the front cockpit and settled herself, but then looked up in surprise as she felt Harm standing over her. She raised an eloquent eyebrow at him.

"OK, do another half dozen touch and gos," he told her, and then you can go and play over the WMA for another hour. Just remember that she's going to be about two hundred pounds lighter than you're used to!"

"What... what do you mean?" Loren asked as she felt butterflies stirring in her stomach.

"Time for you to go solo, sweetheart." Harm said seriously, "I've taught you just about all that I can, I didn't touch stick or rudder this morning, and you've done I don't know how many take-offs and landings, and you know how to get out of trouble, so off you go...!"

Loren suddenly felt as if the butterflies had turned into B-52s, but she read the challenge in Harm's words, and fighting her nervousness she produced a grin of sorts, and crammed her helmet onto her head. "Well, if I'm going flying, you'd best get off my wing!" she quipped as she reached for the starter button.

Harm slid down of the wing, and flashed Loren a huge grin. Her answering smile was not quite as confident as she nudged the throttle open and lined the Stearman up with the taxi-way. She held the biplane there for a minute or so, while she talked to the tower, or so Harm presumed, and then opening the throttle she released the brakes and the yellow airplane rolled down the taxi-way.

Harm was right, the absence of his two hundred pound plus did alter the handling of the airplane, but more significantly it changed its centre of gravity so for the first few minutes of flight she was forced to adjust to the changes in its behaviour, her turns to bring it back into the landing pattern were at first cautious and gentle, but then as her confidence increased, so her handling of the Stearman became less tentative and by the time she had completed her six touch and gos, she was almost as confident as she had ever been and the butterflies in her stomach had found somewhere to perch and had folded their wings.

Transiting to the WMA she climbed to eight thousand feet, starting with a succession of stately barrel-rolls and then transitioned into a long corkscrew dive to starboard. Gaining confidence Loren then completed a snap roll to starboard followed by snap roll to port and laughed in sheer excitement. Climbing to restore lost altitude Loren now dropped the starboard wing and pushed the Stearman into a dive, trading height for speed, but kept a careful eye on the ASI to ensure she did not exceed the maximum safe diving speed, however, once that speed had been attained she pulled back on the stick holding it to the pit of her stomach as the Stearman's nose arose to point again at the heavens, keeping the stick where it was she caused the little yellow biplane to pull over onto its back and then over the top of the loop into a dive. Riding the adrenaline rush Loren put the Stearman into a shallow sideslip until the altimeter read two thousand feet. Picking up the distinctive finger of forest that pointed towards Charlottesville airport she turned onto a heading of zero eight five degrees and headed for home.

Harm stood on the apron outside the hangar trying to disguise his own nervousness, wondering if he had done the right thing in sending Loren solo without having first discussed it with Mike. 'But what the hell,' he taught well, and she learned well. Not only that it would be beyond him to send the woman he loved unaccompanied into the skies if he didn't believe she was capable.

Pop watched the nervously pacing aviator turned lawyer and had a fair idea of just what was going through Harm's mind. Strolling across the apron he came up on Harm's left shoulder, "I shouldn't worrit none iffen I were you, like I said weeks ago that girl is a natural born flyer."

"Yeah, I know she is Pop, but…"

"Yeah, there's always that but, ain't there?"

"Not now Pop!" Harm grinned in a mixture of relief and excitement as the little yellow biplane came into view, joining the pattern for landing.

It had never seemed to take so long to Harm for the Stearman to touch down and taxi back to the hangar, but eventually it rolled to a gentle halt and as Loren switched off the ignition propeller slowed and came to rest. But before it stilled Harm was around the wing and staring almost anxiously up at the forward cockpit. "Well," he demanded "how did it go?"

Loren took two or three deep breaths before she undid her seat harness and climbed out of the cockpit, and then as was her usual habit slid down the wing. Harm stepped back to give enough space for her feet to hit the asphalt, and then stepped forward again, "how did it go?" He repeated.

Loren fought to keep a straight face, as she looked up to meet Harm's eyes, "Yeah, it was okay."

"Only okay?" Harm repeated, a touch of dismay in his tone.

The look of disappointment on his face was more than Loren could stand, letting her own grin free of the iron bonds she had placed on it, she shook her head. "Oh Harm! It was fantastic. I thought I knew what flying was, being up there with you, but… This, this was something else!"

Harm grinned down at her, too wrapped up in her excitement to feel anything else; certainly not even a flash of irritation at her attempt to tease him. Instead, he opened his arms and Loren stepped into his embrace and raised her face to his for his kiss. Their embrace once again affording Pop's boys a great deal of amusement.

Breaking the kiss, Harm kept one arm snugly around Loren's waist and turn towards Pop, "We'll call it a day, I reckon, Pop, but we'll be back out tomorrow, at about zero nine hundred, so if you can have her gassed up by then?"

Pop nodded his agreement, and then turned towards Loren, grin splitting his weathered face, "Young lady, the Navy didn't know what it was doing when they made you a lawyer. I don't reckon I never seen anyone, man nor woman that was as natural as you as a driver. I reckon if you'd gone to flight school you'd have been a dead cert for top gun, and you would have given Mister Hotshot here a run for his money!"

Loren blushed at the old man's unrestrained praise, "Flattery might just get you somewhere," she teased him.

"Hell, I ain't never flattered no one in my life, least ways not about flyin', and I ain't about to start now," the old man grinned.

"He's right you know, sweetheart," Harm reinforced the other man's words. "You aren't the first person I've taught to fly, but you are by far the quickest to learn!"

**Saturday 6 April 2001, 1742hrs EDT, Room 214, the Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (06 2142ZApr 01)**

Loren stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped only the towel that covered her from armpit to knee, a site that brought the lascivious grin to Harm's face, a grin that Loren was quick to see. "You can put those sort of ideas clean out of your head Mister… Well, for the moment anyway," she smiled as she saw the disappointment wash over Harm's face.

"You mean that you've got something more important in mind?" Harm asked in mild disbelief.

"Yeah, first off I want to talk about this afternoon."

"There was something wrong with this afternoon?" Harm asked with even more disbelief in his voice.

"No… Not wrong," Loren demurred, as she perched on the side of the bed, "but although I really enjoyed myself, well, once I got over my butterflies I did, it felt… incomplete somehow, not having you up there with me, to share in what I was feeling…"

"Oh, sweetheart, I shared every second of that with you, I still recall my first solo flight, and there isn't anything in the whole wild world will ever take that sensation away. But I do know exactly what you mean; there's the thrill of going solo, but part of that experience is that it is solo, that's the nature of the beast," he finished with a shrug.

"Yeah, I suppose so, and I know I'm going to have to do more solo flights before I'm licensed, but it just isn't as much fun when you're not there with me," she pouted disconsolately.

Harm stretched out along arm, looping it around Loren's waist and drew her down to lie on the bed next to him, her head almost of its own volition finding its accustomed place in the hollow of his shoulder. "Hey, you're not chickening out on me now, are you?"

"Damn straight I'm not!" Loren denied vehemently, "but I did miss you up there…"

"I'll bet you didn't miss me enough that it stopped to from trying just about every move I taught you."

"Oh yeah, all those and probably a few that aren't even in the book!" Loren chuckled.

"So… It wasn't a totally negative experience then?"

"Oh no!" Loren gasped, "it was a fantastic experience Harm, and I'm sorry, all I've done is bitch about it like some whiny little schoolgirl!"

Harm tightened his grasp around Loren's shoulder and twisting his head planted a soft kiss on her forehead, "No, no it's not all you've done, you are just a little conflicted about the experience. May be some of it is my fault, if I'd given you some warning then perhaps you'd have had the chance to come to grips with the idea, instead of me just springing it on you."

"Harmon Rabb don't you dare start to feel guilty! You gave me a wonderful opportunity today, and I am being ungrateful!"

"Tell you what" he suggested, "I'll stop feeling guilty if you do. Deal?"

"You sure?" Loren asked tentatively.

"Damn straight!" Harm declared.

"Umm… Yeah, that's good… Because I got something else we need to talk about…" Loren left the end of the sentence hanging.

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"It's about those billet choices the Admiral gave us. I've been thinking, it's you who should be staying at JAG, and it's me that should be moving on."

"And just how did you reach that conclusion, sweetheart?" Harm asked.

"Well… Despite all you've done to rehabilitate me at JAG, I'm still not everyone's flavour of the month, and the office can stand my loss much better than it can stand yours. With your record, if you stay at JAG, there's no reason that you shouldn't be looking at the big chair in your own right at some stage in the future. Whereas I'm coming to realise that even if I'd stayed as focused as I was there are still too many female officers ahead of me to make my ambition a realistic one."

"I'm not saying that I agree with your prognosis about my career prospects, but if it is me that stays at JAG, none of the options that the Admiral gave you seems particularly pleasing, and although it would be a pain commuting to Annapolis that seems about the best there was."

"Yeah. That's the problem. Annapolis, strikes me that all I'd be doing there is article fifteen's and maybe giving legal opinion on midshipman honour code courts. Hardly an appealing prospect."

"The other choices would have would have been just as unsatisfactory though, wouldn't they?" Harm asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah, they would, but I checked with my detailer yesterday, and that post at ONI isn't tied to a specific pay grade. It's open to any JAG designator Oh three to Oh five. It would keep me on the same side of the river as Falls Church. It sounded damn sight more inviting than the Annapolis job, and most importantly it will keep you at JAG, where you belong!"

Harm frowned, trying to find a flaw in Loren's reasoning, but as he thought about what she'd said he had to agree, with some mental reservations, she made good sense. "So… What did you tell your detailer?"

"I didn't tell him anything yet, not until I had a chance to mention it to you, and find out how you felt about it all."

"Is that what you really want, sweetheart?" Harm asked.

Loren snuggled a bit closer, "No, what I really want is to stay at JAG with you, but we both know that can't happen, and this is about the best idea I can come up with. So from that point of view, I suppose it is what I want."

"Well, that is one point of view I suppose," Harm agreed, "but I was giving us some thought too. I was going to suggest that you take one of the Pentagon jobs while I stayed at JAG, I know we agreed that the commute to Annapolis was doable, and in the short term it is, but I got to thinking, having to do that every day twice a day for the next I don't know how many years would get pretty old pretty quickly. I know that might seem pretty damn selfish, and I know that neither of those two jobs were particularly appealing, but if you think the job at the ONI is what you want then you got my support, as ever."

"You're right, I didn't fancy either of the two Pentagon options that were tabled, but the Intel job sounds much better. But now I'll tell you what I really want, I want my dinner so you Mister, need to haul your six into the bathroom and get showered while I get dressed, and then while I get done fixing my face and hair, you can get dressed so that you are ready to escort me to the restaurant!"

"You're a hard task mistress," Harm grumbled good-naturedly as he unwound his arm from around Loren's shoulder.

"Yeah, but you love me for it, don't you?" Loren teased with a smile.

Harm propped himself on an elbow and bent to capture Loren's lips with his own, deepening the kiss as she responded until she used a hand to push him away. "Wow! That's enough of that," she smiled, "carry on like that Buster, and we'll never make it to the restaurant!"

"H'mm... Is dinner really that important this evening?" Harm asked, his darkened irises testifying to his arousal.

Loren gazed up at him, her own eyes nearly as dark, and her lips swollen, "Unfortunately, yes it is… But just you hold that thought until after dinner!"

"You've just got yourself a date, ma'am!" Harm grinned.

**Saturday 6 April 2001, 1807hrs EDT, ****Meg Austin's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th** **Street NE** **North of Union Station, Washington DC** **(062207Z Apr01)**

Meg crumpled the pizza box together with the sheet of kitchen towel she had used to wipe her fingers, and then drained the last of her Dr Pepper before gathering the detritus of her meal and depositing it in the trash, before curling up on the couch and TV remote in hand started channel hopping in the hope of finding something worth watching. She had it just about settled on a British made wildlife documentary when her attention was distracted by the Nokia version of "Stairway to Heaven", the ring tone she had assigned to unidentified callers. Curious as to who it might be calling at this time on a Saturday she picked up the phone and uttered a cautious "Hello?"

"_Hey, Meg! It's Carolyn, do you have any plans for this evening_?"

"No, not really," Meg replied, "was just about to curl up in front of the TV for the evening, that is if I can find anything worth watching."

"_You know, that's a really sad admission to make on a Saturday. Listen, Pete's brother in law is in town for a couple of days, and Pete and I were thinking about heading to that bar on Eighth Street, you know, the one where they had that wet down. I was hoping that maybe you can come along and balance the party. You know, two guys two gals, that sort of thing?_"

"I don't know Carolyn, I really don't need you try to set me up with another guy."

"_Meg, that just goes to show you weren't listening. Mike is Pete's brother in law, as in married to Pete's sister, there's absolutely no question of setting anybody up with anybody. Pete isn't about to help his sister's husband cheat on her_."

"Oh Lord, I really put my foot in it there, didn't I?" Meg giggled.

"_Yeah, you did. So the least you can do to make up for it is to join us at the bar, about twenty hundred, okay_?"

"I'm still not sure Carolyn, I mean it wouldn't feel right…"

"_Look at it this way, Meg, the more you're seen out and about, the less chance there is of anybody getting the wrong right idea about you and…_"

"Like a smokescreen?" Meg inquired, warming to the idea.

Even at the far end of the line Carolyn picked up on Meg's increased interest. "_Just that, a little bit of smoke and mirrors_!"

"Okay, but the second this guy starts hitting on me I'm outta there!"

Carolyn laughed, "_I promise you, you'll be perfectly safe! So we'll see you at about twenty hundred_?"

"Okay, I'll be there."

"Good girl!" Carolyn chuckled.

**Saturday April 6 2001, 2007hrs EDT, Lola's Barracks Bar and Grill, Eighth Street SE, Washington DC (060007 ZApr01) **

The bar was just as Meg remembered it, a line of booths along the left-hand wall facing the bar which had a row of barstools fronting it. Both were pretty well occupied, even at this hour on a Saturday night. Make halted just inside the door and looked around, trying to see whether Carolyn, Pete and his brother-in-law had arrived before her, or whether she had beaten them to the punch. She hoped not, she really didn't relish the idea of hanging around the bar on her own, not even a bar that catered for all Marine ranks from bird Colonel down. Bitter past experience had shown her but not all officers with a gentleman that Congress made them.

Fortunately, she only needs to stand where she was for a few seconds before she spotted Carolyn's distinctive red gold hair as she stood to attract Meg' s attention. With a sigh of relief Meg wove her way between the bodies to the booth occupied by Carolyn and the two men.

"I hoped you wouldn't be too late," Carolyn grinned, as she pushed condensation moistened bottle across the table "otherwise your beer would get warm! Well, either that or one of these two would have drunk it! Pete," she turned her attention on the two men, "you remember Meg?"

"Yeah, of course I remember her, the gal from Texas, right?"

"Yeah, and the Commander from JAG!" Carolyn reminded him pointedly.

Pete adopted an injured expression, "Hey! I haven't forgotten, I was getting to that! Commander Meg Austin, may I introduce to you Captain Michael Ferguson, USMC, and my little sister's husband. Mike, Meg Austin, she works with Carolyn at JAG, so mind your step!"

Mike Ferguson smiled, a lazy good natured smile which told Meg that he was used to his brother-in-law's seemingly irreverent approach to life, he raised his bottle and tilted it in Meg's direction, "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

Meg cocked her head, the 'ma'am', taken with his lazy drawl made him sound like down-home folks to her, "Texas?" She asked with a grin.

"No, ma'am, next door, New Mexico," he grinned again.

Meg sighed theatrically, "Oh well, that will have to do, I guess, we can't all be perfect." But she smiled to take any sting out of her words.

Carolyn took a sip of beer, and said, "Pete, you never did say what Mike was doing here… She left the sentence hanging as an invitation.

Pete grinned, "it's probably far too long and far too complicated a story, all I know is I got a phone call this afternoon saying he was stuck in DC for the weekend and could do with someone buying him a beer. So, when it comes to buying strange men beer, I immediately thought of you! Ow!" He added, as Caroline's heel made a sharp contact with his shin.

Pete grimaced at Carolyn, "what was that for?" He whined.

Carolyn glared at him, "That is for trying to make Mike believe that I go round buying drinks for strange men, when you know damn well that the only strange man I buy beer for is you!"

Mike looked across the table at Meg, "Are they always like this?"

It was Meg's turn to take a sip from her beer before she answered, "Well, I've only seen them together the once before, but they certainly give the impression of being a well rehearsed act, don't they?"

"That they, do, ma'am, that they do!" he replied with his easy smile.

"Hey! We are here!" Carolyn interrupted indignantly.

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Meg replied, her attention having been drawn away as a ripple of movement in the crowd in front of the bar let her see a couple who were beginning to look uncomfortable as the number of bodies surging around them, trying to attract the bartenders' attention, increased. "Isn't that Tiner?" Meg asked nodding in the direction of the bar.

Carolyn frowned as she tried to peer through the wall of bodies, and then as a triumphant Marine with a tray of four glasses forced his way back out from the crowd, her facial expression eased, "Yeah, I think it is. I don't know who is with him, but they don't look very happy."

"No, they don't," Meg agreed, "excuse me one moment." And before any of the other three could object, she quit the booth and with a combination of sweet smiles and sharp elbows she forced a passage through the crowd. "Evening, Tiner, you were both looking a bit harassed, come and join us at our table."

"I… I don't know if that's such a good idea, ma'am," an embarrassed petty officer replied.

"Oh, Jason, please? I don't think I can stand this much more, I'm sure I'm bruised already!"

"Oh, well… In that case, ma'am, we will join you, and thank you!"

Meg led the young petty officer and his brunette companion back to the booth, where she slid in next to Mike, much to his surprise, leaving the other side of the booth free for the two newcomers. "You know Commander Imes, and Captain Murray, and this is Captain Ferguson. Gentlemen, this is Yeoman Two Jason Tiner, the JAG's personal Yeoman, and…?"

"Oh! My manners. Ladies, gentlemen, I'm proud to introduce to you Lieutenant Helen Tiner US Navy Nurse Corps!"

The petite brunette used a sharp elbow of her own on his ribs and frowned at him as she saw the startled looks exchanged by Carolyn and Meg, "and his sister!"

Perhaps it was a shared guilty conscience that had led Meg and Carolyn to assume that the petty officer had somehow contracted a marriage that would, at the least, have warranted an investigation if it had become known. Now that they knew they were faced with siblings both had the grace to look slightly shamefaced.

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Tiner? Carolyn asked.

"Yeah, it's a bit out of my way, but Helen is stationed at Bethesda, and this place is about halfway between where we each live, so in one way it's pretty convenient."

"So how come you've never mentioned your sister before?" Asked Meg.

"That's because he's embarrassed to have an officer as a sister!" Helen Tiner grinned.

"Embarrassed? I would have thought he'd have been proud!" Carolyn objected.

To Meg and Carolyn's surprise Jason wasn't at all embarrassed, he grinned indulgently at Helen and looped a brotherly arm around her shoulder, giving her a slight squeeze, "Helen, has got this weird idea that me and dad feel like she's let the side down by becoming an officer. When in fact, we couldn't be prouder of her! She knows that, but it's, the whole thing, has become a sort of standing joke, and she pulls it every time we meet someone new and then leaves it to me to explain!"

It was a pretty effective icebreaker, too, as the rest of the group burst into laughter, and the initial stiffness dissipated. Helen Tiner took a sip from her bottle of Pepsi and said," both of you ladies are JAGs right?"

Meg and Carolyn nodded their agreement, with Carolyn adding "Why?"

"So is a Colonel MacKenzie, right?"

Megan Caroline exchanged glances again, before Meg replied, "Yes… But again, why?"

"Well, if it's the same Colonel I'm thinking of, she spent some time at Bethesda a few weeks ago… And while she was there, she had visitors, one of them, nearly ran me down in the Hall, and then when I braced him, he kinda got all tongue tied and almost tripped over his own feet…"

The two JAG officers, exchanged a further look, and simultaneously said "Bud!" And burst into renewed laughter, while the rest of the table, with the exception of Jason, stared at them in stupefaction.

As she regained her breath, Carolyn made her excuses, "We're sorry if it seemed we were laughing in your face, but that just had to be Lieutenant Roberts, he sometimes comes off as a little less than… Well, he's actually pretty damn good attorney, but outside of the court room others don't always see him at his best!"

"Oh, does that mean it wasn't me?" And it seemed that the young nurse was slightly disappointed.

"Fraid not, he gets like that quite often, even with folks he knows" Meg smiled, "you weren't developing a crush there were you? If so, I hate to bust your bubble, but Bud is very happily married."

Helen Tiner laughed, without the slightest trace of embarrassment or chagrin, "No, no nothing like that, but you have got to admit that the thought of being able to reduce a man to stuttering incomprehensibility is one helluva boost to a gal' s ego!"

Meg, Carolyn and Helen all promptly dissolved into further gales of laughter, while Pete, Mike and Tiner were left wondering just what the joke was.

**Saturday, April 6, 2015 hours EDT, Restaurant, Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (070015Z April 01)**

Harm, his hand in the small of Loren's back guided her into the restaurant, and although she was perfectly well aware of where to go, and just a couple of short months ago would have taken grave exception to any man guiding her, now she even leaned back slightly to increase the pressure of his touch.

"Good evening Mister Rabb, Miss Singer," Marie, the maître d'hotel greeted them with her usual sunny smile.

"Good evening, Marie," Harm returned the greeting with a flash of his trademark grin, which despite Marie's preferences, nearly turned her knees to Jell-O. "Our usual table?" Harm enquired.

"Certainly, I'll just get Sandy…"

"No, not necessary, thank you. We can find our own way, well, we ought to be able to find our own way by now," Harm grinned, "Just send her over with our menu's whenever she is ready, please."

"Of course, Mister Rabb, she won't be more than a minute or two."

Harm's hand took up its previous position in the small of Loren's back as again he offered unnecessary guidance across the restaurant floor. This evening it was his eye that Angela Wilson caught, and seeing her smile, he was left with only two options, one, to return her silent greeting, or two, to ignore her completely. His own sense of what was fitting prevented him for ignoring a lady, but his return smile could only be described as being on the stiff side.

By the time he and Loren had reached their table and seated themselves, Sandy was already bearing down on them, menus and wine list in her hands. "Good evening, Sir, ma'am, how are you both this evening?"

"Good evening, Sandy," Loren replied, "We're were doing fine, in fact we' re having a minor celebration this evening.

Sandy's eyes gleamed with pleasure, "And what are you celebrating, if I might be so bold?"

Loren's face split in a huge grin, and looking across at Harm for confirmation, she then turned to the waitress and said, "You know the reason we come here, is to go flying, right?"

Sandy looked from one to the other, "Sure, I mean you haven't exactly kept it secret have you?"

"No, no it's not a secret, but although Mister Rabb is a highly qualified pilot, I'd never set foot inside a GA airplane until a couple of months ago, when we first started coming here, but today I flew solo!" And as she said the words, the scope of her accomplishment finally hit home, her head pivoted towards Harm so quickly he was afraid that she might injure herself, but there wasn't the slightest trace of discomfort on her face and her grin broadened, if that was possible. "Harm! My God! I flew solo today! Me!"

Her enthusiasm was impossible to withstand, and Harm felt his own face stretching in a grin, but his grin encompassed not only Loren's joy and amazement in her achievement, but also the overwhelming pride he felt in her.

Sandy looked almost as excited as Loren, "So, champagne this evening? She asked.

Still smiling Harm regretfully shook his head, "No, we're flying again in the morning, so we'll stick with our normal white wine and mineral water please. And we'll let you know what wine, once we've had a chance to look at the menus!"

"Oh my word!" A blushing Sandy exclaimed, hurriedly and belatedly handing both Harm and Loren and menu a piece and laying the wine list on the table. "I'll just go and get your mineral water, then while you're looking at the menu!" And with a last embarrassed grin, she whirled away in the direction of the bar.

"I know you finished it last night," Harm commented, "but how was the catfish?"

"Quite surprising, a lot of flavour, and I suspect the chef toned down some of the spices. I would definitely have it again," Loren replied.

Harm nodded, "In that case, I'll give it a whirl!"

"Have you decided?" Sandy asked as she set cooler of crushed ice on the table and laid the bottle of mineral water in the ice.

"Yes, thank you, I'll have the Louisiana sunburst salad, followed by shrimp Creole, please," Loren said.

"I'll have the same salad please Sandy, and guided by my lovely companion's recommendation, I'll follow that with the blackened catfish, thank you"

Sandy scribbled their order on her pad, and then asked "Have you chosen the wine?"

Harm thought for a second, "How about that Spanish wine, you know, the one we tried before, the Albariño?"

Loren thought for a few moments while she tried to remember, "Wasn't that the wine we had on St Patrick's weekend?" She checked with Sandy, "After all, it was your recommendation if I remember correctly."

The blonde waitress smiled easily, "Yeah, I remember recommending it. So, a bottle of that?"

Loren nodded decisively, "Yeah, thank you Sandy."

As soon as their waitress had left, Loren looked across the table at Harm and said quietly, "The more I think about it, the better I feel about it."

"Think about what?" Harm asked, puzzled.

Loren looked slightly puzzled for a second or two as well, but then allowed a half smile to escape her, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I get so used to us thinking about the same thing, but sometimes I have to make an effort to remember that we are not always on the same page."

"The same page?" Harm queried with a grin, "Loren, sometimes I wonder if we even reading from the same damn book!"

Loren sent a glare across the table at her grinning fiancé, "I was talking about the new billets, you said that after dealing with this current case you would be distinctly persona non-grata at the ONI, but I was thinking that considering I need to keep my, ah, professional name, I'd stay as Loren Singer in the office, and become Loren Rabb the second I walked through the door at home. And as long as I don't parade my married name at work then there is no reason I shouldn't take that billet."

Harm frowned for a few moments as he digested her words, but then his brow cleared slightly, "It could work," he admitted slowly but I hate the thought of you risking your career because I've done something to upset some faceless pen pusher in a plush Pentagon office."

Loren grinned unrepentantly, "And what would you do, what could you do, if you discovered that I was being unfairly treated purely and simply for the reason that I was your wife."

"Oh, I do like the sound of that!" Harm exclaimed.

Loren looked at him in silent incomprehension for a few seconds while she replayed her last words in her mind, then she blushed, and dropped her eyes, "Yeah, I like the sound of that myself," she admitted. Then she drew a deep breath, and looked up again, "So… What would you do in that case?"

"Well… I guess I just have to go up to 0NI and point out to him, or her, the error of his or her ways. Diplomatically, of course," he added with an air of sincerity and a grin that together managed to fool Loren for all about two seconds.

"Now, that is the difference between you and me," she smiled sweetly, "You'd like to bang his head of the nearest solid object, me, I'd just sue his ass off!"

Harm grinned again, but shook his head, "You're forgetting sovereign immunity," he sighed.

"No, I wasn't forgetting that at all," Loren defended her position, "I was merely using that phraseology to highlight the difference between your approach and my methods. Obviously, and depending on who the individual was, it would either be under Navy regulations, or the UCMJ."

Harm nodded, "But wouldn't we avoid any possibility of having to take that sort of action if you weren't in that billet?"

Loren looked disappointed, "I thought I could count on your support for this, Harm!" she said bitterly.

"Oh you have my support sweetheart, I was just playing devil's advocate for a moment. If you want to apply for that billet then I'm right behind you every step of the way! And what is more they'll be damned lucky to get you!"

Loren's expression changed so quickly that for a split second Harm wondered if he had just been played, but the shy gratitude shining in Loren's eyes swiftly disabused him of that notion, as did her next words, "Oh, do you really think so?"

"Yes, I really, really do think so! I think you'll find it a bit of a challenge, but I have every faith that you will rise to that challenge, and at the end of the tour you will walk away from that billet with a glowing fit-rep.)

Whatever Loren might have felt like saying she had to put under wraps for the moment Sandy returned to the table with their wine, promising to be back in a minute with their salads. Harm and Loren smiled their acknowledgement and occupied themselves measuring out two glasses of wine and water.

Sandy was as good as her word, returning to their table in under the promised minute. Their appetite sharpened by the events of the day Harm and Loren shelved their professional conversation and devoted their energies to their dinner. The salad was soon disposed of and the empty plates whisked away to be replaced with the spicy entrées.

Loren laid her fork down for a moment or two while she took a sip of her spritzer, "After today's performance, what little gem have you got lined up for tomorrow?"

"Well…" Harm drew the word out, "I figured you could do another solo hop first thing, then you can come back and pick me up and we could do a cross-country flight, only this time we could head south aways, maybe touchdown at Blacksburg, and have a bite of lunch there. After all, their coffee can't possibly be as bad as Pop Walchowski's!"

"And just who would plot this course?" Loren asked with a hint of suspicion.

"I guess that would be me," Harm grinned, "don't worry, I'll get a full report from the weather gremlins and I'll figure that in to the course corrections, okay?"

"H'mph, just so long as you do, Mister!"Loren scowled at him, "I haven't forgotten our last cross-country jaunt!" she reminded him.

"No, I don't expect that you ever will," Harm smiled, "You, my darling, are the living evidence of the old saying, 'fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me'. No one is ever going to make a fool of you twice, and very few people are going to get away with it even just one time!"

"Do you really think that, Harm?"

Harm looked at Loren across the table, his surprise at her words evident in his expression, "Hey, where has all this lack of confidence sprung from all of a sudden? I thought we'd done with all the self-doubts."

"I… I'm not… I don't know…" Loren smiled mistily, "perhaps it's just that everything is going so well at the moment, but I'm just waiting for the other shoe to fall."

"Loren, sweetheart, the only shoes you're likely to hear falling tonight are mine, just before I rip off my clothes and jump your bones!"

"Harm! For God's sake! Keep your voice down!" A furiously blushing Loren retorted.

Harm sent a casual look around the restaurant, and then looked back at Loren, "it's okay, nobody heard me, besides, anybody seeing me with you this evening has probably already guessed what I have in mind for later!"

Her cheeks still blazing red, Loren managed to raise her eyes from her plate and glare across the table at her tormentor. She wanted, so badly, to rip him a new one, but the expression of love in his blue eyes quite took her breath away and it was as much as she could do to nod silently, as her insides turned into a warm, liquid, puddle

**Saturday, April 6, 2001, 23:20 hours EDT, Lola's Barracks Bar and Grill, Eighth Street SE, Washington DC (07 0320ZApr01) **

Jason and Helen Tiner had made their farewells about ten minutes ago, and Carolyn jumped on the opportunity for which she'd been waiting most of the evening. "Meg, what on earth were you thinking, girl, inviting Jason Tiner, of all people, to join us? Don't you realise he's probably the biggest scuttlebutt monger in headquarters."

"I invited him, Carolyn, precisely because he is as big a gossip as Harriet Sims. What's the betting that by the end of staff call on Monday the whole of JAG HQ knows that I was out on a double date with you and your boyfriend. Just a little more smoke to blow in other people's faces," Meg said smugly.

Carolyn gazed in admiration at the blonde Texan, "Were you always this devious?" She wanted to know.

"No, not until I started hanging out with a certain sneaky jet jockey turned lawyer!" Meg grinned.

**Sunday, April 7, 2001, 0650 hours EDT, room 214, Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (071050Z Apr 01)**

Loren blinked herself awake, and carefully and gently propped herself up on her elbow so she could stare down at Harm's face, which for the first time in days was totally relaxed, allowing her to see the slightly deepened lines at the corners of his eyes, and between his brows. Some of the deepening was, she knew was due just to the passage of time, but some she was also convinced, was due to stress and strain imposed by his duties. But he cared less about his advocacy, then he wouldn't be the Harmon Rabb that she had so unexpectedly fallen in love with.

So absorbed had she become in watching his face that she completely failed to see his eyes flutter open, and only became aware that he, in his turn was watching her, when he raised a gentle hand and tucked an errant tress her blonde hair behind her ear, making a give a little start of surprise.

"Its was in the way," he excused himself, "it was blocking my view; after all, if you get a fully unobstructed view of my face, then it's only fair that I get the same," he smiled gently up at her.

"Oh, you…" Loren buried her face in his shoulder in an attempt to hide her blushes, "I… I wasn't really watching you, I was actually miles away, otherwise I'd have seen you waking up. As it was, you startled me because I wasn't paying all that much attention."

Harm groaned theatrically, and draped a forearm over his eyes, "Oh, woe is me! Pierced through the heart by the careless verbal darts of a cruel woman!"

Loren bolted upright in bed, careless of her state of undress, as she grabbed a pillow, "A cruel woman am I? Careless verbal darts? You should be so lucky, Mister!" She warned as she wound up for a swing.

Harm ducked under the pillow and gently tackled her, pinning her to the mattress, with a softly spoken, "Easy, easy. Remember the destruction caused by our last pillow fight? And don't forget where we are!"

"Oh, alright, you got away with it, for now. But that's only because we need to get up get showered packed and breakfasted so we can check out no later than zero eight thirty hours."

"All very true," Harm conceded, "and you mustn't forget this time that we've got two cars here!"

"Oh! You… You… Oh I don't know what you are!" Loren fumed in frustration.

"Hey, like I said before, I'm just practising for our grand-kids," Harm grinned and dropped a gentle kiss on Loren's lips, which he instinctively deepened as he felt her respond, until he forced himself away and his grin now much shakier, murmured, "Wow, we'd best cut this out right here and now, otherwise we will not only not make it to the airport, but we'll end up paying for an extra day through missing checkout time!"

"And would that be so bad?" Loren whispered throatily.

"No, not necessarily, but it would be doing you out an hour's solo flight, and that is the reason we're down here. Right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Loren grudgingly conceded, "but I'm not going anywhere, until you let me up off this mattress!"

Harm groaned, and rolled clear of Loren, only to groan louder with a protesting "Not fair!" as the second she felt his weight move she rolled off the bed landing in a Crouch next to it.

"I cry first dibs on the bathroom!" she called over her shoulder, as careless of her nudity, she dashed across the bedroom to the bathroom door..


	52. Chapter 52

**52**

**Sunday, April 7, 2001, 1650 hours EDT, US-29 North, Charlottesville, VA (072050Z Apr 01) **

Harm checked his speed, a steady fifty-five miles per hour, and then checked his rear-view mirror, and nodded in satisfaction. Loren's Miata was exactly where it should be, behind the Lexus and with enough gap between the two vehicles to give Loren sufficient space and time to take evasive action should she need to. At the same time, he couldn't help a grin of dry amusement as he recalled the last time they had taken two cars to Charlottesville.

Fortunately it was a Sunday evening and the traffic was light, but he told himself sternly, that was no excuse for wool-gathering instead of concentrating on the road and the other drivers on it. Reminiscing about previous visits, as well as the events of this weekend would have to wait until they were safe and sound at home in Georgetown.

Georgetown was finally reached, and for once both Harm and Loren managed to park side by side, and loaded down with overnight bags flying gear and uniform-filled garment bags they retreated to the apartment.

**Sunday, April 7, 2001, 1922 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (072322 Z Apr 01)**

Once they had dumped their loads of the bed, Harm turned to Loren, "do you want to jump in the bath, while I make a start on dinner?"

"Oh, it's tempting," she smiled, "but we would be better off if I make a start on the laundry while you're cooking, that way I can save the bath until after we've eaten and without the shadow of chores hanging over me I get to enjoy the bath that much more for that much longer," she finished, allowing her smile to broaden into a grin.

Harm nodded his agreement, "You're devious, woman, that's what you are, devious!"

Loren looked up from where she was already bent over the two overnight bags, pulling out the used towels, and her grin slipped not a fraction, as she replied "Yeah, I am, but you love me for it!"

"You got me," Harm replied as he turned away towards the kitchen area.

Loren paused in her task, and looked up at his retreating back, "Yeah, I do… But you got me, too, Mister Lover Man," she breathed.

Harm bundled Loren off to the bathroom the second they rose from the table, telling her, over her protests, to leave the kitchen to him while she had her soak. She was still soaking nearly forty minutes later, when he joined her in the bath, urging her forwards so he could slip into the water behind her, and allow her to rest and relax, her back against his chest and her head resting against the hollow of his shoulder.

**Friday**, **April 12**,** 2001, 17:36 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's office, JAG HQ building, Falls Church, VA (122136 Z Apr01)**

And that, Harm thought bitterly, had been the last chance he had had to relax all week. And as the week had worn on and the stress had mounted, so the atmosphere in the apartment had thickened until Wednesday night when Loren had summarily kicked him out of the bedroom, forcing him to spend the night with his legs overhanging the end of the couch by nearly a complete foot.

A grovelling apology the following morning, the more heartfelt through seeing the tear tracks on her face, had gone a long way to healing the breach between them, and they were making good progress on the restoration of normal relations.

And the real bitch had been that it wasn't anything serious, or major, that had stressed Harm out, rather it had been the cumulative effect of a succession of minor niggles, and constant interruptions, whether by unannounced visitors, or more or less non-stop ringing of his phone. If this is what the Admiral had to put up with for week after week, then he was welcome to it.

This last reflection did bring a bitter smile to his lips. The most constant caller, and the most frequent interrupter of his day was Admiral AJ Chegwidden, who insisted he was fine, and was fretting at home, where apparently he had unknowingly given shelter to a domestic tyrant in the shape of Private Rivera, who faced the former Seal's explosive ill-temper, with Jarhead impassiveness. Driven to formerly unreached heights of frustration, by Rivera's intransigence as well as the restrictions placed on his activity by the doctors, and of course by his own refusal to appear in the office while wearing a catheter, drainage tube and collection bag, Chegwidden unwittingly added to Harm's strain and stress levels by badgering him over the phone.

Still, the week was just about over and the prospect of hoisting a couple of cool beers to celebrate Tiner's achievement in completing law school and passing first the Virginia and then the Maryland Bar Examinations, was the right side of welcome. It had taken some serious brain sweat this afternoon to clear his in-tray but Harm at last had the satisfaction of contemplating a clear desk. With a satisfied grin he reached for the intercom, only to be beaten to the punch by the shrill ringing tone of his desk-top telephone.

With a muffled curse, he picked up, "Rabb!" he snapped.

"_Sir, I have Major Abrahams from Marine Corps HQ holding on line one..._" the unfamiliar voice said.

Putting aside, for one moment the matter of it not being Tiner on the switchboard, Harm wondered what HQ USMC could possibly want with him at… he glanced at his watch… twenty to six on a Friday, but there was only one way to find out.

"Okay, put him through..."

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

Rabb waited for the click to tell him the line was opened, "Commander Rabb speaking,"

"_Good evening, Commander, Major Abrahams here, ADC to the CMC_." A pleasantly pitched female voice sounded in his earpiece.

With a self-deprecating grin at having fallen into the gender trap, Harm asked, "And how may HQ JAG Corps assist HQ Marine Corps?"

"_Private Rivera_," was the uncompromising reply.

"And what about Private Rivera?"

"_The secretary of the Navy, and the Commandant have been the subjects of a sustained telephone campaign to have private Rivera invested with his award. As a result, the Commandant directs that a ceremonial formation be held at Falls Church at zero eight hundred on Monday April Fifteenth, on which occasion the CMC will personally present Private Rivera with his Silver Star_."

"And the uniform of the day is…?"

"_All USMC personnel to be in Full Dress Blues, USN personnel in Dress Whites, medals, gloves for all ranks and rates, no swords_."

"Thank you, Major," Harm replaced the handset and in the same movement reached out to toggle the switch on the intercom, "Tiner!"

"_It's Murdoch, Sir_,"

"Is Lieutenant Sims still in the building?"

"_I… I think so, Sir_,"

Harm grunted in satisfaction, "Good, pass the word for her, please,"

"_Aye, aye, Sir_,"

Harriet must have been on the verge of leaving, when she tapped on the Admiral's door-jamb a couple of minutes later, her briefcase was in hand and her cover tucked under her arm. "Sir?"

"Harriet, I'm sorry to keep you back, but HQ USMC just dropped a hot potato in my lap. CMC wants to make a formal presentation of Private Rivera's Silver Star, here, at oh eight hundred hours on Monday. USN personnel in dress whites with gloves and medals, USMC personnel in full dress with gloves and medals, no swords. DOs' inspection at oh seven thirty, my inspection, oh seven forty-five. Got all that, Harriet?"

"Got it, Sir."

"Good, email to all, now please, and then print off as a warning order, enough to distribute at the wet-down this evening. Which is supposed to start at nineteen hundred, isn't it?"

"Oh, sir..." Harriet almost protested, but quickly recovered.

"Damn! I am sorry, truly…"

"Don't worry about it, Sir, we'll manage!"

Harm stood, picked up his briefcase, and walked Harriet towards the door, snagging his cover from the hat-tree on his way past. "Harriet, you are a marvel!"

"I bet you say that to all the girls, Sir" Harriet giggled.

"Only when I mean it, Harriet, only when I mean it!" Harm smiled.

**Friday, April 12, 2001, 1942 hours EDT, McMurphy's Bar and Grill, Washington, DC (122342ZApr 01)**

Harm held the door open with one hand while the other rested gently on Loren's hip, as with the slightest pressure he ushered her into the cool dimly lit interior of McMurphy's. Terence, the bartender looked up from the Guinness he was pouring, "Good evening, Commander, Lieutenant, you're a wee bit adrift, but according to the numbers Miss Sims gave me, you're not the last to arrive yet. You're all in the back room, as usual, so go right on through."

"Thanks," Harm nodded to the slightly built bartender, and once again with his hand in the small of Loren's back he guided her through the already crowded bar to the more peaceful, if smaller back room. Once inside the door, Harm carried out a rapid visual search, seeing to his relief that the Admiral, under the chaperonage of Private Rivera had made it to McMurphy's, although the way the former Seal glared at the tumbler of dark liquid in front of him, he wasn't overly happy with its contents.

Harm and Loren made their way across to the booth occupied by the Admiral, and his minder. The Admiral raised his head and glared at them as they stopped in front of him. "Evening, Sir, I'm glad you were able to make it…" Harm began.

"Don't go there, Commander." The older man growled, and then let his eyes flit sideways to Loren, "Good evening, Lieutenant. You're looking good this evening."

"Thank you, Sir," Loren dimpled, while Harm, reading his CO's mood, had the sense to stay silent, and with a nod of acknowledgement, moved himself and Loren away from the Admiral's table, his eyes scanning the assemblage, looking for convivial company to join.

Loren, was doing much the same thing, and her eye was caught by Carolyn Imes, the blonde woman sitting in a booth, together with Meg Austin, and somebody Loren vaguely recognised as being as being an officer of the JAG HQ security detachment.

"Harm," she nodded in the direction of Carolyn's table.

Harm followed her line of sight, and whispered in her ear "Are you sure?"

Loren gave a half-shrug, "Well, for the moment, anyway. It's either that, or share with Mac and the Roberts."

"And, let me guess," Harm murmured as he guided her across the floor, "Harriet still isn't one of your favourite people?"

Loren gave him a quick, grateful smile, but almost as gratefully abandoned the topic, as they joined the table among a welter of greetings and a half-heard introduction to Captain Pete Murray.

The couple spent a pleasant evening in friendly company, Harm restricting himself to a couple of bottles of beer before switching to mineral water, while Loren, the evening's designated driver confined herself to her favourite diet Pepsi.

The guest of honour, Jason Tiner, also restricted his drinks intake, and while gracefully accepting congratulations from his co-workers, seemed more interested in the petite, green-eyed, red haired young woman who had accompanied him this evening, much to Carolyn and Meg's amusement, as they debated whether or not she was a real date for the Yeoman, or one of his sister's nurse friends who had been co-opted as an escort for the evening. With Carolyn stoutly declaring that she was obviously one of Lieutenant Tiner's friends, while Meg took the opposite point of view, and that she was a real date.

The references to "Tiner's sister" needed explanation for the benefit of Harm and Loren, which Pete Murray was more than happy to provide while the two blonde commanders wrangled happily. The debate continued until the Admiral, not without some discomfort hauled himself to his feet and called for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who are or were unaware, Yeoman First Class Jason Tiner recently graduated GWU law school, and then promptly topped that performance by passing the State Bar Association exams for both Virginia and Maryland. Congratulations, Yeoman First Class Tiner!"

Admiral Chegwidden paused to allow for a round of applause, and with a stoic expression raised his glass, "to Yeoman First Class Tiner," the Admiral paused again to add emphasis to his next statement, "Soon to be Mister Midshipman Tiner!" And then bravely masking a grimace of distaste, the Admiral drank Tiner's health in the despised root beer, to be followed by the remainder of the guests all of whom had more palatable liquids to consume.

As the hubbub died away, Bud Roberts voice rang out, "Your attention for a moment longer, if you please," he requested, and as all heads turned in the direction of the Roberts' table, Harriet Roberts stood, bearing a large silver foil covered tray, on which rested a large, cylindrical cake covered in cream-coloured frosting, sculpted to resemble a rolled parchment, and tied with a red-coloured marzipan bow. Amongst delighted laughter and raucous cheers Harriet carried the cake across to Jason Tiner's table and to a growing chant of, "Cut it! Cut it!" A blushing Yeoman did just that, to reveal the cake was a rolled sponge with jelly and thick cream filling.

The cake cut, shared out and consumed, it was inevitable that somebody would stroll across to the jukebox and start the music. While not all the selections were to Harm and Loren's taste, there was sufficient variety to enable them to take the floor. Harm, of course had been taught ballroom dancing at the Academy, but this sort of affair was much less formal, and he was comfortably able to adjust his style to what was little more than swaying in time to the music while he held Loren in his arms, a proceeding which was as much to Loren's satisfaction as it was to his.

It was at this stage of the evening, that Loren, raising her head from Harm's shoulder, whether to say something to him or just gaze up into his eyes would never be known because almost as if her movement had been a signal the connecting door to the bar room opened and a tall broad-shouldered man entered. He hesitated momentarily just inside the door while he scanned the crowd, and then with a smile lighting up his face he crossed the floor to the booth now shared by the Admiral, Private Rivera and Mac.

"My word… I wonder what the Admiral will make of that," Loren murmured to Harm as she took him by surprise by leading him into a sidestep so he could see the Admiral's table.

"What are… Oh, who he?" Harm asked succinctly if not grammatically, as he took in the little tableau. It was obvious from the expressions on their faces, that others, both on the dance-floor and at other booths were wondering the same thing, but of all of them, only his own Loren who had the answer.

"That, is Lieutenant Colonel Philip McMahon, the CO of Twenty-Ninth Logistics Battalion, USMC, at Camp Lejeune."

"What would he be doing up here, in DC?" Harm wondered aloud.

"Well, at the moment I'd say he was asking Sarah Mackenzie to dance…" Loren quipped as she watched Mac smile, get to her feet and extend a hand to Colonel McMahon so that he could lead her onto the dance-floor.

Harm raised his head slightly and looked around once more, "Well, that'll certainly cause flutterings in certain dovecotes."

**Friday, April 12, 2001, 2358 hours EDT, Parking Lot, McMurphy's Bar and Grill, Washington, DC (120358ZApr 01)**

Philip McMahon carefully draped Mac's wrap around her shoulders against the chill of the night air as he walked her across the parking lot to her Corvette.

Mac clutched her purse with one hand, using the other to keep the wrap closed over her breasts, and seemed to be absorbed in the patterns of light and shade on the asphalt as she walked. Halfway across the lot she suddenly chuckled and raised her head and turned it to look at Philip, "You do realise, that by showing up unheralded tonight you have given a certain moiety of JAG enough scandal-broth to keep them occupied for weeks!"

"Will it really be that bad?" Philip asked in a voice of concern.

Mac chuckled again, "No, not really. The only people I don't outrank are squids, and if anybody gets too pushy, I'll either threaten them with insubordination charges, or I'll kick their butts into the middle next week."

Philip shot her a quick look and was relieved to see the humour in her face. He grinned in return and offered a muttered "Oorah!" and strolled on for a further few steps, until Mac halted indicating they had arrived at her car.

"So, you're not too upset that I crashed the party?"

Mac turned to face him fully and gravely looked up into his face, "No… I'm not too upset, in fact, I'm not upset at all…"

Philip leaned in towards her, only to be stopped by a firm but gentle hand on his chest, "Please don't… I… I won't… I won't deny that I find you attractive, and I enjoyed your company this evening and it is flattering that you made the trip up from Lejeune, but I'm not ready to… to get into anything right now. I'm just getting over a very messy break-up, and in a couple of weeks I'm shipping out for a six-month TAD as SJA to three-six MEU."

Philip nodded, "I understand, I'm disappointed, but I do understand," he said softly with a grin quirking the corner of his mouth. "But does that mean you wouldn't be interested in… Say lunch, tomorrow? Strictly platonic?" He added hurriedly.

Mac thought rapidly. She was attracted to Philip McMahon and she had enjoyed his company this evening, and lunch with him tomorrow couldn't hurt, could it? Besides, if she stayed at home all day tomorrow then no doubt she would end up fielding telephone calls or a visit from an excited and intrigued Harriet Sims.

"Yes, alright, I'd like that. Where did you have in mind?"

"This is your turf, Mac, you decide where we eat, but how about we meet on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial at eleven hundred?"

"Lincoln Memorial steps, eleven hundred!" Mac smiled in agreement

**Saturday, April 13, 2001, 1511 hours EDT, Footpath, The Reflecting Pool, National Mall, Washington DC (131911ZApr01)  
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"I have to head back to Lejeune tomorrow," Philip McMahon said almost inconsequentially as he and Mac strolled alongside The Reflecting Pool.

"Uh-huh," Mac commented.

"But I don't need to leave until about sixteen hundred…"

""Uh-huh," Mac repeated.

"And as you seemed to enjoy today, I was wondering whether you like to do lunch again tomorrow, before I head back to the swamps?"

Mac stayed silent, it was true, she had enjoyed a lunch date with Philip. Although, in his presentation and bearing he was unmistakably a Marine, even in civilian clothes, but away from the office he lost his rigidity and proved to be an amusing, entertaining and knowledgeable companion. It didn't hurt that in Mac's opinion he was physically attractive, but what really caught Mac's attention was that although he didn't share her hobby, he did have some, broad-based, knowledge of palaeontology, which he laughingly passed off as vague memories of a fleeting interest in dinosaurs gained as a result of watching Jurassic Park. But... Mac wasn't interested in forming a new relationship... even with someone like Philip, who in addition to his other attractions was also a Marine and could be depended upon to understand why duty took precedence over a personal life...

"I don't know," she said finally, "yes I enjoyed today, yes, you are good company… But like I said I'm shipping out on a couple weeks and I'm not a very good place right now…"

Philip nodded, "I get that you've got something on your mind, and I've an idea it's all tied up that messy breakup you mentioned. But like I said last night, at the moment, I'm here for you as a friend, admittedly a friend that would like to be more than that, but if you're not ready right now, then I can wait. In the meantime it might help to have a friendly ear, and one that isn't too closely involved in your past. The lunch invitation for tomorrow still stands, and if all you want to do is go and grab a pizza, maybe followed by ice cream and the chance to vent some into the aforementioned friendly ear, then I'm good with that. So, what do you say?"

Mac stared searchingly into his face for long moments before she visibly exhaled, she liked what she saw in his expression, open friendliness, a certain warmth, and what she read as honesty of intent. Even so, she was surprised to hear herself say, "Yes, I think I'd like that – the pizza and the talk…"

**Saturday, April 13, 2001, 1627 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington, DC (132027ZApr 01)**

"So… As a reward for all your hard work, how about going out to dinner this evening?" Harm asked as he handed Loren a mug of steaming coffee.

Loren untied the bandanna from around her head and wiped her face with it, "would it really bother you if we didn't? Because I really rather have something light, and then having done all this work I'd kinda just like to spend the evening sitting quietly with you."

Harm grinned, recalling the events of the day. He'd bounced out of bed at around zero six forty hours, and giving Loren a shake he'd said, "Hey, come on sleeping beauty, we're wasting daylight, I'll get breakfast started while you're in the bathroom, and then we can hit the road."

"Uh... Where to?" Loren had mumbled sleepily.

"Charlottesville, of course, it's Saturday, perfect flying weather." Harm had answered.

Loren sat up in bed, gazing puffy eyed and discontentedly at the scudding grey clouds visible through the window. "If you think this is perfect flying weather, then I'm going to insist that you get an interim psych-eval first thing Monday morning. Besides which," she added fiercely, "just look at this place, it's a total mess… You know I love flying, but we are spending every spare minute of every weekend at the airport, result: this place is beginning to show signs of neglect, and I've just realised that I can't stand it. So, if you want to go right ahead and fix breakfast, then after that, there's a list of chores as long as my arm that need doing.

And despite all Harm's protests, that was the programme for the day. When Loren emerged from the bathroom for breakfast, she was wearing a pair of baggy-kneed, paint spattered and faded bib overalls, with one of the shoulder straps held to the bib by a massive brooch pin. A scarlet bandanna with white polka-dots hung out of a pocket and Loren's feet were jammed into a pair of the most battered and disreputable looking sneakers Harm had ever seen.

Harm eyed her ensemble uneasily, and grew more uneasy as he noted the zealous, if not fanatical, gleam in her eye. "You… You really are serious about this, aren't you?" he asked warily.

Loren looked him up and down, "Yep, I am," she said flatly, "and you needn't think that you're not going to help."

"Umm… I... uh... I'm not very good at this sort of thing…" Harm protested feebly.

"Why don't I have any problem in believing that?" Loren asked ironically, "No, don't bother trying to answer that, it was a rhetorical question. But you do have a strong back and a weak mind, and that's just what I need first off!"

Harm drew a deep breath and was about to object strongly to Loren's description of him, but, and just before he fell into the trap, he caught the teasing gleam in her eye. Surrendering with good grace, he grinned and asked, "So, what does COMHOUSE have in mind for the crew?"

"Well, first off, toast, eggs, tomatoes, coffee and OJ. Then after that, all the bedroom furniture moved to one side so I can give the floor a proper sweep and wax, then when that's done everything to the other side so the other half of the floor gets its fair share of TLC, then there's the bathroom to be emptied, and then all the kitchen cabinets, and the storage closet… And in between that, there's grocery shopping to do, and most importantly, two pairs of dress whites for express treatment at the cleaners. And of course, there's the heavy duty scrubbing to do, not much brainpower needed there, just a willing mind and a barrel of elbow grease" So, having laid out the day's schedule, Loren smiled happily, and took an appreciative sip of her breakfast coffee.

Now, at the end of the day spent in an energetic orgy of dusting, washing down, wiping, scrubbing, waxing, polishing and laundering, a pink-faced and damply-glowing Loren lounged back in the couch, and gratefully accepted the fresh mug of coffee that Harm offered her.

She looked around at the freshly cleaned apartment, smiled and nodded replete with a sense of satisfaction at a job well done. Harm picked up on her feelings, and nodded his own acknowledgement, "Bravo Zulu, sweetheart, the place looks real fine."

Loren became even more pink, "Couldn't have done the half of it so quickly without your help," she admitted.

"I didn't do that much," Harm denied, feeling slightly guilty about the length of time he had taken to complete the few outside chores.

"Oh… I don't know, you were a great help in the heavy hauling, and you knew just when to get out of Dodge and leave it to the sheriff!" Loren grinned.

"Busted?" Harm asked mournfully.

"Damn straight!" Loren affirmed.

"Damn," Harm said in a crestfallen voice.

**Saturday, April 13, 2001, 1842 hours EDT, Male Surgical Ward, Surgical Wing, Bethesda National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (132027ZApr 01)**

Meg's heels clicked on the polished floor as she strode down the Hall towards the nurses' station. The Nurse Lieutenant looked up from the patient record she was updating, and smiled pleasantly, "How may I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Commander Austin, Navy JAG HQ, you have one of our NCOs, just transferred in from Yuma, I know I'm a few minutes early for visiting time, but I would like to see him, if possible."

The nurse came to her feet, "I'm sorry ma'am, I didn't realise…"

Meg looked down at her cowboy-booted feet, her faded jeans and plaid shirt, "No, and no reasonable person would expect you to," her face creasing in a friendly, amused grin.

"Thank you, ma'am. The patient you're looking for is?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, V, USMC, I don't have a middle initial for him.

The nurse tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard, checked the display and then raised her eyes to look at Meg, "He' s in room twelve oh five, ma'am. That's just down the hallway, on the left." She indicated the direction Meg should take.

Less than a minute later, Meg tapped on 1205's door, "Good evening, Gunny, are you prepared for visitors?" She asked in a voice that was only just a friendly side of neutral.

Victor pushed himself into a sitting position, and Meg was greatly relieved to see that not only was he moving easier, but that his colour was much improved from the last time that she saw him.

"Good evening, ma'am," he said, "yes, ma'am quite ready and more than happy to see visitors! Come right ahead and take a seat, if you would, " he said quite formally, taking his cue from Meg's tone.

"Thank you, Gunny," Meg replied coolly and drew one of the uncomfortably hard blue plastic chairs slightly nearer the bed before sitting.

"I just called in to see how you were settling, Gunny, things have been a little hectic this last week or so, the Admiral's on medical leave, Commander Rabb is acting JAG, and believe it or not Tiner has passed his finals and the bar exams with both Virginia and Maryland!" The last tid-bit of news she added to the accompaniment of a warm smile. "That brings you more or less up to speed with events at Falls Church, what's your news, Gunny?"

"Recovering well, ma'am. In much less pain than I was this time last week, but the medicos reckon I've still got a pretty rocky road in front of me. But they also reckon that I should be out of here by this time next week. I won't be back at full duty for a while; they tell me I can look forward to a couple of weeks medical leave, and then there's the matter of rehab, and then eventually a medical review board. But what the hell are you doing here, Meg? Have you totally lost your mind? What if…"

Despite his words, Victor's voice had retained the matter of fact tone of an experienced NCO furnishing a report to senior officer.

Meg interrupted his rebuke, and although she knew it was richly deserved, she had to fight down a feeling of hurt, and was helped in this by the knowledge that Victor's words were prompted by his concern for her, her career and her liberty. "Just checking up on you, Gunny," she said and then added only just audibly, "just taking care of my investment," and then raising her voice back to a normal conversational level, she said, "to see if you needed any books, chess set, checkers, embroidery hoop…"

Victor let himself relax back against his pillows, "Books, especially any by Robert Ludlum, or John Grisham would be most welcome ma'am, but if I catch so much as one glimpse of an embroidery hoop…" He left the threat hanging in the air.

Meg grinned with relief, Victor had let the stoic Marine Corps NCO mask slip for a second. "You're right Victor, I think I can get away with this one visit because it's a Saturday, but if I come back during the week will have to be with someone else, and will have to be strictly by the book. But once you're out of here Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, all bets are off until you return to duty!"

"But, ma'am…"

"The next words out of your mouth, had best be, 'Ma'am, yes ma'am!' Gunnery Sergeant! Do you read me?"

Meg's attempt at intimidation did not have the effect she'd desired, Victor lay back against his pillows again closed his eyes and laughed out loud.

Meg coloured up, "And just what is so funny, Gunnery Sergeant?" She demanded an offended voice.

"Ma'am, I've had my ass chewed off by some of the toughest DI's and Sergeant Majors in the Marine Corps. And I'm sorry ma'am, but you just ain't got it!"

"That may be, Gunnery Sergeant," Meg conceded, grinning once again "but, once you've recovered, you'll find I have methods at my command, that the Corps 'just ain't got'."

For a few seconds Meg and Victor sat looking at each other, both with the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of their mouths. At last Meg heaved a sigh, "Hurry up, and get well, Gunny, you are missed."

"Thank you, ma'am, I'll surely try. And… You take care now, you hear," he replied meaningfully.

Meg nodded and got to her feet, "I surely don't want to delay your recovery by tiring you out, Gunnery Sergeant, so I'll bid you a good night, and I'll be back in a day or two with some reading material for you."

"Thank you ma'am, I'll take that most kindly!"

"_Te amo, mi cari__ñ__o_."

For a second Victor looked startled, but then after a cursory glance to make sure no one else was in earshot he gave a half smile, "_Si, te amo mucho tambien_."

And with a last smile to mask her regret at having to cut the visit short, Meg turned on her heel and left Victor alone.

**Sunday, April 14, 2001, 0933 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington, DC (141333ZApr 01)**

Loren had just started assembling breakfast, while Harm was still showering after their morning run along the Capital and Crescent trail to Fletcher's Cove and back, when a knock at the door interrupted her preparations. Wiping her hands on a sheet of kitchen towel, Lauren dropped it into the trash and crossed the apartment. Pausing to check the caller's identity through the Judas hole, she blinked in surprise as she recognised the visitor. Opening the door she stepped back, "good morning, ma'am… uh… Mac, come in, please. Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you. That would be good."

Loren indicated the lounge area, "Please take a seat, I'll just let Harm know you're here…"

Mac nodded her thanks, and perched on one of the armchairs, while Loren flashed her a quick, slightly uneasy grin and hurried into the bedroom and through to the bathroom, "Harm," she hissed, startling him as he stood face covered in lather and razor poised against his throat.

"Christ, woman! Startle me into cutting my own throat, why don't you!?"

Loren giggled, partly through nervousness, "Sorry," she said perfunctorily, "but I thought I'd best warn you, we have a visitor, so you need to be fully dressed when you come through."

"A visitor?" An eloquent eyebrow climbed halfway towards his hairline, "A bit unusual for a Sunday morning, anyone interesting?"

"It's Mac."

"Mac!" His voice was incredulous, "what's she want?"

"That's what I'm about to find out. You just make sure that when you come out you've got your pants on! Got it, Mister?"

"Aye, aye, ma'am, got it. Now why don't you get outta here, let me finish shaving and see what our guest wants?"

"Already on it, sailor!" Loren quipped as she turned on her heel.

"I'm sorry about the delay, Mac, but for a smart guy, Harm can be pretty dense in the mornings."

"Yeah… I'm… sorry for the… uh… intrusion, but, I needed to get out of my apartment, and then Iwas passing and saw both your cars outside, and I… Oh, this was a bad idea, I'd best go," Mac looked around for her purse, in preparation for leaving.

"Well, you could stay for a coffee now you're here," Loren said passing a steaming mug to Mac, "it's not quite up to Lejeune's VOQ homebrew, but we think it's drinkable," she quipped.

The two women sat silently sipping their drinks for a couple of minutes before Harm, now in faded jeans and an old, grey T-shirt with a faded USNA printed in blue across the chest, and with his hair still wet from his shower joined them in the lounge.

"Good morning, Mac, what brings you here this fine Sunday morning," he asked as he made a beeline for the coffee pot.

Mac felt a surge of relief, there had been no hint of suspicion, or of recrimination in his voice, just open, friendly curiosity. And somehow that made it easier for Mac to open up. "Um... Actually, I'm… seeking refuge," she confessed with an embarrassed little laugh.

"Refuge?" Harm echoed, exchanging a startled glance with Loren.

"Yes… You maybe noticed that I had… a guest at the wet down on Friday? And I'm sure Loren recognised him and told you who he was?"

Harm had perched on the arm of the couch, and he now took a sip of his coffee. "Yeah, the CO of the Logistics Battalion at Lejeune," he agreed.

"Yeah, well… We had a lunch date as well, yesterday…"

"Are you alright, Mac? Did he…?" Harm interrupted urgently.

"No, no… nothing like that… In fact I had a great time, and we're meeting again for lunch today before he heads back to Lejeune. The problem is, that yesterday, my damn phone didn't stop ringing off the hook, there must have been at least a dozen messages, waiting for me when I got back yesterday afternoon, and another half-dozen came in last evening. And they started again this morning… So I kinda took evasive action before she followed up with a personal visit… And that's why I'm here…" Mac grinned somewhat shamefacedly.

"She? Loren queried, forehead furrowed, and her nose crinkled.

"Harriet?" Harm guessed.

"Harriet," Mac glumly confirmed.

Loren nodded, "Figures…"

"It's not that she's not a good friend," Mac asserted, "but I just don't feel up to fielding her questions until…."

"That's okay, Mac. You don't have to explain any more, I think we get it. Now, Loren and I were just about to have breakfast, will you join us?"

"Oh, please. I'm starving!"

"When aren't you, Marine?" Harm grinned, and dropped a wink to Loren.

**Monday, April 15, 2001, 0811 hours EDT, Parking Lot, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (151211ZApr01)**

Despite his annoyance at being relegated to a spectator's chair for the ceremony, AJ Chegwidden felt a fierce, almost proprietary pride, as Private Rivera responded to the order calling him to front and centre.

Dressed in a brand-new Ceremonial Dress Blue uniform, the Korean War veteran moved briskly, his drill movements as crisp and clean as if he was once again a teenaged recruit at boot camp. But Chegwidden had some idea of the pride and determination that would not allow Rivera to show by expression, word or movement the stiffness and pain due to the arthritis that plagued him.

The Commandant of the Marine Corps had finished pinning Rivera's Silver Star to his breast, while Major Abrahams, read the last lines of the citation, "… _Private Rivera's actions reflect great credit on himself, his unit and the United States Marine Corps."_

The CMC waited for his aide to finish reading, before he offered his hand to Rivera. "Congratulations, Private, I count myself privileged to have been able to make this presentation."

Rivera shook the Commandant's hand, with a muttered, "Thank you, Sir," and gave a hand-quivering sharp salute, and held it.

The four-star general returned the salute, "Dismissed, Private Rivera!"

Rivera executed a smart right-face and marched back to his position on the flank of the Security Detachment formation.

Harm, as acting JAG, was commanding the formation and waited for Rivera to resume his position before ordering Parade Rest, and advancing three paces before halting, saluting and then addressing the CMC. "Sir, that concludes the ceremony."

"Thank you, Commander. Dismiss the formation, if you please."

"Aye aye Sir!" Harm waited for the CMC and his aide to quit the dais before about facing, calling the formation to attention and finally dismissing them to their duties. Breathing a sigh of relief he allowed himself to look around, preparatory to offering the Commandant and major Abrahams refreshments in the conference room, to find the general deep in conversation with the admiral and Private Rivera. Waiting for an opportunity for a tactful interruption, he spied his chance, "Excuse me, General, but if you'll allow me to walk you up, we have coffee and I believe doughnuts, waiting for you in the conference room."

"Thank you, Commander," AJ Chegwidden responded, I'm sure you have a sufficiency of work awaiting your attention, I'll walk the General up."

Not quite sure whether to be hurt by an apparent snub, or grateful for the chance to return to routine, Harm nevertheless managed a small smile, and respectful "Aye, aye Sir!"

Chegwidden leaned in and in an undertone added, "The Commandant, has just learned how Rivera came to our notice, and has just formed the intention of calling in on the Gunny. You might want to call Bethesda, and give them a heads up that a four-star is on his way to see one of their patients."

Harm did his best to maintain the stoic expression, and a further emotionless, "Aye, aye, Sir."

As quietly as Chegwidden had spoken, the CMC demonstrated that there was nothing wrong with his hearing, "AJ, you're spoiling my fun, again."

"Just levelling the playing field, General," the JAG replied.

**Monday, April 15, 2001, 0926 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (1513261ZApr01)**

Harm closed the office door and leaned back against its support for a few seconds, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so. The CMC and his suite, and the Admiral with Private Rivera had finally now all left the building. The General was now, no doubt, on his way to terrorise the surgical wing at Bethesda, while Harm devoutly hoped that Admiral Chegwidden was now on his way home to his house in McLean, under the chaperonage of Private Rivera.

And now that the disruption of the morning was finally over and done with, he could at last scramble out of his dress whites and into the cool and more comfortable summer whites uniform. Thanking the Lord, and the US Navy, for the private bathroom attached to the JAG's office, Harm made for the privacy of that room, his fingers already busy with the buttons on his dress white tunic.

Ten minutes later feeling much refreshed after a quick wash, Harm took a seat at his desk and picked up the first file from his overburdened in tray. Glancing at the particulars of the case, Harm reached for the intercom and toggled the switch.

"_Yes, Sir,_" Tiner responded to the buzzing.

"Pass the word for Lieutenant Roberts, please,"

"_Aye, aye, Sir_!"

"Come on in, Bud, and take a seat " Harm welcomed the Junior officer when he rapped on the door-frame. Harm waited until Bud settled, and then asked, "How did it go? I know will be submitting a report, but you got back to late on Friday for us to talk and then Rivera thing kind of put a stop on Staff Call this morning."

"It's a bit of a tragicomedy, Sir. The information we had was that four of the Seahawk's crew had tested positive for an unknown substance. The thing was, Sir, that none of them had any real contact with the others. One was an SAR swimmer, one was part of the bosun's crew, one was a fire controlman and the fourth was a CIC watchkeeper. Myself, Lieutenant Aldridge and his legalman, Petty Officer Dilkes spent the best part of two days trying to find a connection." Bud allowed himself a wry grin before continuing, "Ironically, it was Dilkes that found the connection. The four who had failed the whizz test were all practising Catholics, and all made a habit of attending Mass and taking Communion on a regular basis. Aldridge and myself thought it was a long shot, but we persuaded the skipper to order that all Catholics were to take another test." At this point in the narrative Bud's face lost all vestiges of humour.

"Sir, eighty-seven of one hundred and twenty-nine Catholic personnel on board the Seahawk all tested positive. Including the Catholic chaplain," Bud finished heavily.

For a second Harm's sense of the ridiculous threatened to overwhelm him, but the prospect of court marshalling eighty-seven individuals, all from the same ship soon overrode any inclination he might have had to indulge in amusement.

"Including the chaplain?" He asked in incredulous dismay.

"Including the chaplain," Bud solemnly agreed. "It took some hours of questioning, but we eventually established that all the sailors, Marines and officers who failed the test had all taken Communion within the previous two weeks. And the irony I mentioned earlier, Sir?"

"Go ahead," Harm encouraged him.

"Petty Officer Dilkes was one of the communicants. Yes, Sir," Bud continued as he saw the question on Harm's face, "Dilkes was one of the eighty-seven."

Harm looked at Bud, still in some disbelief, "But how did this happen? I'm having a very difficult time trying to imagine the chaplain's summoning his parishioners and passing out prohibited substances."

"No Sir, it took a bit more working out, I don't know if you're familiar with Catholic holy Communion, but only the priest takes a mouthful of wine, but he and all the communicants consume the host, that is the wafer. So we took custody of the chaplain's supply of wafers, and handed them over to the pathologist for analysis. All the boxes of wafers were contaminated with something the lab guys called ECP. Apparently this is the latest in non-organic recreational substances. It's a mild euphoric, but whether or not it's addictive is not yet known."

"And how did these wafers become contaminated?" Harm demanded.

Bud grimaced apologetically, "we don't know, yet, Sir. Microscopic examination of the packaging shows small perforations which may or may not indicate that the sealed packages were injected with the drug. We checked with the Seahawk's supply officer, his records show that hosts, that is the wafer, Sir, for the Catholic chaplain were all received via COD, from Norfolk last month. I've asked the SJA office at Norfolk to investigate the supply system there and try and ascertain if the contamination took place at Norfolk, or while stocks were still at the manufacturers. The only positive outcome so far, Sir, is that the skipper of the Seahawk is not pressing charges against any of the eighty-seven."

Harm had been slowly shaking his head as Bud had continued his narration. "I suppose there's no chance that these wafers could have been contaminated accidentally?"

"Highly unlikely, Sir,"

"So, what do you think, realistically, are the chances of a perpetrator being caught, Bud?"

Bud pulled the corners of his mouth down into a grimace, "About the same chance as I stand of winning the state lottery, Sir. Without buying a ticket." He added to emphasise his opinion.

"Damn... I hate having unsolved cases!" Harm muttered, and then sighed, "Now that you've made my day, it wasn't really for that I asked you to come in. Take a look at that…"

Bud leaned forward and picked up the file that Harm had just slid across the desk towards him, and opened it. As he read, his eyebrows rose towards his hairline, "You want me to…"

"I want you to take the lead in prosecuting this one Bud, you'll be up against Commander Austin. You want a second chair?"

Bud frowned slightly, "is this, with all due respect Sir, some kind of test?"

Harm regarded the younger officer levelly, "Think more that it's an opportunity for you to show what you can do on a larger stage. I wouldn't give you this case Bud if I didn't think you were up to it. I know you will give it your best shot, and I also know that Commander Austin is the more experienced attorney. By putting you up against I am betting that she will make you lift your game. If Lieutenant Commander Steele is guilty of selling secrets to the North Koreans, then I want him to spend the next thirty years behind bars in Leavenworth."

Bud, still with a vaguely troubled expression on his face, rose to his feet, "by your leave, Sir?"

"Yeah, fine Bud, go ahead."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Bud responded before about facing and leaving the office.

Harm was about to call Tiner again when he was forestalled by his office door opening above Tiner's protesting "Sir!"

Harm rose to his feet, his eyes narrowed as a strange Captain walked unceremoniously into the JAG's office. "May I help you, Sir?" He asked coldly.

"No, Commander, you may not. What you will do is sit down and listen to what I've got to say!"

"I don't think so, Sir. With respect that is." Harm reached for the toggle button on the intercom, "Tiner! Pass the word for Colonel Mackenzie, ASAP!"

"Belay that!" The unwelcome visitor snapped, but too late, Harm had already released the button.

"Now, Commander, sit down!"

"I don't think so, Sir," Harm repeated, unwilling to lose any psychological edge in dealing with the intruder. Both men glared at each other, but before more could be said came a double tap on the door-frame. The now red-faced Captain shouted, "Wait!"

This time, it was Harm who called out, "Belay that. Come in, Colonel!"

Mac felt the tension the second she walked through the door, and in an automatic desire to preserve the JAG's privacy and dignity, she softly closed the door behind her and cast an inquiring look at Harm.

"Get out, Colonel!" The still unidentified naval captain ordered her. Mac looked steadily at Harm.

"The Captain, has something he wishes to say to me," Colonel, Harm said levelly, "I want you, if you're willing, to be a witness to this conversation."

"Of course. "Mac agreed, and then turning to look at Harm's visitor, she said coolly, "Good morning, Captain Harding."

That Mac recognised him, seemed to unsettle Harding. He looked hard at Mac, "Do I know you, Colonel?"

"No Sir, but I recognise you from the Mission debrief from Operation Tumbleweed. Of course, you were only a Commander, with ONI at that time, but I was only a Captain, and and you probably didn't even see me, but I saw you, Sir, and I remember you."

Harding seemed to have recovered his equilibrium, "That was a long time ago Colonel, let the dead bury their dead," he turned towards Harm, "and the same goes for you Commander, leave the Richardson case alone. You won't get him set free, you won't get the verdict overturned and you will upset some very important people. "

Rarely had Harm felt so angry and it was only by a major effort of will that he kept his voice level, "Colonel, that sounds remarkably like a threat, and the exercise of undue command influence." He then turned to Harding, and his voice dripping with contempt, he asked, "if Admiral Chegwidden had been at his desk today instead of myself, would you have dared to burst in on him, and treat him in the same manner?"

Harding said only, "You've been told, both of you, the responsibility for any consequences of you ignoring my message, will lie fair and square at your feet." And then without so much as even a dismissive nod he turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.

"What the hell was all that about?" Mac asked in astonishment, "I get he is a Captain, but where does he get off talking to you, and me, like that?"

Harm sank back into the big chair, "I'm as much in the dark about that little performance, as you are, Mac but I have a horrible feeling that this is way above my paygrade."

Mac picked up the way Harm had phrased his last few words. "But you do know, in broad terms, don't you? And what's the Richardson case?"

"Keep this to yourself, please Mac, but it looks like a Captain Richardson was framed by the ONI some fourteen years ago on charges of espionage. Information has recently come to light, which if accepted by an appeal court should see his conviction overturned his sentence quashed, all rank, pay, pension and benefits restored, and very probably charges raised against certain members of naval intelligence, and quite possibly the CIA."

Mac thought in silence for a few seconds, "and Harding?"

"If you're willing to support me, Mac, then I'm quite prepared, here and now, in my capacity as Acting JAG to frame charges against Harding for the exercise of undue command influence, obstructing a JAGMan investigation, and take it straight to the SECNAV."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Mac asked grimly.

**Monday, April 15, 2001, 1728 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (152128ZApr01)**

Harm let himself into the office, Tiner had already secured for the day, and tossed his cover on to the cadenza that stood just inside the door, while he crossed to the big chair almost collapsed into it, totally enervated by the events of the afternoon, and wishing, that's just for once the Admiral had flouted regs and kept a bottle of Bourbon in his desk drawer.

Lying back in the chair he closed his eyes and blew out a long sigh. To say that the SECNAV had been less than pleased would, Harm thought with just the twitch of a grin, be like saying the Sun was warm. He had been little inclined to listen to Harm's complaint and even when Harm had drawn the parallels between the Richardson and Maguda, and recounted his suspicions that the both cases were engineered by the same individual, Secretary Nelson had still insisted on calling Admiral Chegwidden.

That had almost had the effect of setting a match to a powder train, even without the SECNAV putting the Admiral on speaker phone, Harm had had no difficulty in hearing and understanding his COs anger. And just for once, Harm were safe in the knowledge that the former Seal's wrath was targeted on somebody other than himself.

The end of the afternoon had not been quite as satisfactory as Harm might have wished, and he was forced to remain content with being ushered out of the SECNAV's presence, with that politician's assurances ringing in his ears that suitable action would be taken against Captain Harding, and that naval intelligence would cease trying to intimidate, or influence JAG.

However, Harm was not altogether reassured. The Office of Naval Intelligence had a long arm, and a long memory.

Further ruminations were cut short as his cell phone chirped. With an irritated grunt Harm delved into his pocket and retrieved the offending instrument. Flipping the phone open, he said in as neutral a voice as he could manage, "Rabb,"

"Hello, darling," Trish Burnett's lilting voice assailed his ear. "Just a reminder, Harmon, but Frank and I are expecting you this evening, for dinner at The Willard. Seven thirty for eight, darling, informal, now don't be late."

Harm blanched, he'd forgotten, completely forgotten, that Frank and his mother were in town this week, and at some time in the dim and distant past of the last two weeks, he and Loren had accepted a dinner invitation the first evening that Frank and Trish were in town.

"Uh... It's kinda hectic at the moment, mom, and I don't know if…"

"Harmon Rabb!" Trish's voice lost its loving tone, "You are not, if you know what is good for you, cancelling this dinner. Frank has had to reschedule a meeting with the Congressional sub-committee on clean air, so there is absolutely no way that you, and that lovely Loren, are not going to be here for dinner this evening. Capisce?"

Harm knew when he was out-gunned, so he ran his white flag up the pole with as much good grace as he could muster, "I wouldn't dream of it, mom, I was just going to say that we may be a little late… I'm still in the office and I need to get home and showered and changed before I'm fit to be seen in polite company. But I promise you mom, Loren and I will be there."

"Good, we look forward to seeing you again, and of course, seeing Loren. By now, I love you." And once again Trish Burnett's voice was all sweetness and light.

"I love you too, mom," Harm replied.

"I know, darling," Trish replied smugly.

Harm almost vaulted to his feet and sprinted towards the office door, grabbing his briefcase and cover as he flew past them. Barely breaking stride he spun to his left and out into and across the now nearly empty bullpen, making straight for Loren's office.

With the barest pause for the sake of courtesy, he barrelled into Loren's office hard on the heels of his perfunctory knock on her door-frame. "Are you nearly finished?" He demanded almost breathlessly.

Loren looked up at him, the two vertical lines between her eyebrows signalling her displeasure at his irruption into her office, "About another thirty, maybe forty minutes," she said flatly and to Harm's dismay.

He shook his head glumly, "How about another thirty, maybe forty seconds."

Loren frowned in good earnest, "I do need to get this stuff done, you know. And anyway, where's the fire?"

Harm stared at her in disbelief, "I can't believe that you forgot, too!"

"Forgot what, exactly?" Loren demanded irritably.

Harm looked at her, exactly, Loren thought, like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. Harm swallowed to clear his suddenly dry throat, "You, me, mom, Frank, The Willard, dinner, this evening, twenty hundred!"

Loren's expression suddenly mirrored Harm's, while her complexion turned almost the same shade as her blouse. "Oh, crap!" she almost whimpered as she dissolved into a flurry of frenzied activity, which resulted in Harm and Loren disappearing through the bullpen doors in under thirty seconds.

**Monday, April 15, 2001, 1932 hours EDT, The Willard Intercontinental Hotel, 1401 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington, DC (152332Z Apr 01)**

Harm handed Loren out of the cab, and offered her his arm as they turned towards the steps leading up to the Willard's main door. "Ready to face the lions?" Harm asked, referring back to the never-to-be-forgotten first meeting between Loren and his mother at Grams farm.

Loren drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders, "I can face just as many lions as you can – Barabbas!" she replied with a brave attempt at a grin on her face.

At her seat in the cocktail lounge, Trish was just about to complain to Frank that once again, Harm was running late. Sometimes she could joke that he was born late – which he was, three days past due date – and that he'd never managed to catch up yet. But Frank had noticed that she rarely appreciated that burst of humour when it was she he kept waiting.

On this occasion, however Frank was able to forestall his wife's comments. "Here they are, Trish, they are only a couple of minutes late, and that could quite easily just be traffic."

"That's just like you, Frank Burnett," Trish scolded him lovingly, "Always ready to make excuses for him, but on this occasion you may just about be right."

Trish fell silent as she turned on her chair to watch her son and his fiancée approach, and she felt a swell of maternal pride as she realised that hers was not the only approving smile that was a result of Harm and Loren's arrival. Harm had dressed in a charcoal suit, worn with a mid-blue cotton shirt, with his gold wing spattered dark blue Naval Aviator's neck-tie. Loren had chosen a knee-length, sleeveless mid-blue dress that matched the shade of Harm's shirt, and together they made a striking couple. And what did it matter that Harm's hair was still distinctly wet, while Loren was uncomfortably aware of the dampness of the under layers of her own shining blonde tresses, which this evening she worn loose so that they brushed her bare shoulders.

Frank stood as they approached, sidestepping so that Harm could greet his mother properly by stooping and bestowing a loving kiss to her cheek, while Frank claimed the same privilege from a rosily-blushing Loren. Kisses exchanged, Harm turned to Frank, "it's good to see you, again, Frank. Especially," he added slyly, "that this time you're not pointing a shotgun at me!"

Frank's chuckle, "You're not going to be in any hurry to let me forget that are you?" Almost drowned Trish's protesting wail of "Harm!" As she stood to hug Loren.

Greetings over, Harm and Loren took the two empty seats at the table while Frank looked around and signalled for a waiter to come and take their drinks order and to fetch menus.


	53. Chapter 53

**AN: **I am not a lawyer, neither have I had any form of legal training. The only familiarity I have with any US court system has come from watching TV. However, the charge of Aggravated Assault and the DC Criminal Code quoted are, as far as I am aware, correct, as is the maximum sentence I quote. I make no such guarantees as to the accuracy of the court case, the objections and the rulings in respect of them, all the words used by Judge, attorneys, defendant or jury forewoman. If I have got it wrong, just please go with it for the sake of the story. Thank you.

**53**

**Tuesday, April 16, 2001, 0721 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington, DC (161121ZApr 01)**

Loren put the last of the washed and dried breakfast dishes back into their usual storage, and glanced at Harm who was just finishing wiping down the sink and draining board. "You about ready then?" she asked.

"Ready when you are," Harm replied with a nod to the two garment bags that lay across the back of the couch, and which contained their dress whites into which they would have to change later that morning.

Loren nodded, and wiped her hands on a length of kitchen towel before clapping her cover on her head and picking up both hers and Harm's briefcases, while he tucked his cover under his arm and picked up both garment bags.

"Lexus or 'vette, this morning?" Loren asked.

Harm considered for a moment then with a regretful shake of his head, said "The Lexus, the weather still looks a little unsettled for the Corvette."

Loren grinned, not unsympathetically, "you and that damned Corvette, honestly you might as well keep it wrapped up in cotton swabs. Mac doesn't seem to mind driving hers in this weather… Or even all through the winter…"

Harm juggled with his burdens as he closed and locked the apartment door behind them, "Here's the thing, Mac's 'vette is a new ninety-nine model, mine is a classic."

Loren gave him an exasperated look, but at the same time, smiled and shook her head indulgently.

**Tuesday, April 16, 2001, 0932 hours EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (161332ZApr 01)**

Harm looked down the two rows of faces flanking the conference table, "Okay that's just about it this morning people, except that as you're probably all well aware, today marks the start of Brumby's trial at number three District Court. Colonel MacKenzie, obviously will be a prosecution witness, and Lieutenant Singer and myself will be there in support of her. I know the Admiral had the intention of attending court, and I hope, I very much hope, that he will still be there, but we won't know that unless and until he makes an appearance. We don't anticipate the trial lasting longer than today so I hope everything will be back to normal tomorrow. In the meantime, Commander Imes, you'll take charge. Obviously my cell phone, and that of the Admiral, will be switched off during court, so the rest of you, take it easy on the Commander," he finished with a grin.

A general chuckle greeted his last sally which he allowed to run for a few seconds before he stood, looked along the table once more and dismissed the meeting, which broke up among the usual clatter of chairs as the assembled officers stood while Harm with a final nod left the room.

"You and Loren don't have to come to court, you know, I'm quite capable of facing Brumby without breaking down. Sometimes I think you forget that I am a Marine!" Mac said as she joined him on the walk down the hallway.

Harm stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes briefly and took a breath before turning to face her. "Mac, it's very hard to forget that you're a Marine, when you turn to for duty every day, wearing green, and at least once every week you practice your 'I'm a Marine' mantra. Loren and I know that you're quite capable of facing this on your own, but we've both partnered you on investigations, and all were doing is what partners do, we are being there for you. Alright?"

Mac had the grace to look slightly shamefaced before she mustered a half-smile, "Yeah, I think I do know that, but…"

"No buts about it, Mac," Harm said, "Loren and I are just going to get changed into our dress whites, so we'll see you at the CP in… Say… fifteen minutes? And unless you've got any major objections to the contrary, we can all travel in the Lexus. That should leave us plenty of time to get to the courthouse and find somewhere to park."

For a moment it looked like Mac wanted to continue to argue but then she nodded and with a another half-smile, "fifteen minutes," she agreed, "but don't be late, squid!"

"Why does everyone always think I'm going to be late for everything?" Harm asked her retreating back.

Mac paused in mid-stride, and looked back over her shoulder, "Because you generally are!" She grinned.

**Tuesday, April 16, 2001, 1104 hours EDT, Courtroom Number Three, ****United States District Court For the District of Columbia,Constitution Ave, NW, Washington DC, (161332ZApr 01)**

"United States District Court for the District of Colombia is in session! The Honourable Judge Matthew Glover presiding, all rise!

As expected, the prosecuting DA took Mac to one side on arrival, leaving Harm and Loren to find their own seats in the courtroom. Conspicuous in their dress whites, they had chosen seats on the prosecution side of the aisle, but towards the back of the court room, where, before they had been been seated for very long, they were joined by Admiral Chegwidden, also in dress whites, and by the former Private Rivera, now neatly turned out in a grey suit and white shirt and dark tie.

Also in court was Captain Andrews, the Australian Naval Attaché at the Australian Embassy with whom Harm exchanged a nod of recognition, but neither officer made a move to engage the other in conversation before the bailiff's proclamation brought the sparsely populated courtroom to its feet.

Judge Glover, a tall, thin man apparently in his late fifties, and who, to Loren's eyes, bore a striking resemblance to Abraham Lincoln took his seat on the bench, and indicated that everyone could retake their seats. He turned to the bailiff, and asked "what's the first case this morning, bailiff?"

"Docket number two five zero seven one nine five two, people versus Brumby, aggravated assault, Your Honour," the bailiff responded.

"Bring him up please," requested.

The side door door opened and Mic Brumby in his RAN dress whites, but in cuffs and shackles was escorted by two court deputies to the defence table.

Judge Glover looked at him disapprovingly and then to the prosecution table and back to the defence, "Who's Who?" he asked.

"Charles Goulding, Assistant DA for the people, Your Honour," the prosecutor introduced himself.

"Anne Mortimer, Public Defender's Office for the accused, Your Honour," the middle-aged woman introduced herself.

Judge Glover nodded in acknowledgement of the two attorneys, and turned to the bailiff, "Please read the charges and specifications."

Anne Mortimer tapped Brumby on the shoulder and they both stood as the Bailiff rose to his feet and opened the docket, "Michael Patrick Brumby, you are charged with aggravated assault contrary to District of Colombia Criminal Code 22-404.01, in that on Saturday February 24, 2001, you assaulted Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Catherine MacKenzie, purposely causing her serious bodily injury. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Mortimer replied on Brumby's behalf.

Judge Glover nodded to the Bailiff, "Very well, bring in the jury..."

"Objection, Your Honour!" Mortimer rapped out.

Glover centred a jaundiced look on the defence attorney, "Do tell," he said dryly.

"Your Honour if the jury sees my client in irons, it may well prejudice them against him. The defence moves that the restraints be removed from my client before the jury is empanelled."

"Miss Mortimer, your client is accused of a violent felony. Furthermore, looking at him there is evidence of further, more recent violence. While I appreciate your concern for appearances, my overriding concern must be the safety of everyone in this courtroom. Objection overruled, the restraints remain in place."

"But Your Honour…"

"Miss Mortimer," Glover interrupted her with an air of a man being pushed to his limit, "I am familiar with both your courtroom performance and your reputation for histrionics. This is not the first time you've appeared in my courtroom, and you should remember what I have said to you on previous occasions. And that is I will not tolerate any grandstanding, from any attorney, at any time." He switched his gaze to the prosecution table, "and you would be wise to remember that, too, Mister Goulding. Now, is that clear to both of you?"

Both attorneys stood and chorus, "yes, Your Honour."

Glover nodded, apparently satisfied with their concurrence and turned back to the bailiff, "The jury please."

Glover waited until the jury took their seats, and then turned back to the attorneys, "Do either of you who wish to challenge any member of the jury?"

The two attorneys exchanged glances before they turned back to the judge, "No challenges from me, Your Honour," Goulding replied.

Mortimer exchanged a whispered a few words with Brumby before she turned back to the bench, "The Defence sees no cause for a challenge, Your Honour."

"Very well, Mister Prosecutor, you may state your case."

Goulding rose, fastening his suit jacket as he did so and turned to face the jury, "Ladies and gentlemen what we have here today is a straightforward case of aggravated assault. The people will produce witnesses to the identity of the accused, and will also produce medical evidence as to the extent of the injuries suffered by the victim. It is the extent of these injuries together with the prolonged nature of the assault, that lifts it from common assault to the degree of aggravated assault. The accused, a Lieutenant commander in the Royal Australian Navy, attacked an unsuspecting woman, in fact his fiancée, in her own home, please note, not a home they shared, her own home, the one place where she should have been secure. At the conclusion of this trial, the people will have shown that Lieutenant Commander Brumby is, beyond reasonable doubt, guilty of the offences levelled against him."

Anne Mortimer rose in her turn. "The district attorney has made great play of emotionally appealing language in his opening statement. But that cuts no ice. It is the duty of the state to prove, beyond the reasonable doubt that the district attorney mentions, not only the facts of the case, but in this case particularly, the intent to cause serious bodily injury. It is the defence's contention that no such intent existed, and while not denying that Lieutenant Commander Brumby, struck Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie, it was the action of a man goaded into behaving in a more extreme manner than was usual. Without that element of intent, the charge of aggravated assault cannot stand, and the only just verdict that you can reach is one of not guilty." She inclined her head once in the direction of the jury and resumed his seat alongside Brumby.

Judge Glover turned towards the prosecution table, "I take it you have witnesses, Counsellor?"

"I do, Your Honour. The prosecution calls as its first witness, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie."

The door at the rear of the court room opened and Mac marched down the centre aisle stopping between prosecution and defence tables for the bailiff to conduct to the witness box. She stood to take the oath administered by the Bailiff before she sat, smoothing her skirt beneath her as she did so.

Goulding stood and closed about half the distance between the prosecution table and the witness box, half turning so the bench was on his right, the witness box almost directly in front of him and the defence table to his left. "Please state your name and occupation for the record."

"Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, United States Marine Corps Judge Advocate, my current duty station is Headquarters, Navy JAG Corps, Falls Church."

"Thank you Colonel. Please tell the court in your own words what happened on the evening of Saturday February twenty-fourth of this year," Goulding invited her.

"I was at home, alone. I had a lot to think about that evening, including the state of my engagement to Lieutenant Commander Brumby and although I wanted to speak with him, my attempts to call him on his cell phone were unsuccessful as it appeared he had turned his phone off. Shortly before twenty-three hundred… Oh, I'm sorry… Shortly before eleven that evening I was interrupted by a visitor. I used the Judas hole in my apartment door to check the caller's identity, and when I saw that it was Lieutenant Commander Brumby, I opened the door and let him in to my apartment."

Mac with her lips and took a deep breath, "As soon as Commander Brumby started to speak, I could tell that he had been drinking…"

"Objection!" Anne Mortimer was on her feet. "Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie is not a physician, how can she tell whether somebody is under the influence of alcohol or not."

Goulding turned to Mortimer and gave her a long look before turning back to the judge, "Colonel MacKenzie did not state that Commander Brumby was under the influence of alcohol, she stated that she could tell he had been drinking."

Judge Glover turned to Mac, "You based your judgement that Commander Brumby had been drinking on what exactly, Colonel?"

"On my sense of smell, Your Honour. My father had a drinking problem, and I learned from an early age to distinguish the smell of alcohol on someone's breath and/or on their clothing." Mac took a deep breath and looked defence counsel straight in the eye," I am also a recovering alcoholic, and am intimately acquainted with the smell of alcohol."

For a moment silence fell in the courtroom, Loren gripped Harm's hand, and gave him a look meant to convey sympathy for Mac. Both Harm and Loren knew just how hard it had been for Mac to make that possibly damning admission in open court.

Satisfied with Mac's explanation, the judge turned to Anne Mortimer, "Overruled. Please continue Mister Goulding."

"What happened next, Colonel MacKenzie?" Goulding asked.

"Commander Brumby said that he was finished in the USA, and that he was heading back to Australia, and demanded that I should go with him. On top of my previous reflections on the state of…indeed on our engagement itself, I realised that he was working to a plan. He had presented me with a ring and asked me to marry him on our second date. I should explain that I had known Commander Brumby for some time before this, and when he asked me, although I was feeling emotionally vulnerable, I told him I couldn't give him an answer at that time, and he pressed me to wear the ring on my right hand, as a token of friendship.…"

Anne Mortimer jumped to her feet again, "Objection! Relevance?"

"I'm inclined to agree Mister Goulding, where is your witness going with this line of testimony?" Judge Glover asked.

"If Your Honour will allow Colonel MacKenzie just a little leeway, the court will see that she is establishing a pattern of behaviour on the accused's part."

"I'll allow it for the moment Mister Goulding, but wherever the witness is going, she needs to get there quickly! Objection overruled."

Goulding nodded in acknowledgement, "Go on, please, Colonel."

"A few months after Commander Brumby pressured… persuaded me… to accept his ring… He reappeared, unexpectedly, in DC, explaining that he had persuaded the Australian Naval Authorities to reinstate the exchange programme of which he had previously been a part. And that he had done so to be nearer to me. Even at that time, I was having doubts, and was reluctant to make a decision, Commander Brumby made a point of explaining to me that he had probably taken a career hit by asking to return to the exchange programme, and succeeded in making me feel an obligation to him. By Christmas of last year he was putting more pressure on me to move the ring from my right hand to my left, and make our engagement official. When I hesitated, he reminded me of the so-called sacrifice he had made, and threatened to return to Australia forthwith. It was pretty flattering that a man would be willing to compromise his career, and travel halfway around the world for my sake, and there were other, purely physical reasons for allowing myself to be persuaded to make the engagement official. No sooner had we become engaged then commander Brumby's behaviour changed… He became possessive, even domineering, and started to drive a wedge between myself and my co-workers and friends. His demand that, if I loved him, I immediately resign and follow him to Australia, opened my eyes. I realised that he had been manipulating me from the word go, with the intent of separating me from everything and everyone I knew and taking me back to Australia with him. I also now suspected him of deliberately engineering an incident earlier that day, which had resulted in the Navy's JAG, Admiral Chegwidden, terminating Commander Brumby's participation in the exchange programme. I took the ring off, handed it back to him, and ordered him out of my apartment. That was when he punched me. I felt the one punch, to the side of my face, but knew nothing else until I woke up in ICU at the National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda."

"Thank you, Colonel. A clear and concise recounting of events." Goulding turned to the defence counsel, "Your witness," and then sat down.

Miss Mortimer stood, and with a half-smile approached the witness stand. "Good morning, Colonel MacKenzie. As prosecuting counsel says, a clear and concise recounting of events – or so you would have us believe. Is it not true, Colonel that it is not so long ago that you stood trial at a general court-martial for the murder of your former husband?"

Mac paled, she'd half expected, and feared her previous record being brought up in an attempt to discredit her testimony. "Yes."

"And is it also not true, that part of the outcome of that trial is that you faced disciplinary proceedings arising from the fact that in giving testimony at that trial you perjured yourself."

Mac swallowed, "Yes," she admitted.

"Objection, Your Honour! Relevance!" Mortimer was on his feet.

"Counsellor?" Judge Glover queried Anne Mortimer.

"Simply doing as prosecution did, Your Honour, establishing a pattern of behaviour, but this time on part of the witness."

Judge Glover nodded, "I'll allow it, objection overruled."

"Thank you, Your Honour. Now, Colonel, if you committed perjury at one trial, why should we, or the jury believe that you are telling the truth now? After all, you have previously shown that you don't hold the oath you took to tell the truth particularly highly."

Goulding jumped to his feet this time, "Your Honour! Objection! Argumentative!"

"I agree, sustained! Miss Mortimer, I warned you before this trial began that I would stand for no stunts, or histrionics. That was strike two. Be careful."

"My apologies, Your Honour, it was not my intent to indulge in histrionics or grandstanding on this occasion."

"Very well, I will accept your apology, but it is still strike two! Carry on."

"Thank you, Your Honour, but I have no further questions for this….witness." The contempt with which she loaded her last word was almost palpable, as she turned to retake her seat.

Judge Glover checked his watch. "Do you have more witnesses?" he asked Goulding.

"Yes, Your Honour," Goulding answered.

"Is your next witnesses testimony likely to be brief, or otherwise?"

"My next witnesses testimony is likely to be quite brief, Your Honour," Goulding replied.

"Very well, call your next witness counsellor."

"Calling Officer Michael Flaherty, Metro Police Department."

Officer Flaherty had the tough no-nonsense appearance of a seasoned beat-cop. Harm estimated that he was in his mid to late forties, and his face suggested that in his years on the force he had seen far too much of the weak and ugly side of human nature. Flaherty recited the oath almost before it was given to him, and took his time getting comfortable on the witness chair.

After Goulding had Flaherty reiterate his name and occupation, he asked "Officer Flaherty, you are stationed at the Georgetown precinct, are you not?"

"I am."

"And were you on duty on the night of February twenty-fourth."

"I was."

"Can you tell us what happened at about ten past eleven that evening?"

"Yes. I was on routine patrol with my partner, Officer Velasquez, when we received a call from dispatch at seven minutes past eleven reporting a woman down at apartment Four F, twenty-nine oh six, Reservoir Road, Georgetown. We responded to the call, and on reaching the address we found a woman lying on the floor. There was blood coming from her ears, nose and mouth, and she appeared to have been beaten…"

"Objection. The officer is not medically trained, and cannot possibly speculate as to what might have been the cause of Colonel MacKenzie's condfition!" Miss Mortimer was on her feet again.

"Your Honour," Goulding replied, "Officer Flaherty has twenty-seven years experience as a Metro PD officer, he has probably seen more victims of beatings, than any ER Doctor in the whole of DC. If anyone can see a glance whether someone has been the victim of a vicious assault, then it is he."

"Objection again, Your Honour, counsel for the people is now editorialising!"

"First objection overruled, it is my judgement that any Metro PD officer with more than twenty years experience as a beat cop can recognise a victim of a beating. However, the second objection is sustained. Experienced beat cop or not, Officer Flaherty cannot know whether an assault was vicious or not unless he was on the spot at the time. The jury will disregard prosecuting counsel's last remark. Mister Goulding, I warned you as to your behaviour in this court at the same time as I warned Miss Mortimer. Be careful."

Goulding bowed his head in acknowledgement of the rebuke, "My apologies your honour. If I may continue?"

The judge nodded, "Carry on."

"Officer Flaherty once you had seen the body on the floor what did you do next?"

"I checked for a pulse and to see if the victim was breathing. I found a pulse and satisfied myself that she seemed to be breathing on her own, I radioed dispatch and requested an ambulance to my location, Code Three."

"Anything else, Officer Flaherty?"

"Yes, while we were waiting for the EMTs, I took photographs of the crime scene, and of the victim, and spoke to the neighbour who had made the original nine one one call."

Goulding turned to the prosecution table, and picked up a buff folder. He opened the folder and showed it to Officer Flaherty, "Are these the photographs you took at that time?"

Flaherty looked carefully at the photographs, but eventually nodded his head. "Yes these are the photographs I took, and on return to the station house, printed off. I wrote the case number, here in the top left-hand corner, and initialled each print, here, in the bottom right-hand corner."

Goulding looked at the bailiff, "Your Honour, we wish to submit these in evidence as prosecution exhibits one through eight."

Judge Glover looked at each attorney in turn, "Approach," he ordered and waited until both Goulding and Mortimer stood in front of the bench, at which time he covered his microphone with his hand, "Has the defence seen these photographs? "

Goulding opened the folder so that defence counsel could see its contents, Mortimer nodded her head," Yes Your Honour, we have notarised copies of these."

Glover nodded, "Step back, photographs are admitted as prosecution exhibits one through eight."

With a slight smile of triumph, Goulding handed the folder to the bailiff, who in turn passed it up to Judge Glover, who gae the photographs back to the bailiff, "Pass them to the jury, please, Bailiff."

While the folder was being passed along the two rows of jurors, Goulding turned back to Officer Flaherty, "Did you discover anything else, Officer?"

"Yes, from the neighbour we learned that the victim was an officer in the Marine Corps, and that the neighbour had caught a glimpse of a dark haired man fleeing the scene. On learning that the victim was military, I passed the news to dispatch who informed me to stay at the scene until I could hand it over to NCIS. The NCIS agents arrived just as the EMTs were preparing to take the victim to hospital. In accordance with protocol, although GWU hospital was nearer, the EMTs decided that her injuries were not life-threatening, and that they would take her to the National Naval Medical Centre at Bethesda. Once I'd briefed the NCIS agents on what had been done, and what had not been done, my partner and I resumed our patrol."

"Thank you, Officer Flaherty. Your witness, counsellor."

Miss Mortimer rose briefly, "no questions for this witness, Your Honour."

She retook her seat to be immediately subjected to what seemed to be a furious whispered harangue from Mic Brumby.

Judge Glover looked at his watch again, "This court is adjourned until one thirty!" He rapped his gavel on the bench as a signal that the session had ended, and was on his feet and almost out through the judges door when the bailiff called for all to stand.

Harm, Loren and the Admiral moved to one side of the hallway outside the courtroom. "That was a pretty rough ride defence counsel gave Mac," Harm observed.

Loren shrugged slightly, "She couldn't do much about Mac's testimony, and all she could do was to try to discredit the witness."

Admiral Chegwidden nodded, "And she did a pretty thorough job of that. That bit about her court-martial had to have come from Brumby."

"Just another reason to kick his ass into the middle of next month!" Harm gritted.

The Admiral grinned somewhat mirthlessly, "As I remember it, the last time you two tangled, he knocked you on your ass, and the time before that honours were pretty evenly shared between you."

Harm gritted his teeth, he badly wanted to remind the Admiral that he had only been dumped on his ass, because he had been sucker punched halfway through a turn and was completely off balance, but not only did commonsense kick in at the last second but it was also reinforced by Loren's warning grip on his forearm.

Loren's action did not go unnoticed by Chegwidden, who grinned approvingly, and said "Nice move, Lieutenant! Seems she's got more sense than you, Rabb!"

Harm was left with a burning sense of injustice, but before he could speak in his defence the trio were interrupted.

Admiral, Sir, it is time for your medicine, and the doctor told you, you must eat! Now, Admiral Sir, to the cafeteria, vaya, ahora!"

A J glowered at the much smaller and older former Private Rivera who glared back at him, completely unafraid. A J's shoulders slumped, "Goddammit! I created a monster!", And with a long-suffering expression on his face he allowed Rivera to urge him in the direction of the cafeteria.

Loren looked calculatingly in the direction the other two had left, "I wonder, if I could…"

"Don't even think about it!, Harm declared an alarm. "He'd eat you for breakfast!"

Loren grinned up at him, "Oh, I wasn't thinking about the Admiral, I was wondering if that approach would work with you… So… Vaya! Ahora!"

Harm grinned back as he fell into step beside her, "It's only working this time, because I'm hungry and I want a coffee, too!"

**Tuesday, April 16, 2001, 1307 hours EDT, Defence Counsel's Office, United States District Court For the District of Columbia,Constitution Ave, NW, Washington DC, (161707ZApr 01)**

"What the bloody hell do you think you're bloody playing at!" Brumby demanded aggressively, "you barely tickled the bloody surface with MacKenzie, and you didn't even ask that bloody Cop a single bloody question!"

Anne Mortimer bristled, "What I'm playing at, Mister Brumby, is getting you as lenient sentence as I can. It wasn't worthwhile going after Colonel MacKenzie, all that would have done is risked opening the door on your behaviour at Falls Church that afternoon. As it was, I've put a pretty big hole in her credibility, and given the nature of her testimony that's about as good as it was going to get." she replied

"As for Officer Flaherty, he was not not worth going after. He never saw you, he didn't arrest you, and the only piece of evidence that Flaherty had that might be considered prejudicial to your case are the scene of crime photographs he took." She drew a breath, "and when you consider the photographs taken at Bethesda ER, the x-rays, and medical testimony, those snapshots that Flaherty took are pretty small potatoes."

Brumby wasn't mollified, however, "Bloody hell, woman, you sound like you've bloody well given up already!"

"Mister Brumby, I've been doing this job for over twenty years. I know you're guilty, you know you're guilty, with the evidence against you, you haven't got a hope in hell of getting an acquittal. All I can do is try and influence the judge to hand down the most lenient sentence he can."

Brumby stared at her wide-eyed, "Bloody hell! You have bloody well given up on me! That's it, you're fired! A bloody first year law student would make a better bloody fist of this than you are! I'll bloody defend me self!"

Anne Mortimer stood, "if that's the way you want it, Mister Brumby, so be it. I wish you luck, you're going to need it." She crossed to the door and rapped sharply twice on the armoured glass, "Bailiff! I'm done here!"

As the Bailiff opened the door, she spared Brumby one more glance, and shook her head, before she stepped through the doorway, leaving the bailiff to close and lock it behind her.

**Tuesday, April 16, 2001, 1336 hours EDT, Courtroom Number 3, United States District Court For the District of Columbia,Constitution Ave, NW, Washington DC, (161736ZApr 01) **

"All rise..." The Bailiff intoned as he completed his ritual formula.

Judge Glover took his seat, and scanned the courtroom. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of Brumby unaccompanied at the defence table.

The Admiral, Harm and Loren and also noted the absence of the defence attorney, and Harm confided to Loren as it was his guess that the hot-headed Brumby had dispensed with her services.

The judge fixed Brumby with a penetrating stare, "would you care to enlighten the court as to the whereabouts of your attorney?"

"She wasn't up to the job, Your Honour. I am a qualified member of the Virginia State Bar and I shall be conducting my own defence from here on in."

Harm grinned in satisfaction, and leaned in to Loren, confident that his whisper would be lost in the murmur of surprise that rose in the courtroom, "Told you so," he grinned smugly, drawing a glare not only from Loren but also from AJ.

The judge sighed, this wasn't the first time he'd seen the defendant elect to defend himself, and each time he had witnessed in the past it had been a foul up of monumental proportions. He was duty bound to accept Brumby's decision, but he was also duty bound to point out to Brumby the pitfalls and perils that might lay ahead of him. He was particularly annoyed that in this case it was an attorney acting, in his opinion, so stupidly against his own self interests.

"Lieutenant Commander Brumby, as an attorney you should be more than just aware of the hazards of trying to represent yourself. It is not for nothing that the old saw has it that a man who is his own attorney has a fool for a client. If you are that unhappy with Miss Mortimer's representation of you, I urge you, in the strongest possible terms, to find another attorney, or allow the PDO to appoint another attorney in her stead."

"Your Honour, I have every confidence in my ability to defend myself. My record both as a prosecutor and as defence counsel speaks for me."

"Lieutenant Commander Brumby, I cannot urge you strongly enough to reconsider your decision."

"Thank you for your consideration, Your Honour, but my mind is made up. I shall defend myself."

"Very well, as you wish."

Glover turned to the prosecution table, "You may call your next witness please Mister Goulding."

Goulding turned to the Bailiff, "Call Lieutenant Commander Richards.

All three JAG officers vaguely recognised the squared away Navy doctor who strode down the aisle between the rows of seats and halted between the two tables. He looked a far cry from the tired, and somewhat scruffy, peanut butters and lab coat clad doctor who had greeted them in the ER waiting room in the early hours of that particular Saturday morning.

Richards was quickly sworn in, and under Gouldings prompting identified himself and his duty station, as one of the emergency room residents at all NNMC Bethesda. Goulding moved on swiftly and established that Richards was the ER resident who had carried out triage and first treatment of Mac when she had been brought in to the ER by a team of DC EMTs.

"Did you stay, with Colonel Mackenzie, throughout the diagnostic process?"

"Yes, apart from when she was being x-rayed, and having a CAT scan."

"What happened to the images from those x-rays and that scan?"

"They were placed in an envelope attached to the gurney on which Colonel Mackenzie was being transported, and they were brought back to me, with the Colonel, while I interpreted them and made the diagnosis."

Goulding turned back to his table and picked up a second folder, similar to the one that contained the scene of crime photographs taken by officer Flaherty. "Do you recognise these x-rays, Doctor?"

Richards looked at the images carefully, and after due consideration said, "Yes, I do. There is a time-date stamp in the top right-hand corner, the patient's name at the bottom centre, in the bottom right-hand corner are my initials as the authorising physician, and the lab technicians initials."

"Your Honour, I submit these four x-rays and the CAT scan image as prosecution exhibits nine through thirteen."

"The defence has seen these images?"

"I have, Your Honour."

"Very well, enter them into the proceedings," the judge ordered the recorder as the Bailiff took custody of the folder.

"Having seen the x-ray and cat scan images, and carried out a physical examination of Colonel…."

"Objection!" Mic Brumby was on his feet and shouting.

"On what grounds, Commander Brumby?" Judge Glover asked.

"Firstly, it is not yet been established that Lieutenant Commander Richards did in fact carry out a physical examination of Colonel Mackenzie, and secondly prosecution is leading the witness!" Brumby declared indignantly.

Judge Glover took a deep breath, "Lieutenant Commander Richards has testified that he carried out triage and treatment of Colonel Mackenzie. As I understand it, triage is a system of evaluation of injuries and likely treatment, and of necessity subsumes a physical examination of the patient. So that objection is overruled. That being the case, your second objection is baseless. Also overruled. Carry on please Mister Goulding."

"Thank you, Your Honour," Goulding said before turning back to Richards, "As a result of the imagery, and your physical examination of the patient," Goulding shot a triumphant look at Brumby, "are you able to tell the court what injuries Colonel Mackenzie sustained."

"Yes, Colonel Mackenzie suffered severe bruising over sixty percent of her torso, in addition she had a dislocated left shoulder, and a fracture to both the left radius and ulna, a fracture to her nasal bone, fractures to the left zygomatic arch, the left supra-orbital ridge, two fractures to her left lower mandible – that is the left side of her lower jaw – and fractures to three ribs on her left hand side. She seems to have been extraordinarily lucky in that there was no damage to internal organs, although she was unconscious on admittance, and remained unconscious for nearly thirty-six hours."

"Thank you, Doctor. How long have you been an ER physician?"

"I elected to go the ER and trauma route on completing my internship… So that would have been eleven years ago."

Goulding nodded judiciously, "So… Would you argue with me if I was to suggest that you are an experienced ER and trauma physician?"

"No, Sir, I think that would be a pretty accurate description."

"And in your eleven years, I assume you've seen many trauma victims, some from military action, some resulting from motor vehicle accidents, some from workplace mishaps and some even resulting from beatings?"

"Yes, Sir, that would be true."

"Would also be true Doctor that each type of trauma has its own range of probable injuries."

"Yes, that's also true."

"And on this occasion, Colonel Mackenzie's injuries were typical of what?"

"Colonel Mackenzie's injuries were typical of her having been beaten."

"There's no doubt in your mind, there's no possibility that Colonel Mackenzie's injuries were derived in any other manner than her being beaten?"

Richards shook his head decidedly, "No, Sir. While each of her injuries were consistent, on their own with her having being involved in a car wreck, perhaps, the combination of injuries she suffered make it impossible for them to have been received by any other means than a severe and prolonged beating."

"A severe and prolonged beating." Goulding repeated looking at the jury. "Thank you Doctor, no more questions."

Brumby stood, "Doctor, we've just heard you say that it is impossible for Colonel Mackenzie's injuries to have been inflicted by any other means than by beating. Impossible? Not just improbable? Or not just highly likely? Or not possible…"

Goulding was back on his feet, "Objection! Asked and answered, Your Honour!"

"Sustained! Move on Commander Brumby!"

"Yes, Your Honour. Doctor Richards," From the look on the Judge's face, Harm was not the only person in court who noted that Brumby failed to address the witness by his Naval Rank, "You have just testified that Colonel MacKenzie's injuries were the result of a severe and prolonged beating?"

"That is correct."

"But you weren't present at the time of the alleged assault; how can you possibly speak to the nature of the assault, its duration, or even if there was any assault at all? Is it not possible that Colonel MacKenzie could have sustained these injuries by means of a domestic fall, say, down stairs, and made it back to her apartment, and only then succumbed to her injuries and then collapsed?"

"No. It is not. Many of the bruises to Colonel MacKenzie's torso were clearly in the shape of shoes, indicating that she had been kicked and stamped on repeatedly while she was on the ground. For her to have been rendered unconscious by repeated blows to the head, and then for the attacker to have kicked and stamped on her while she was lying on the floor speaks directly to the violence and the duration of the assault."

"If there was an assault!" Brumby sneered.

"Objection, Your Honour," Goulding appealed to the bench. "Defence Counsel has already theorised to the lack of an assault, and has had that theory refuted by the witness!"

"Agreed! Objection sustained. Be very careful Mister Brumby, your attitude comes dangerously close to being in contempt of this court!"

"Yes, Your Honour," Brumby replied. He stood in thought for a moment or two before he raised his head and looked back at Commander Richardson. "Doctor, you testified that you were not in attendance on Colonel Mackenzie at the time she had her x-ray pictures taken, or when she had her CAT scan taken. How can you be sure that the images you have testified as being accurate and being those of Colonel Mackenzie, are actually of Colonel Mackenzie, and not of another patient. Is it not true, that mistakes have been made at Bethesda, as well as many other medical facilities, and that patient x-rays, and indeed patient notes have been misfiled in the wrong patient records?"

"I'm told that such things have happened in the past, but modern computerised record-keeping, and patient details being processed onto the film before the film is taken has eliminated such problems."

"I see, but even so, can you be absolutely certain that the chain of evidence between the imaging labs and the ER where you first received the images together with Colonel Mackenzie was not compromised."

"Yes, I am certain, beyond a reasonable doubt."

Brumby grinned mirthlessly, "beyond a reasonable doubt," he sneered as he mimicked Richardson's last statement. "So you have no doubt, whatsoever, that the images that were taken of Colonel Mackenzie are the same images that you used to diagnose her condition, and that you have subsequently identified, and have been entered into the record in this court?"

Goulding waited until Brumby had finished before he heaved a theatrical sigh, and heaved himself to his feet, "Objection, Your Honour, as before, asked and answered."

Glover frowned, "Mind the histrionics, counsellor, but again, I agree, asked and answered. Objection sustained. Commander Brumby, are you going anywhere with this witness? Or are you merely trying to waste this court's time?"

Brumby stood his mouth open in dismay while his cheeks reddened with anger. At a temporary loss, he swallowed, "I have no further questions, at this time, Your Honour, but I reserve the right to recall this witness."

"Very well, Doctor Richards, you may stand down."

Richards nodded, picked up his cover, turned to face the judge, and paused before turning back and marching down the centre aisle to the doors at the rear of the court room.

The bailiff opened the doors to allow Richards to exit, and as he did a dark-suited figure slipped in through the doors and took a seat next to Admiral Chegwidden.

The Admiral, through curiosity, glanced sideways, and then nearly fell off his chair when he recognise the newcomer as Secretary of the Navy Nelson. The SECNAV observed JAG's reaction and allowed himself a half-smile, "Don't look so surprised, AJ, I've got as much interest in seeing justice served on this occasion than any attorney, or judge, come to that!"

Judge Glover addressed Goulding, "You may call your next witness."

"The people call NCIS Special Agent Michael Xavier Franks."

Harm shot a surprised, and incredulously gleeful look with Loren, bending close he took advantage of the minor stir caused by the opening and closing of the court room doors to whisper, "And I thought Harmon was bad!"

Loren shot him a glare, and then focus eyes firmly to the front. She, too, found the agent's middle name amusing, but she dare not comment, or even look at Harm the fear that she burst out into open laughter.

Franks was his usual untidy self, and in stark contrast with Lieutenant Commander Richardson, he slowly shambled down the centre aisle, and mumbled his way through the oath.

Once he had stated his name, and occupation, Franks sat slumped in the witness chair, glowering at the court from under his shaggy eyebrows. Goulding looked at him for a moment or two, as he wasn't quite sure how to proceed, before giving an infinitesimal shake of his head and then taking a deep breath he said, "Agent Franks, when did you become involved in investigating the assault on Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie?"

"Well, that would be about half-past eleven on the night of February twenty-fourth," he drawled.

"And how did that come about?"

"My team was on call that weekend, and we received phone calls from the NCIS duty officer, giving us an address and that there was a female Marine officer down."

"And that is usual?"

"Yeah, sure… What else would we need? When we arrive at an incident, we make our own evaluation and our own judgement."

"And what did you see, to evaluate, on arrival at the scene?"

"Two DC EMTs were attending to the casualty, and while they were doing that I received a briefing from Metro PD officers. Once I had satisfied myself that the victim was an active duty member of the USMC, I directed the EMTs, as per agreed protocol, to take her to Bethesda, and dismissed the two civilian police officers. I left agents Owen and Green to secure the premises, and wait there until the arrival of a forensics team, while Agent Gibbs and I followed the ambulance to Bethesda."

"I see, thank you. What did you discover at Bethesda?

"Nothing at first, the Colonel was still unconscious, so Gibbs and I settled down to wait. After a while, we were joined by the Colonel's commanding officer, and then later by two further officers, one of whom had Colonel Mackenzie's medical power of attorney."

"And did you speak with these officers?"

"Sure did."

Goulding seemed to bite back an exclamation of impatience or frustration, "and did you learn anything pertinent from these officers?"

"Yeah, they supplied me with the name of an individual they suspected may have carried out the attack."

"And you were happy to accept their suspicion as fact?"

"Well, it wasn't quite that simple. One of the officers seems to be well acquainted not only with the Colonel, but also with the layout and the furnishings of her apartment. He asked if there had been any signs of forced entry to the Colonel's apartment, and whether her personal firearm was in its usual hiding place. When I had confirmed the weapon was what and where he'd said it was and that there was no sign of a break-in at the apartment, he suggested that Colonel Mackenzie was highly unlikely to have opened the door to anyone whom she didn't know, particularly at that time of night, unless she had her weapon in her hand. He further went on to explain that it was only himself, her partner, and Lieutenant Commander Brumby her fiancé who would be likely to call on her that time of night, and that at the time of the assault he had been in a hotel in Charlottesville, over a hundred miles away."

"And on the strength of that, you went looking for Lieutenant Commander Brumby?"

"Not quite, Colonel Mackenzie's CO, informed us that due to an incident at Falls Church, he had that day terminated Commander Brumby's attachment to JAG, and had informed the Australian Naval Attache, of his reasons for so doing."

"What happened then?"

"Myself and Agent Gibbs visited commander Brumby's address, where we received no answer. We then made efforts to contact the Australian naval authorities at the embassy, and eventually we spoke to a Captain Andrews who provided us with a copy of Commander Brumby's movement orders, and Agent Gibbs and myself were able to intercept Commander Brumby as he was about to board an aeroplane for Sydney, Australia. Metro PD arrested him on our behalf, on suspicion of assaulting Colonel Mackenzie."

"What happened then?"

"We brought Commander Brumby back to the Navy Yard, where we read him his rights, and interviewed him under caution. We also had him medically and forensically examined, we also had his suitcases and their contents forensically examined."

"Did these examinations find anything of interest?"

"Yeah, Commander Brumby's hands, his knuckles in particular show signs of very recent injury compatible with him using his fists to strike someone, or something. And then in Commander Brumby's jacket pocket we found a woman's ring, gold set with a diamond surrounded by a circle of tiny emeralds, which was later identified by Colonel Mackenzie as her engagement ring, which she had handed back to Commander Brumby immediately prior to his assault upon her. In his luggage we found a black T-shirt with what appeared to be medium velocity blood splatter on it…"

Brumby stood, "Objection. The witness is not a forensics scientist, or even a lab technician, how would he know whether blood splatter is low, medium, or high velocity?"

Judge Glover turned to agent Franks, "Defence has a point, Agent."

"I guess so, Your Honour, I'll stipulate that we found a black T-shirt with what appeared to be blood splatter on it. And I base that observation on nearly thirty years experience with the Arizona Department of Public Safety and with NCIS."

Judge Glover glared at agent Franks, "Thank you for that retraction and the subsequent explanation, Agent. The jury will disregard any mention of the velocity of the blood splatter found on the T-shirt in Commander Brumby's luggage. Have the people any further questions for this witness?"

"Just a couple, Your Honour. Agent Franks, what happened subsequent to your interview of Commander Brumby?"

"We asked Metro PD to hold him on suspicion of assault."

"Why didn't you continue to hold him yourselves?"

"Commander Brumby as a member of the Royal Australian Navy, is as far as we're concerned a civilian. We are not set up to provide holding facilities for civilian suspects, and long-established protocol has us passing on any civilians we arrest to Metro PD. And it is for the same reason that Commander Brumby is being prosecuted by the DA's office, and is on trial in this court."

Goulding sent a sharp look in Brumby's direction, before he turned his attention back to agent Franks. "But at this time, you hadn't actually charged Commander Brumby with anything, had you?"

"No."

"So, when did you charge Commander Brumby?"

"That was not until March first, when Colonel MacKenzie had recovered enough to make a written statement, formally identifying Commander Brumby as her assailant."

"But you had Commander Brumby held by the Metro PD for five days?"

"That is correct, we applied to the courts to have him held in custody because we felt that not only was he a flight risk, but that he might also attempt to intimidate witnesses, or even attempt to finish the job he started on the night of February twenty-fourth. The court agreed with our assessment and the judge signed an extension order authorising Brumby to be held until he was arraigned."

"Thank you, Agent Franks. Your witness, Commander."

Brumby rose to his feet, "You say you found a blood spattered T-shirt in my luggage, and on the evidence of that T-shirt you have me held in custody. I haven't heard any evidence, either way, to say that the blood on the T-shirt wasn't mine, was Colonel Mackenzie's, or even perhaps animal blood that could have been transferred to the T-shirt while I was cooking."

"Your Honour, is the defence going anywhere with this, is he actually going to ask a question?"

"Agreed, move it along counsellor!"

"Yes, Your Honour. Agent Franks, have you established a link between the blood on the T-shirt you say you discovered in my suitcase, or not?"

"That's not my department, Commander. But I believe a forensics report concerning that T-shirt is available."

Judge Glover looked up at that, "One moment, Commander Brumby. Mister Goulding, do the people have such a report?"

"We do, your honour!"

"And you were planning on introducing it to the record, when?"

"At re-direct, Your Honour."

Glover gave Goulding a sternly disapproving glare, "That sounds suspiciously like a grandstand play, Mister Goulding, and I won't stand for it!" He turned to include Brumby, "Approach! And bring the report with you, Mister Goulding!"

Both attorneys approached the bench, and the judge held out his hand for the folder that Goulding brought with him. "Have you seen this report, Commander Brumby?" Glover demanded.

"Yes, Your Honour, it was made available to the defence on discovery."

"Very well. Mister Goulding, is it your intention to submit this report in evidence?"

"Yes, Your Honour, as prosecution exhibit fourteen."

"Very, well, make the entry," Glover instructed the recorder, before turning to Goulding and Brumby, "That was strike two, Mister Goulding. I warned you, no grandstanding! Now, both of you step back! Please continue Commander Brumby!"

Brumby nodded, "Yes, Your Honour. Agent Franks, you say you started your search for me, after receiving information from JAG officers that I was a likely suspect. You refrain from identifying those officers, particularly the officer that you say showed great familiarity with the layout of Colonel Mackenzie's apartment. Would you care to tell the court here and now just who that officer was?"

"It was Commander Harmon Rabb."

"Were you aware that Commander Rabb and myself had long history of mutual ill-feeling, and that as a consequence he may just have been venting his spite?"

"No, I was not aware of that. But I was inclined to treat the commander's words with caution, he seemed to me and I commented upon it at the time, overly familiar with Colonel Mackenzie's possessions, and with the layout and furnishings of her apartment. He was also big enough and powerful enough to have inflicted those injuries on Colonel Mackenzie."

"And despite your reservations, you still accepted Commander Rabb's accusation that I was the probable suspect?"

"I did."

Brumby looked almost surprised by Franks' open admission. "Would you like to explain to the court why you accepted his suggestion?"

"Certainly. It is normal procedure to ask a victim friends, family and co-workers whether the victim had any enemies, or whether there is any one more likely than most to have committed an assault. When your name came up I queried how Commander Rabb could be so intimately acquainted with the Colonel's home. Admiral Chegwidden, who was a witness to our conversation explained that Colonel Mackenzie and Commander Rabb been partners for five years, and would of necessity have worked in the evenings in each other's apartments, giving him ample opportunity to observe the layout, furnishings, and Colonel Mackenzie's normal safety precautions. Commander Rabb was also able to provide a rock-solid alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the assault. Without knowledge of prior ill feeling between yourself and Commander Rabb it seemed prudent to follow the lead he had provided, and which was supported not only by Admiral Chegwidden, but by a third JAG officer, Lieutenant Singer."

Brumby looked frustrated by Franks' calm and logical explanation of his reasons for following up Rabbs tentative identification of Brumby as a likely suspect, giving him a look full of dislike, he growled, "I'm finished with this witness!"

Goulding stood, "Re-direct, Your Honour?"

"Very well."

Goulding turnmed back to the witness stand, "Agent Franks, are you familiar with the contents of the forensics report that was raised subsequent to the examination of Commander Brumby's luggage, and has just been introduced into evidence?"

"I am."

"Would you explain, please, to the court, what the report contains?"

"As has been pointed out, I am not a forensic scientist, but to the best of my understanding, the report states that a black T-Shirt found in the Commander's possession showed sufficient DNA for a resonable person to come to the conclusion that it had been worn by the defendant on numerous occasions, and that there was also medium-velocity blood spatter on the front of the T-Shirt, that subsequent DNA analysis showed to be a match with Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie."

"I see... in your experience Agent Franks, is there any other probable means than an injury, that could have resulted in the transfer of Colonel MacKenzie's blood to the T-Shirt found in the defendant's possesssion?"

Brumby rose on the instant. "Objection! Counsel is asking the witness to speculate!"

"Sustained. The jury will disregard Prosecution Attorney's last question! Watch it, counsellor!"

"My apologies Your Honour. Thank you, Agent Franks. No more questions!" Goulding declared with a triumphant glance at Brumby, the jury may have been instructed to disregard his question, but it had been asked, and they had heard it.

"Commander Brumby?" Judge Glover invited him.

Brumby chewed his lip for a moment, he had hoped that the lack of a forensics expert in the prosecution's list of witnesses would have resulted in the report being tossed out. Now all he could hope to do was to throw doubt on the one element of the report that didn't seem to have been brought out so far. Coming to a swift decision, he stood, "Thank you, Your Honour. Agent Franks, does the report have anything to say about the age of the blood spatter, to prove one or another that the spatter as caused at the time of the alleged assault?"

"Not directly, no, but..."

"Thank you, Agent Franks! That will be all!" Brumby interrupted what else the NCIS Agent had been about to say. "No, further questions!"

Judge Glover looked at his watch. "Have the people any further witnesses?"

Goulding stood, "No, Your Honour."

"Does the defence wish to call any witnesses?"

"No, thank you, Your Honour."

"Very well, I'll hear closing arguments."

Brumby got to his feet and turned to face the jury "Ladies and gentlemen, to support the charge of aggravated assault, it is the responsibility of the people to show beyond all reasonable doubt that an assault occurred, that the assault was intended, pre-meditated, if you wish, and that it was intended to inflict severe bodily injury. The people have produced medical and forensic evidence that shows that Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie was injured. They have not produced one scrap of evidence to suggest that Colonel MacKenzie's injuries were due to her being beaten. Despite the opinion of the ER doctor that the Colonel's injuries could only have been inflicted by a beating, it is still true that those injuries could have been inflicted by a variety of circumstances, an automobile accident perhaps, or even a stumble downstairs. It is not unknown the victim of a head injury to walk, or stagger, even considerable distances before succumbing that injury and losing consciousness. So I put to you that no assault occurred and even if it did occur, then the prosecution failed to produce any evidence that connects me do that assault. The one piece of forensics evidence is of doubtful use, there is no way that the prosecution can prove that the blood spatter on that T-Shirt did not pre-date this alleged assault. There is not one shred of evidence that I ever intended to assault Colonel MacKenzie that evening, or that I had any intention of inflicting upon her serious bodily injury. Without that evidence, ladies and gentlemen, you must acquit."

Goulding waited until Brumby turned to walk back to the defence table, the Australian unable to prevent a smirk crossing his face, as he believed he had swayed the jury to his point of view. Goulding walked out from behind the prosecution table and faced the jury.

"You just heard Commander Brumby claim that there was no assault on Colonel MacKenzie. That her injuries could have been sustained by something as simple as a fall downstairs. You will have seen from the crime scene photographs that you were shown, that when Colonel MacKenzie was found by Metro PD, that she was in her pyjamas. Colonel MacKenzie lives in a single floor apartment. The only stairs at her apartment block are open to public access. It is extremely unlikely that any woman would risk walking up or down public access staircases in her night clothes, particularly at that time of night. Commander Brumby also claims there is no evidence linking him to the assault. He is forgetting or perhaps he hopes you have forgotten that the opening testimony in this case was that of Colonel MacKenzie, who unflinchingly identified Commander Brumby as her assailant. Previous defence counsel raised an earlier example of Colonel MacKenzie's behaviour which, did not show her in a very favourable light. She made a mistake, and the Navy punished her for that mistake. To suggest as defence counsel did that she would repeat that mistake and thus put her whole adult career at risk, is ludicrous, particularly in the light that defence counsel made no attempt to prove that more than somewhat dubious contention, which was mentioned solely for the purpose of discrediting the witness. Moving on to later in the trial, Commander Brumby has played a game of smoke and mirrors. It is not necessary for the people to prove beyond reasonable doubt intent and purpose. The statute governing aggravated assault defines it as a felony, characterised by intent and purpose, or that it results in the infliction of serious bodily injury. Or, ladies and gentlemen, not and. As for the definition of serious bodily injury, the statute defines that as the fracturing of a bone, or the loss of consciousness. We have heard medical evidence that Colonel MacKenzie suffered a total of ten fractured bones, and lay unconscious for five days. That, ladies and gentlemen is more than sufficient to qualify as serious bodily injury under the terms of the statute. Given the severity of Colonel MacKenzie's injuries, and her positive identification of Commander Brumby as her assailant, you have no other choice than to convicted. Thank you."

Judge Glover gave the jury a few moments to digest what they had just heard before he spoke, "Members of the jury, you have now heard all the witness testimony, and closing arguments for both defence and prosecution in this case. No matter what you think of the nature of the crime, or of the personalities involved, it is your duty to judge this case solely on the merits of the evidence If there is reasonable doubt in your minds as to the identity of the assailant, or of the degree of the assault, then you must acquit. However given the severity of the injury sustained by Colonel Mackenzie in this case, if you find Commander Brumby guilty of assault, then you must find him guilty of the charge of aggravated assault. Bailiff, please conduct the jury to the jury room so they may begin their deliberations."

**Tuesday, April 16, 2001, 1336 hours EDT, Cafeteria, United States District Court For the District of Columbia,Constitution Ave, NW, Washington DC, (161736ZApr 01) **

"Well, what's your thinking, Commander?" Chegwidden asked as he put his coffee mug down.

"Brumby's guilty, Sir, I don't know why he didn't plea guilty in the first case, or even try for a plea-bargain on a charge of assault. But he's done himself no favours with this judge by electing to defend himself, and all he's really done is blow smoke in the faces of the jury. He might have been right not to testify in his own defence, but he didn't do a very good job blowing holes in any of the prosecution witnesses' testimony. His try to obfuscate matters by sliding over the and/or aspect of the aggravated element of the charge was a fairly slick move, but Goulding I think put paid to that. I've got to say, Sir, that even without knowing the personalities involved, and judging strictly on the evidence presented to the court, if I was on the jury, I'd be voting guilty.

Chegwidden nodded, "Lieutenant?"

Loren considered her reply for a moment, "The best thing that Brumby had going for him was the fact that he had a female defence attorney. When he sacked her, he lost his best ally. Although he told the court he dispensed with the services, if I was on the jury, I couldn't help but wonder if she didn't quit because she couldn't stand the idea of defending someone who was guilty of such a violent assault on another woman."

Chegwidden grunted, "You have a point there, Lieutenant. But that's hardly judging the case on the evidence presented to the court, is it?"

"I think, Sir, that depends on whether you take an holistic view, verbal evidence is verbal evidence, but visual evidence to also encompass the actions, reactions, body language of the participants in the case. For instance, Brumby has radiated anger from the moment he walked into the courtroom. It's almost like he believes he should never have been arrested or charged in the first place, and during his pre-trial confinement it seems that he's built up one hell of a head of steam. Now, as an onlooker, the reasons for his anger, don't matter. What does matter is the impression of barely restrained anger and violence. And again if I were on the jury, I would be asking myself if I would be comfortable being alone with somebody that angry, and also wondering if it wasn't for the restraints imposed by the presence of armed bailiffs in the courtroom whether he would be successful in restraining that anger."

Both Chegwidden and Harm looked at Loren, maybe not with new respect, but perhaps with more of an awareness of how a woman viewed the trial process.

Finishing their coffees, they strolled back towards the court room, with AJ resolutely ignoring Rivera's complaints that it was time he went home and took his medicine, and much to their surprise, arriving just as the Bailiff opened the courtroom doors to announce, "The jury has reached its verdict."

The three JAG officers exchanged startled looks with each other, and with the SECNAV Nelson who had joined them as they arrived outside the courtroom.

"That's quick. Is that good or bad news, AJ?" He demanded querulously.

The Admiral gave him a straight look, "Juries are strange animals, Mister Secretary, and the verdict reached this quickly suggests unanimity, and almost that they decided before they adjourned to the jury room. Of course, this late in the afternoon it may just mean that they've disregarded the most of the evidence, and agreed on a verdict just for the sake of getingt home to their families. It's always very difficult to tell whether a quick verdict is good or bad news, but we won't learn either way by standing out here and beating our gums. So, with all due respect, Mister Secretary, I suggest we take our seats and learn first-hand what the jury have decided." And with that all four filed into the courtroom, and took their seats.

However before Judge Glover re-entered the courtroom and the bailiff called the room to order, the door opened again and Mac slipped into the room, her eyes automatically searching out the dress whites of her fellow JAGs. Her surprise at seeing Secretary Nelson sitting beside her CO, was then eclipsed as Nelson stood, and offered her his seat, only sitting down again once she was seated, flanked with AJ to her right, and the SECNAV on her left hand.

Judge Glover entered the court and took his seat on the bench as those in the courtroom, obedient to the Bailiff's summons, rose in respect.

Glover regarded the jury, his face impassive, "Madam forewoman, have you reached a verdict?"

"Yes, we have Your Honour," she replied.

Glover nodded to the Bailiff, who stepped up and received the written verdict from the forewoman, and passed it to the judge.

Glover unfolded the slip of paper, and his face still impassive read what was written there. "The defence will please rise," he intoned.

Brumby stood, and for the first time today we could be seen that his cheeks were pale.

The judge turned back to the jury forewoman, "How do you find?"

The jury forewoman, a heavy-set woman in her mid-forties, raised her chins, gave Brumby a look full of contempt and then composed her facial expression as she turned to face the judge, "In the case of the people versus Lieutenant Commander Michael Patrick Brumby, we the jury find him guilty of the charge of aggravated assault on Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Katherine Mackenzie, USMC, contrary to District of Colombia Criminal Code 22-404.01."

Brumby gave an audible gasp as the forewoman read the verdict, and despite that he was still in restraints, the judge nodded to the two bailiffs to close in on either side. Returning his gaze to the jury, Glover asked, "is this a unanimous verdict?"

"It is, Your Honour," she answered gravely.

"The court thank you for your services, the jury is discharged."

Judge Glover waited for the forewoman to sit down, before he turned his head to face the defence table. "Lieutenant Commander Brumby, you have been found guilty of the charge of aggravated assault. I have read reports from Metro PD custody officers, and from your latest psychological evaluation. All these reports give me cause for grave concern. It should seem that you are a man who resorts to violence on the slightest provocation. Counselling in the past has proved to be ineffective. In my opinion you are a danger to the public weal. Accordingly, I sentence you to the fullest term that the District of Columbia Criminal Code allows for this offence, and that is ten years imprisonment, in a federal penitentiary, with eligibility for parole after eight years. I further order that you pay compensation to Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie to the amount of ten thousand dollars, that is one thousand dollars in respect of each fractured bone you inflicted upon her! Bailiffs, take him away."


	54. Chapter 54

**54**

**Tuesday, April 16, 2001, 1657 hours EDT, United States District Court For the District of Columbia, Constitution Ave, NW, Washington DC, (162057ZApr01) **

The small group of uniforms, three white and one Marine green formed a little island at the side of the hallway outside the court room, compelling scurrying civilians, in a rush to get home at the end of the working day, to sidestep around them, begetting little eddies of circular motion in the otherwise headlong rush to stairs and elevators. The four uniforms were not the only constituent of the little island, but they were perhaps the higher ground, two suited figures, formed the foreshore.

Of the two, Jesus Rivera, former Private USMC, wore an expression of strained impatience, added to by frequent glances at his wrist watch. Rivera was in a hurry to return Rear Admiral AJ Chegwidden to his house in McLean, and the medications that were waiting for him there. But Chegwidden, together with his three subordinates were held in place by what he privately thought of as a self-seeking, politically motivated monologue from the last member of the party, Secretary of the Navy Alexander Nelson, a monologue moreover, that Chegwidden believed would have been better kept in reserve for Nelson's next election campaign.

"So, you can see that my initial reservations regarding this exchange programme were well founded. Now I don't deny that we need allies, particularly in this uncertain day and age. But allies aren't us; they aren't Americans and even our closest allies, those who also speak English do not necessarily view the world in the same way that we do. So, yes, welcome their support, and their friendship, but do not let them get too close."

"Is that a censure of Colonel MacKenzie, Mister Secretary?" Chegwidden asked icily as that officer went pale.

Nelson had meant his words to express his disapproval of the Marine officer's past conduct, but faced with the icy anger in the JAG's face, he hastily back pedalled. "No, no not at all. No, if... if... If that's what you heard, then you have mistaken my meaning. I meant that it is probably not wise to allow Allied officers to become too closely involved in our inner workings, because if things go wrong, then we cannot treat Allied officers in the same way as we do our own, and the Navy ends up having to wash it dirty linen in public".

Chegwidden nodded in acceptance of the SECNAV's hasty explanation, although he didn't like the implication that the Navy dealt less than fairly with its own, and what's more he didn't believe it not for a second, and by the looks on Rabb, Singer and MacKenzie's faces, neither did they. The only member of the group who seemed really happy with Nelson's retraction, was Jesus Rivera, who felt that the conversation was at last about to break up, and then he could finally chivvy his lesson cooperative charge home.

Rivera's instinct was spot-on, after a couple more sentences full of platitudes, meant to soothe the ears of his audience, Secretary Nelson glanced at his own watch and with a patiently false, "Oh, the time! Gentlemen, Colonel, you must excuse me. Mrs Nelson has dinner guests this evening, and I really must be there – and on time! AJ, I'd like to say take your time but unfortunately, I need you back in your office as soon as may be, so in a hackneyed phrase, get well soon!"

With a final, professional, smile the Secretary of the Navy withdrew from the group and headed towards the bank of elevators. There was almost simultaneous and spontaneous exhalation of relief from the remaining members of the group. AJ Chegwidden opened his mouth to speak but was forestalled by Jesus Rivera's, "Finalmente! Admiral, is time for your medicine, is time for go home!"

"Dammit, Rivera! I'm the Goddamned Admiral and I'll say when it's time to go home!"

"Sí, you are Admiral, but you are disobedient Admiral! The doctors say you must stay home and rest, but no, you come rushing out here to the courthouse, you don't take your medicines on time, and I bet your…"

"Don't you dare say that word, Rivera," the exasperated Two-Star growled, or I'll have you keel-hauled!"

"Okay, I won't say. But you can't keel-haul me, I'm not in your Marines any more!" Rivera replied, seemingly unafraid, and entirely unrepentant.

Harm looked away, not daring to meet either Loren or Mac's eyes fear of bursting into open laughter. His efforts to avoid that unfortunate consequence did not go unnoticed by his fuming CO.

"Not a word, Mister Rabb, not a single word!" The Admiral growled.

Harm had to draw on every minute of his career to summon the discipline to stare straight ahead and reply without letting his voice betray a tremor of amusement, "Sir! No, Sir!"

The Admiral's suddenly pebble-hard eyes swept the two female officers, neither of whom were foolish enough to meet his gaze or say anything. Satisfied that he had intimidated three officers, even if one small, elderly former Marine was immune to his ire, Chegwidden grunted, "Commander, I'll speak with you tomorrow! Colonel, Lieutenant," he closed in farewell and turned away to amble in the direction of the elevators, chivvied as he did so by a garrulously expostulated Jesus Rivera.

The three officers, two Navy, one Marine watched him go with varying degrees of relief. "Whew! That was too close for comfort!" Harm declared.

"Yes, it was, and it was all your fault!" Loren scolded him, "you nearly laughed in his face, what were you thinking!?"

"Um... I was kind of thinking that it was a bit like an old bear being chivvied by an even older hound dog!" Harm defended himself with a grin.

Mac looked at the two and shook her head slightly. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes she would hardly have believed it, Loren Singer had just raked Harmon Rabb over the coals, in public, or as good as, and he had folded. From past experience she knew that she had ever pulled a stunt like that the best she could have expected was for Harm to stiffen up and withdraw, or more likely fall into a fit of the sulks that she would have had to spend a good hour coaxing him out of.

"Well, I don't exactly have to rush home for my meds," she pointed out, "but I do have to say one thing…"

"And that would be?" Harm asked suspiciously.

"I do have to rush home to get something to eat, hungry Marine here!

"Why am I not surprised?" Harm asked rhetorically. And the three officers, grinning and chuckling turned and made for the exits.

**Wednesday, April 17, 2001, 1007 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (171407ZApr01) **

Harm settled himself back behind the Admiral's desk, and allowed himself the luxury of a few moments' respite as, with a fairly satisfied smile he reviewed the last hour or so of his day. Staff Call had gone smoothly, there were no potential PR disasters in the new cases he handed out, and his walk round the now cleared Chief of Staff's Office, reassured him that it was almost ready for its new incumbent, whenever the Admiral gave the word.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk and reached for the top file in his in-tray. Opening it he swiftly scanned the single sheet of paper and was sold softly at the same time as he raised his eyebrows. Stretching out his hand, he pressed the call button on the desktop intercom, "Tiner?"

"_Yes, Sir._"

"Did you see this BUPERS order?" Harm asked.

"_The new O-4, Sir_?"

"Were there any others?" Harm asked with heavy irony.

"_Uh… No, Sir, not as far as I know_."

"Well then, obviously the new O-4!"

"_Yes, Sir_." Tiner had evidently decided that from here on in, at least as far as this particular conversation went, then the less said the better.

"Good. We're on the same page at last. Pass the word for Lieutenant Sims, please Tiner."

"_Aye, aye, Sir!_"

Harm sat back and waited the two minutes it took for Tiner to tell Harriet that he, Harm, want to speak with her, and for the blonde Lieutenant to square away her desk, and and arrive at his office door. He answered the expected knock on the door-frame by calling out, "Enter!"

"Lieutenant Sims reporting as ordered, Sir!"

"Stand easy Lieutenant, at ease," Harm ordered, and waited for her to relax. "As you know, Colonel MacKenzie will be proceeding on pre-embarkation leave after secure on Friday. She will be gone, for six months, but as you also know, we expect her to return at the end of that period. However, if you remember, some time ago the Admiral stated his intention of arguing the SECNAV into filling some of our gapped positions. His efforts seems have borne some fruit already, a Lieutenant Commander Faith Morrison arrives on Monday. The Admiral still hasn't confirmed who is to take over the Colonel's duties as Chief of Staff, and absent that instruction, the only spare office space we have, is the Colonel's. Over the next forty-eight hours, please assist the Colonel in removing her personal belongings from that office. I hate doing this, Harriet, but with a shortage of office space, and the possibility of more attorneys rotating in, we just can't afford to have Mac's office standing empty for six months."

Harriet frowned, "She's not going to like that, you know, Sir."

"I know Harriet," Harm said on a loud exhalation, "so, on second thoughts if you can leave your approach until after lunch, I'll break the news to her informally. At least that way, she can let me know how unhappy she is, unofficially."

Harriet smiled sympathetically, "I don't envy you that duty, Sir."

Harm nodded in acknowledgement, "Thanks, Harriet, as I say just leave your approach until after lunch please."

"Yes, Sir! Will be anything else, Sir?"

"No, thank you, Lieutenant, carry on."

Harriet braced up for an instant, "Aye, aye, Sir!" And then about-faced and quit the office.

Harm stretched out his hand once again for the intercom, but before he could toggle the switch, he had, instead to reach for the phone, which had burst into life as if his movement had been a signal.

"Rabb," he said into the mouthpiece.

"_Sir, I have Admiral Chegwidden on line one for you, Sir_!"

"Good morning, Sir."

"'_Morning, Rabb. I've told Tiner to get hold of Colonel Mackenzie, and Commander Turner, you will need to be on speaker phone_!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!" Harm didn't wait for Mac and Sturgis to arrive, he switched on the speaker phone almost as he spoke, so his "Enter!" Was heard by the Admiral as was his two visitors.

The door opened to admit the two officers, and Harm indicated that she reached take a seat in the two wing chairs in front of the desk, and then spoke, "Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Turner are now present, Sir."

"_Good_," the Admiral's voice sounded tinny as it came through the phone's speaker, "_now listen in, people; Colonel, before you secure for your embarkation leave on Friday, you are to hand all your unresolved cases to Commander Rabb for reallocation, together with progress notes on each case. Further, you are to read in Commander Turner, who will be taking over your duties as Chief of Staff. Commander Turner, you will vacate your office, and take up residence in the now cleared Chief of Staff's office. Commander Rabb you will ensure that that office is fully functional by zero eight hundred on Monday morning, to include a functional computer connected to the printers. And if that means the IT gremlins are required to work over the weekend, then that is what they will do._

"_Notwithstanding Commander Turner's appointment as Chief of Staff, Commander Rabb will continue to exercise command of JAG during my continued absence on hospital leave. Do you all read me?_"

The chorus of "Aye, aye, Sir!" wasn't quite in synchronisation, but was apparently good enough to satisfy the Admiral.

"_Good, that in that case, Rabb I don't anticipate you calling me with any problems_."

Harm cast a long-suffering look at Mac and Sturgis, but just about refrained from casting his eyes heavenwards, "No, Sir. All perfectly clear."

"_Just make sure it is, Rabb! I'll speak with you again, next week!_"

"Yes, Sir," Harm replied and waited for the click that told him that the Admiral had broken the connection.

He gave both Mac and Sturgis a look of sympathy, not untinged with relief and maybe just a hint of schadenfreude "Wow," he said quietly, "looks like you've got some midnight oil burning ahead of you. Sturgis, how much have you got on your plate at the moment?"

"The robbery at the Navy Yard commissary, the dungaree justice case passed up from Norfolk, and Lieutenant Stokes, missing movement."

Harm nodded, "Okay, take the morning to write hand over notes for those three cases, and get them to me by fourteen hundred. Mac, if you could do the same with your outstanding cases, so much the better. That way the two of you can start the handover/takeover of the Chief of Staff work ASAP. But I still reckon you got a couple of late nights in front of you."

The other two officers stood, almost identical rueful expressions on their faces, "Thanks, man," Sturgis offered, "there's not a lot you could have done about this, but every little helps!"

Mac nodded in agreement, and even managed a half smile, "Yeah, thanks, Harm, but actually you've been quite a big help!"

Harm nodded, "Go on, the two of you have a lot to do in a short space of time!"

Harm waited until they had close the door behind them before his finger stabbed the intercom call button again, "Tiner, get hold of the senior IT petty officer, I want the computer in the new Chief of Staff's office online, before secure on Friday! And if he has got any problems with that, you can tell him my door is open!"

"_Aye, aye, Sir_!"

Harm sat back with a rueful grin of his own now on his face, 'okay, the old man and had a lot on his mind recently, and he hadn't really needed all the brouhaha with Mac and Brumby on top of his medical problems but damn, he'd left it late enough to nominate Mac's replacement,' Harm thought, and then another errant thought crossed his mind, he hoped like hell that Sturgis didn't take advantage of his new position to keep probing into Meg's business.

**Wednesday, April 17, 2001, 1239 hours EDT, Commissary, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (171639ZApr01) **

"So, you see, Mac, that we really do need the office space, and I hate asking, but I… That is JAG, need you to clear your personal stuff from the office before you secure on Friday. I've given Harriet a warning order, so if you need help just shout for her!"

Mac looked down at her plate, to try and hide the hurt she felt and that she was sure was visible in her eyes. It wasn't enough that she was being exiled for six months, but it seemed that all traces of her had to be expunged from JAG ops while she was gone.

"Mac?" Harm asked gently, "are you alright?"

Mac looked up, with a brittle smile, "Yeah… I guess so… it just comes as a bit of a wake-up call to realise that once I'm out of here, there won't be a trace of me left behind…."

"Not true, Mac." Harm replied, "There are a lot of people, who will carry you here, and here." He tapped his chest and the side of his head meaningfully.

"That's sweet of you to say so, Harm… But you know as well as I do people rotate in and people rotate out, and for a while, yeah, the memories stay sharp but time and distance soften memories and blur the images." She took a sip of water, looked back up at Harm and gave a slight shrug, "That's just the way it is!"

Harm shook his head, not willing to lose this particular argument, "Mac, you do yourself a disservice, you are way underestimating the impact you have had on so many lives here."

Mac shook her head again, and pushed her half finished meal to one side, "All of a sudden, I don't really fancy this… And anyway, I have got a whole barge-load of stuff to deal with, so, if you'll excuse me…?"

She stood and gathered up her tray, and depositing it in the rack she turned and left the commissary, leaving Harm staring after her, a frown of concern on his forehead.

**Wednesday, April 17, 2001, 1411 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (171639ZApr01) **

Harm looked at the two stacks of files on his desk with resignation. He had asked for them, but that still didn't mean that he wanted to read through them, as he had to in order to decide to which attorney to pass each case. And just about the last thing he needed right now, he told himself, was more damned interruptions, glaring at the source of his irritation, the buzzing intercom.

"Yes, Tiner?"

"_Sir, you have a visitor, a Captain Andrews, Australian Navy_."

Harm swore viciously, but silently, "Very well, Tiner, show him in."

Harm stood in preparation for greeting the senior officer as the door opened, "Good afternoon, Sir, how may I help you?"

"G' day, Commander. Actually, I'm here to see Colonel Mackenzie, so my call on you is really just a courtesy to let you know that I'm on your patch. Although, I was expecting to see Admiral Chegwidden."

Harm noted that the Australian officer added deliberately not asked a question, but he was obviously curious. "Admiral Chegwidden is currently on leave, and I'm standing in for him as JAG until he returns."

Andrews nodded, "Understood. Well, while I've made my number with you, I do need to speak to Colonel MacKenzie, and if it's not too much trouble, I would rather prefer an escort, and indeed a witness, to what I have to say to the Colonel."

Harm was now intrigued, to say the least, "Understood, Sir; if you'll allow me, I'll walk you across to her office."

Andrews nodded again, "Thank you, Commander."

Both Andrews and Harm were conscious of the curious eyes fixed on them as Harm led the Australian officer around the edge of the bullpen to Mac's office, where Harm rapped sharply twice on the door.

Mac looked up from where she was going over personnel files with Sturgis, her smile when she saw Harm fading as she recognised the RAN uniform worn by the other officer. Regardless of her pleasure or otherwise, the four rings on his shoulder board commanded respect and both she and Sturgis rose to their feet.

"Harm." She acknowledged his presence before turning to the visitor. "How may I help you, Sir?" She asked coolly.

Harm and Captain Andrews exchanged a glance, and instead of answering Mac directly, Harm said, "Sturgis, can you give us the room, please?"

Despite the questions that Harm knew must be seething in his friend's brain, Sturgis' face remained impassive, "I'll see you again shortly, Colonel," he said gravely, and then turning to Captain Andrews, he said, "by your leave, Sir," before quit the office.

Harm closed the door, and turned to Andrews, "You have the floor, Sir."

At that point some of Andrews' self assurance seemed to leave him. He dropped his eyes, for a few seconds and then when he raised them, he seemed to have difficulty in looking Mac in the face. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat, "Colonel MacKenzie, I appreciate that after recent events you probably never wish to see an Australian again. However, after the sentence that was passed on Commander Brumby yesterday, I have one or two things to say." He fumbled with his briefcase for a moment, before taking out a heavy, cream, vellum envelope. "This envelope, Colonel, contains a written apology on behalf of of the Royal Australian Navy, signed by the Chief of the Navy, vice Admiral Shalders. And to which, as little as they may mean, I would wish to add my own apologies."

He delved into his briefcase a second time, this time pulling out a plain, brown, manilla envelope, "This envelope contains a cheque for ten thousand US dollars, drawn on the office of the naval attaché to the Australian embassy here in DC, so fulfilling part of the sentence passed on commander Brumby in court yesterday."

Mac's incipient hostility evaporated on the instant, to be replaced by bewilderment, "But… But I… I don't understand…"

"Your surprise and confusion is understandable, Colonel, but Commander Brumby was ordered to pay you compensation. While he is in prison, he will find that extremely difficult to do and it is my understanding from your state Department, that the minute he is released from prison, he will be escorted to the nearest airport and put on the first plane back to Australia. Once he's in Australia, I strongly suspect you will find it impossible to enforce the court's sentence. Commander Brumby has brought enough shame and embarrassment on our Navy, and indeed on Australia. This payment is our attempt to maybe reduce that degree of shame. Commander Brumby will be dismissed from our Navy, but the date of his dismissal will be delayed, until such time as his notional salary covers the amount of the court-ordered award. That amount will be deducted from any pay and allowances accruing to Commander Brumby on the date of his dismissal from the Navy."

Mac looked from Harm to Captain Andrews and back again in almost horror, "but I… I don't… I… I don't need… want… I can't…"

"Stand down, Colonel!" Harm snapped. He turned to the Australian officer, "Colonel Mackenzie is obviously a bit overwhelmed, Sir. Perhaps it would be better if we could give her a a few moments to take on board what has just happened. In the meantime, Sir…" He opened the door, "Lieutenant Sims! Be so good as to walk Captain Andrews back to my office, and fix him up with a coffee!"

Harriet's, "Aye aye, Sir!"preceded her arrival at Mac's office door by no more than a couple of seconds.

Once Captain Andrews had left the office, Harm turned back towards Mac, "Is there some kind of problem, here, Mac?" He asked.

Mac turned her white face towards him, "Harm, this is terrible. I can't accept this…"

Harm raised an interrogative eyebrow, "Why ever not? It's part of the judgement that was made against Brumby, as the judge said, one thousand dollars for each of your bones that he broke. And you heard Captain Andrews, it's coming out of Brumby's pocket, you deserve it, you were awarded it by the court, what's the problem?"

"Oooh!" Mac ground out in frustration, "You just wouldn't understand!"

"Well, you can't really throw it back in Captain Andrews' face, but if you really don't feel you can accept it at the moment, why not just put it on deposit, and leave it, until you get back from TAD. And then, if you still can't accept it, then donate it to a worthy cause or causes. Something like the Big Sister program, or the Corps' Toys for Tots?"

Mac looked down at the two envelopes on her desk. And although she still felt embarrassed at the thought of profiting from her experience, Harm's words made sense. It was still a little too close to the court case for her to have accepted either intellectually or emotionally, that she was to be compensated for the injuries inflicted upon her.

"Alright, for once you've made some sort of sense," she grinned at Harm to indicate a lack of seriousness. "I'll do just that… And I'll do it as soon as the banks open in the morning, so I may be a few minutes late for Staff Call!"

"Your absence and the reason for it will be noted, Colonel. And now if you'll excuse me I have a visitor with whom I have to play nice." And with a wink and a grin, Harm slipped out of Mac's office leaving a still somewhat bewildered Marine Officer trying to analyse her teeming thoughts and roiling emotions.

By the time Harm made it back to the JAG's office, Captain Andrews and almost finished his coffee. Taking the last half-mouth full, he swallowed and placed cup and saucer on the side table, and then standing looked inquiringly at Harm.

Harm put on a cheerful expression, "You'll understand, Sir, that Colonel MacKenzie meant no insult, it's just that she was pretty well taken fully aback." Harm's expression broadened into a huge grin, "in fact, Sir, in all the years I've known her, I have never known Colonel MacKenzie to be such a total loss for words as she was a few moments ago. She has asked me to present to you her apologies, and her gratitude for your consideration in coming here in person. She gratefully acknowledges the apology from your Chief of the Navy, and likewise for the swift and uncomplaining fulfilment of the court award."

Captain Andrews grinned in appreciation of Harm's eloquence, "Her words, Commander?"

"Damn straight, Sir!" Harm said straight-faced.

Andrews chuckled, "I keep forgetting that you lot are lawyers!" Then he sobered completely, "I meant what I said, you know, just after that bastard Brumby beat her. I am personally ashamed that he ever wore the same uniform I do, and I am heartily glad that the judge threw the bloody book at him. Now, as far as I, and the embassy, are concerned that's an end to it, and I sincerely hope that if we ever have any further interaction it will be on a far more pleasant basis."

"If it's any consolation to you, Sir, I can assure you that no one in this office believes that Brumby's a true representative of the Royal Australian Navy, or of Australia itself."

Captain Andrews picked up his headdress and briefcase, "Thank you for that, Commander. I'm sure I've caused enough disruption to your office for one day, so I'll be on my way."

Harm reached for his own cover, "Allow me to walk you out, Sir."

**Wednesday, April 17, 2001, 1451 hours EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (171851ZApr01) **

Returning from escorting Captain Andrews down to the CP, Harm felt slightly reluctant to return straight to his desk, so on entering the bullpen, he made his way around until he reached Loren's office. At his knock on her door frame she looked up from the file she was studying, and smiled. His day had been so hectic, and his lunchtime occupied with his need to deal tactfully with the matter of Mac's personal possessions in her office, that they had had barely sufficient time to exchange a nod and a smile as they passed each other in the doorway of the break room.

"Hello sailor," she said softly, "what brings you down from your Olympian heights?"

"Strictly a supervisory matter, Lieutenant," Harm grinned, "just checking that you're all set for the Krennick review tomorrow. And of course, just to refresh myself with your smile," he added just loudly enough for Loren to hear.

Loren smiled, letting him slide on the tease, "Just going through my conclusion and recommendations from the Coulter review, I won't say it's going to be a slam-dunk, but I'm pretty confident."

Her expression sobered somewhat, as she contemplated the file in front of her. "I know Krennick's a snake, and Meg has told me how she kept trying to jump your bones, when she was here in ninety-five, but I can't help feeling sorry for her. She's got a court-martial looming, and this review board. Before she knows it, she'll be out of the Navy with the discharge of other than honourable, and a federal conviction on her record. What a complete waste of what could have been a full and fulfilling career."

Harm nodded, a little pleased that Loren could feel sympathy towards Alison Krennick, but "Don't forget, Loren that she is facing charges of conduct unbecoming an officer, because she was spying on us in the hope of pinning fraternisation charges on us. If she had succeeded, it would be our careers disappearing down the pan, so don't feel too sorry for her. You need to get in there, in front of the review board, and relate your findings conclusions and recommendations, as the attorney who carried out the Coulter case review. Now, do you have the names of the panel?"

Loren nodded, "Suzanne Richardson is chairing the panel, and she's supported by, Peter Gilroy, Matthew Stevenson, Hector de Castejon and Elizabeth Mountford."

Harm nodded, he was familiar with the names, they were all prominent members of the Virginia Bar Association. "I know Elizabeth Mountford, and Peter Gilroy, they're both pretty hard but fair judges, and I know the names of the others but nothing about them. Sorry, I can't be much help there."

"Not a problem," Loren declared. "Like you said all I have to do is stand up and tell it like it is. It's Meg that's got the harder job here."

Harm nodded not displeased by Loren's confidence. "You're probably right, so I'll just go along and see if Meg needs a confidence boost."

Loren gave him a mock glare, "Hey, you're supposed to be on my side!" she objected.

"Not this time, Lieutenant. While I'm wearing the big chair, I'm supposed to be neutral in cases like this."

"Oh yeah?" Loren sniffed, "you know I hate it, when you play that card!"

"I promise, I won't be neutral, when we get home." Harm smiled meaningfully.

Loren blushed and fanned her face with her hand, "Oh, dirty pool! That is so unfair! You know we're supposed to keep it out of the office!"

Harm grinned even more broadly and winked, "Only so the JAG doesn't catch us, and as I'm JAG and at the moment, I decided I can turn a blind eye to it!"

Loren couldn't help herself, although she was slightly miffed, she giggled, "That was sophistry, pure and simple, and don't you think for a moment that you're getting away with it!"

"Ah... If you're contemplating vengeance, then I shall remove one source of temptation from your office… Catch you later,'bye," and with yet another wink and grin, he was gone.

**Wednesday, April 17, 2001, 1503 hours EDT, Commander Meg Austin's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (171903ZApr01)**

"Good afternoon, Meg. All set for the morning?"

Meg nodded, "Yeah, just need to tie-up final arrangements with Loren. Alison Krennick says she'll make her own way to the hearing, and if that's the case then it allows Loren and I to share a car." Meg gave a little laugh, "It could have been a bit embarrassing for Alison and Loren to share."

Harm nodded, "Yeah, I can see where that might have been a bit awkward. Do you know any of the panel?"

Meg shook her head, "No, I've never had any dealings with the Virginia State Bar, I passed my bar exam in Texas," she looked at him shrewdly for a second or two and added, "but you knew that. So…?"

"Yeah, I knew you passed the bar in Texas, but I didn't know whether you had any dealings with the Virginia bar. I know a couple of the board members, more by reputation than personally, but if they're all cut from the same cloth, then it will be a fair hearing."

"That's all we can hope for," Meg replied glumly.

"Giving up already, Meg? That's not like you," Harm cajoled the tall gal from Texas.

"Oh, no not really. I'll give it my best shot, but I've read the Coulter review Loren that carried out, and I've read her conclusion and recommendations. Half of the recommendations were vindicated, when Captain Coulter was acquitted at his retrial. And no matter how I phrase it, the members are going to see that as evidence of ineffective and inadequate defence at his first trial. It's a pretty tough row to hoe that you've given me, Harm."

"Yeah, I guess so, but I gave it to you, because I disagreed with AJ's judgement in handing the case off to Alan Mattoni. I happen to think that you are the best attorney in this office for this particular job, precisely because you have been at odds with Alison Krennick, but I trust you to be objective, and do your best for your client."

Meg managed a half-smile, "Do you know, that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me! But I'll be quite honest with you, I don't think I've hope in hell of getting Loren's case thrown out, realistically all I can hope to do is mitigate the punishment and save Alison from disbarment."

Harm looked at her steadily, "if you can do that, Meg, Alison will owe you debt that she can never repay."

Meg gave an ironic chuckle, "And she'll hate that!"

"Probably, but you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you've done your best."

"Yes, until it comes to her court-martial and I'm the prosecution's chief witness!"

"It's not your fault that Alison went overboard, and allowed her obsessions to overrule her good sense. You came across something that struck you as being off-base, and like any good investigator you followed up. And for that you have mine and Loren's everlasting thanks. So, for the moment, forget about the court martial, just concentrate on doing the best job you can tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'll do that. And Harm… thanks."

"You're welcome!" Harm smiled, with a nod he left Meg to her preparations.

**Wednesday, April 17, 2001, 1722 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (172122ZApr01)**

Harm got through a surprising amount of work in the last hour since he returned to the office, but now he glared at the file he had just pulled from his in-tray as if it was his mortal enemy. Printed on the cover was the name of Captain Richardson. With a sigh he'd buzzed Tiner and told him to pass the word for Lieutenant Barlow.

Barlow arrived at Harm's office door within minutes, and on entering in response to Harm's invitation, Harm invited him to sit. Slightly unnerved by the unaccustomed invitation, the younger man perched almost on the edge of one of the leather-upholstered wing chairs and waited for Harm to speak.

Despite the assurances that Harm had received from the SECNAV, he was still very wary in the aftermath of Harding' s visit, and felt obliged to offer Barlow the chance to withdraw from the case. But that young man had sat up straighter, looked him straight in the eyes and asked, "Is that an order, Sir?"

Harm sat back in his chair his hands resting lightly on the arms, "No, it's not an order, but I can make it so, if that's what you want."

"With respect Sir, no. That's not what I want. I've read the case file through, and your notes, it seems pretty evident to me that Captain Richardson was railroaded. Reading between the lines, Sir, something about this case has got you rattled, and I get the feeling by offering me the chance to withdraw you think you're protecting me. If that is the case, Sir, then I am grateful for your consideration, but at the same time I feel slightly insulted. I am an officer of the US Navy's JAG Corps, I took several oaths along the road to get where I am today, and I really don't feel like betraying any of those oaths at the first sign of trouble ahead."

Harm nodded approvingly, "I wouldn't have held it against you if you had accepted my invitation, but I'm glad that you decided against it. We've already had some indication of the lengths that certain parties are willing to go to to stifle this investigation, and I'm glad to have you on board."

"I believe, Sir, that an Admiral once said 'full steam ahead and damn the torpedoes,'. As JAGs, we may not be commanding a battleship, but in my opinion, Sir, the same principles apply."

Harm was forced to hide a smile, and managed a creditable, "Well said, Lieutenant. We start tomorrow morning straight after staff call, in this office, by drafting a motion to the armed forces court of appeal."

Barlow got to his feet and stiffened into a brace, "Aye, aye, Sir!"

"Stand easy, Lieutenant. Carry on!"

Harm waited until the door closed behind the younger officer, before he allowed the smile to spread across his face. He was learning so much, particularly about the people he worked with, through sitting in the big chair, knowledge that wouldn't have come his way so quickly and easily if the Admiral hadn't taken leave.

His thoughts were interrupted, again, by the shrilling of his telephone.

"Rabb."

"_I have a Miss Sciutto on line one for you, Sir._" Tiner's voice sounded in his earpiece.

Harm frowned, "Did she say what she wanted, Tiner?"

"_No, Sir. She just said that she needed to speak to you and that it was private and urgent_."

Harm resisted the temptation to sigh, but he did pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger before he said, "Very well, Tiner. Put her through."

"_Hello, is this Captain Rabb?_"

Harm was slightly taken aback by the excited enthusiasm in his callers voice, but he made a swift recovery, "No, this Commander Rabb!"

"_Oh, good. Director Morrow asked me to call you, that car you wanted examining: clean as a whistle, not a scratch on it, zilch, nada, niente, nothing_!"

"Uh... You're calling from NCIS?" Harm asked as understanding started to dawn.

"_Uh... Yes! Didn't I just say so_?"

"No, actually, no, you didn't." Harm said.

"_Damn! I have got to stop doing that_!" The caller said in an undertone.

Harm hadn't quite heard what she'd said, "Excuse me?"

"_Oh, no, nothing… I… I was talking to myself, it's an occupational hazard when you work on your own._"

Harm was still feeling slightly at sea, "Look, I heard your name, but who exactly are you?"

"_Oh, didn't I tell you that either_?"

"No, you didn't." Harm replied flatly.

"_Oh, well, I'm Abby Sciutto, forensics analyst at NCIS. Director Morrow asked me to do an inspection and analysis of Petty Officer Alvarez' s car, and let you have the results._"

"Thank you, Miss Sciutto, I take it that you have a written report?"

"_Of course_." She sounded vaguely offended at the thought that she might not have such a report.

"Good," Harm continued, "please fax it to my office, thank you. And, thank you for your work."

"_Wow! Thank you, Commander_!"

Harm grinned as he heard the click which ended the conversation, it wasn't the strangest telephone call he'd ever received, but it was well up on the list.

But despite Miss Sciutto's somewhat eccentric approach to telephone calls, she was all efficiency when it came to operating office machinery, as less than five minutes after the call ended a tap on Harm's door announced the arrival of Tiner, with a copy of the forensics report, that have arrived via the office fax machine.

Harm assembled all the information and read it all through. Alvarez's statement, together with the NCIS forensics report were pretty conclusive in clearing the Petty Officer of the charges laid against him. The only sticking point was the witness statement placing him and his car at the scene. But laying in the scales against the witness statement, was Harm's own experiment, involving three different models of the Toyota Camry, which demonstrated that at the distance and angles stated by the witness, there was no way that it was possible to distinguish what the driver of the fugitive vehicle wore.

Harm was as convinced as he could be further investigation into this alleged offence would in so many ways been no more than a waste of resources. And, he mused, if the witness statement was merely in error that would be the case. But, Harm couldn't shake the feeling that the witness statement had been motivated by malice.

Normally, for what he now had in mind, he would call on Bud Roberts, but that Lieutenant was still tied down with the McIlroy case at Camp Lejeune. With a sigh he reached out once more for the intercom, "Tiner!"

"Sir?"

"Tiner can you get into the Virginia DMV database?"

This time, Tiner's "Sir?" was heavily tinged with caution.

"Tiner, I want you to run some sets of license plates. Get in here and I'll explain exactly what I need…"

"Aye, aye, Sir," a distinctly unhappy-sounding Yeoman responded.

Ten minutes later a marginally less unhappy Yeoman returned to his own office, clutching in his hand a sheet of paper on which was written a list of fourteen license plates, all of which, differed only slightly from the license plates on Alvarez's Toyota, and ringing in his ears, Harm's instruction to start the search first thing in the morning.

**Wednesday, April 17, 2001, 1917 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (172317Z Apr 01)**

Within minutes of clearing away the last of the dinner dishes, Harm had a sheet of graph paper laid out on the dining table, together with his notes and the rough sketch he'd made while he was carrying out his practical experiment. He also laid out on the table a ruler, protractor, a pair of dividers and three or four newly sharpened pencils.

Loren turned from the kitchen worktop, "Shall I bring you your coffee?"

"Huh?" Harm asked eloquently, and then seemed to realise what he had been asked; he looked up from the beginning of the scale drawing of the scene of the alleged offence, and shook his head, "No, thank you, I'll take it in the lounge…" he grinned.

Loren's eyebrows rose in a perfect arch, "Yes, m' lord," she intoned in a nasal voice, causing harm to risk injury as he whipped his head around to look at her.

"Oh Lord," he groaned ruefully, "did I really sound that autocratic?"

Loren pretended to give the question some serious consideration before she answered, "Noooo, not exactly autocratic," she said slowly, "It was more… pompous, I guess," she grinned.

Harm winced, "Ouch! Sorry about that, I'm just a little bit…"

"Distracted?" Loren offered brightly, and with a totally spurious air of helpfulness.

Harm glared at her for a moment, and then relaxed, "Yeah, distracted."

Loren put the coffees on the occasional table in front of the couch and sat down, tucking her feet up sideways underneath her. She patted the empty cushion next to her in invitation, "come and sit down," she said and then you can tell me what's making you so… distracted," she ended with a grin.

Harm gave a brief chuckle, and then rose from the table, crossing to the couch and taking his seat, picked up his coffee and sipped, "Well, it all started just before the Admiral went into hospital…"

And for the next ten minutes he explained to Loren just why this particular case has got under his skin quite so much, and why when it had turned out to be far from the slam-dunk that the metro PD had insisted it was, he became more and more convinced that what he was handling was a deliberate attempt by party or parties unknown to have bosun's mate second class Alvarez convicted of something of which he was not guilty.

Loren heard him out in silence, "And the art class is?" She nodded in the direction of the dining table.

"My fumbling amateur attempt at producing a scale plan of the scene of the alleged crime, in the hope that when I take it to the convening authority, he'll accept all the evidence as it is and drop the charges against Alvarez, without me having to take it to an Article Thirty-Two."

It was Loren's turn to wince, "Well, good luck with that. And with the drawing!"

"What do you mean by that?" Harm asked.

"If your convening authority is as pig-headed as FC Three Edwards' skipper down at Norfolk, then you're going to need all the luck you can get!"

Harm smiled sympathetically, "Being a hard-ass, is he?"

Loren gave him a wry look, "That might just qualify as the understatement of the year. According to Edwards' Chief PO, and his Div O, he is a steady, reliable sailor, without even a single dint in his record since he left boot camp. There is something strange about what happened down there, about his actions, it just doesn't tie in with either his record, or his character. But his skipper is being totally inflexible, and won't even release him from pre-trial confinement. I'm trying to get the venue for his Article Thirty-Two shifted up to Falls Church, but Captain Montgomery, is being a pain in the ass about that, too!"

Harm nodded, it seemed that he and Loren had two different cases but that they were very similar in nature, he could only hope that his case would come to a swifter and more equitable conclusion than hers. In the meantime, something Loren had said caught his attention, "What did you mean, by good luck with the drawing?"

"Oh, that… No, I was just wishing you good luck with it because amongst the other things I can't do, I cannot draw, not even straight lines using a ruler!" she confessed with a grin.

Harm breathed out in a long, exaggerated sigh, and his shoulders slumped theatrically, "No chance of me cajoling you, bribing you, persuading you, into doing the drawing for me, then?" he asked still disappointed tone of voice, but with a gleam of mischief in the back of his eyes.

Loren drained the last of her coffee, "Nuh-huh, not working!" she grinned.

"Oh well, it was worth a try," Harm defended his attempt.

Loren gave him a look which can only be described as old-fashioned, "No, no it wasn't," she said levelly, "but what I will do, is wash up these mugs, before I go back to working on my opening address for the Krennick review." And with that Harm had to be content.

They worked in companionable silence for over an hour, until with a wordless exclamation that might have meant almost anything, Harm through his pencil down on the table and said decisively, "That's it! I can stands so much, but I can't stands no more!"

Loren looked up from her files, a look of surprise on her face, that was swiftly replaced by a grin and then a giggle. "You really do not want to say that in public, while you're wearing uniform, unless of course you _want_ people to call you Popeye!"

Harm looked at her, a puzzled frown on his face, "What do you…" And then he recalled exactly what he had just said, grinned in his turn as he realised he had just channelled the classic cartoon character and then like Loren burst into a chuckle. "Lord no! Good God, I can't believe I just said that, and you're right, if anybody overheard that I'd never live it down!"

"Ah, but someone did hear it," Loren said with an ever so sweet smile, "So, a certain Mister lawyer man, Mister sailor man Mister pilot man, really ought to consider being on his very best behaviour, for the foreseeable future, unless he also wants to become known as Mister Popeye man!"

Harm blanched, he was no fool, he knew blackmail when he heard it. Determined not to succumb to Loren's outrageous threat, he slowly got to his feet and advanced upon her where she sat at the far end of the lounge in front of her PC.

Loren watched his advance with a growing feeling of unease as she saw the gleam in his eye, "Harm, Harm… I didn't… I wouldn't… Harm, no, oh! Harm, put me down!" she squeaked in alarm as he bent and threw her over his shoulder.

"Silence woman!" he said, accompanying his words with an admonitory but gentle swat to her six.

Loren gasped, giggled and try to squirm free but Harm was having none of that, and maintaining his grasp, he carried her into the bedroom, where he deposited her on the bed and straddled her before she had a chance to roll clear, "if, I ever become known as Popeye, then I shall take very good care that you become known as Olive Oyl, and although I won't say anything directly, I shall hint, ever so strongly, that your new nickname has nothing whatsoever to do with the kitchen. So, do we have a deal, counsellor?"

Loren looked up at him indignantly, but chuckled "That is really, dirty, dirty pool! But I suppose I must submit to _force majeur._ So, yes, counsellor, deal!"

Harm smiled, and rolling clear relieved Loren of his weight, which to be fair, most of which he had supported on his hands on the bed either side of her shoulders, and propping himself on one elbow he bent his head and kissed her, a long, loving, gentle yet passionate kiss, that left them both robbed of breath. Loren looked up at him, a smile on her face, her eyes darkening, and her lips swollen. "You know," she whispered huskily, "if you wanted to make love, you only had to ask… The caveman routine wasn't strictly necessary…"

"Maybe not," a grinning Harm replied, still propped on an elbow, while his free hand was busy with the buttons on Loren's blouse, "but it was a whole lot of fun!"

"Oooh!" Loren let out a groan of exasperation, "You… You, man, you!" she said as she swatted his hand away before sitting up and shrugging the blouse off her shoulders.

**Thursday, April 18, 2001, 0712 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (181112Z Apr 01)**

Harm was busy at the range, when Loren emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed in her summer whites, her hair bound up in its customary tight bun at the nape of her neck.

Harm ease the spatula under the pancakes, and using the tongs added three or four strips of bacon to Loren's plate. "No dress whites today?" he asked in surprise as he handed her her plate.

Loren reached for the jug of maple syrup, "of course it's dress whites, but I thought I do the same as yesterday, seeing as the review board is set for ten thirty hours and it's only about a fifteen minute drive."

Harm slid his own short stack of pancakes onto his plate, and picking up the jug of coffee he turned and perched on a stall at the kitchen's breakfast bar. "Makes sense," he nodded, pouring two mugs of coffee.

Loren, with a mouthful of pancake, nodded, whether in acknowledgement of Harm's words or in thanks for his pouring the coffee was a debatable point.

It took very few minutes for the two of them to finish breakfast, and almost as little time for them to wash and dry the dishes, so it was only just gone seven thirty when Loren unhooked the garment bag containing her dress whites from the back of the lounge door, while Harm grabbed both their briefcases and covers.

**Thursday, April 18, 2001, 0948 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (181348ZApr01)**

"Sir, I have the results of that licence plate search, but you asked for." Tiner intercepted Harm on his way back to the office after staff call.

Harm turned to face his Yeoman, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise, "That was quick. Well done, Tiner." Harm took the proffered sheet of paper from Tiner and gave it a cursory glance as he walked towards his desk, but brief as his look had been, one entry caught his eye, licence plate number XKF 32065 belonged to a red Toyota Camry, and was suspiciously close to licence plate on Bosun's Mate Two's Toyota Camry, which was also red but carried plate number XXF 32065.

Harm sat down at the desk and reached for the phone, "Tiner, get me Metro PD Traffic Division please." He waited for the call to be connected, and as on the previous occasion having asked to speak with Lieutenant Hamilton, he ground his teeth through the strains The Four Seasons while he was kept on hold.

His irritation vanished almost by magic, as a voice in his ear said, "Lieutenant Hamilton, how may I help you?"

"Good morning, it's Commander Rabb from HQ Navy JAG Corps, we spoke last week, about a fleeing the scene incident, Petty Officer Alvarez?"

"Yes, I remember." Hamilton replied.

"Well, I had Alvarez' car examined by NCIS forensics people, and there isn't a scrap of physical evidence that ties it to any collision with anything, anywhere."

"So, you're sticking by your theory of mistaken identity?"

"Not exactly, it looks like it's a little more sinister than that, the Petty Officer's licence plate is X-ray, X-ray, Foxtrot, three two zero six five, however there is another red Toyota Camry with licence plate number X-ray, Kilo, Foxtrot three two zero six five."

"Still sounds like just a misread of the licence plate," Hamilton replied.

"I'd be inclined to agree with you, Lieutenant, if it weren't for the fact that your witness' name is the same as the registered owner of the X-ray, Kilo, Foxtrot licence plate, who just happens to be another Petty Officer in the same department of the Navy yard as Petty Officer Alvarez."

"Got yourself the makings of a nasty little case there, Commander." Hamilton observed.

"Agreed, but your witness has made a false statement to a Law Enforcement Officer, and it looks like he made it knowingly in order to protect the guilty driver, and to place blame on Alvarez, and if that is the case then he is liable under Virginia Criminal Code Section 18.2-460(B)."

Hamilton muttered something under his breath, too low for Harm to hear, but what he was positive was a cuss word. Hamilton then spoke up, "So what do you propose, Commander?"

"We will have the other Camry forensically examined, and the Petty Officer in question will be interviewed. If what I suspect is true, then he will face charges relating to his fleeing the scene. We can't of course touch the so-called witness, but we will keep you informed of what's happening, and if the petty officer is convicted then I would say that's pretty strong grounds for issuing an arrest warrant against the witness."

"And to think I called this case a slam-dunk!", Hamilton groaned.

"Well, you know what they say Lieutenant, there's only two things certain in this life…"

"Yeah, death and taxes," Hamilton replied ruefully.

Harm chuckled and with an exchange of goodbyes, they ended the call."

Harm glanced at his watch, with a pang of disappointment realised that Loren would have already left for the Krennick review, and he had wanted to add a last-minute good luck before she left. Still, he comforted himself, she was a more than competent attorney, she was well prepared, and, he grinned at the recollection of the line she had read out to his amusement from one of her novels, that she would prefer to rely on skill than on luck.

**Thursday, 18 April, 2001, 1243 hours EDT, Commissary, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (181643ZApr01)**

Harm took his tray outside to one of the tables sheltered by one of the cherry trees that dotted the grassed outside eating area of the Commissary. Today's choice was a fillet of white fish, with parsley sauce, mashed potato and green vegetables. Not, as he was the first to acknowledge, his usual fare but the vegetarian options for the day were a particularly unappealing ratatouille with a toasted cheese topping, or his old bugbear, the tuna and pasta salad.

Uncertain of the taste of his lunch, he took a small portion of the fish on the end of his fork and somewhat tentatively tasted it. His eyebrows rose in surprise, as he found the fish to be well cooked, still slightly moist and the sauce more than just adequate. Yes, he told himself, he could eat this!

He wasn't left long to enjoy his solitary state, before he had taken more than three or four mouthfuls of his lunch, Carolyn Imes slid into the chair opposite, with a perfunctory "May I?".

Far from taking offence, Harm grinned, "A bit late to say no, isn't it?"

Carolyn pulled a face, "Not really, you are the head honcho, after all. You can always send me packing!"

"Yeah, like you really listen if I tried that." Harm grinned digging his fork back into his food.

"Well, you could always try – and see what happens!" Carolyn grinned back at him.

Harm leaned back in his chair, "One of the lessons they taught us middies in the far distant dark days at Annapolis, is that an officer should never give an order that he is not certain will be obeyed."

Carolyn's eyes danced with laughter, and in her best Southern Belle voice she said, "Why, Commander, are you suggesting that little old me would even dream of disobeying a lawful command given to me by my senior superior officer!"

"Nope, not suggesting that at all." Harm denied, "I'm damn well coming straight out and saying it!"

Both officers let their amusement overflow for a few moments, until Carolyn dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her paper napkin, and said, "Seriously, Harm, I came over because I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Loren or Meg yet?"

Harm shook his head, "Not yet, the board wasn't scheduled to convene until ten-thirty hours, and if they convened on time that would, in my experience be a first. And I can't see them getting through the review, the deliberation, and the finding in less than three hours," he suggested.

"No, I suppose not," Carolyn conceded, but I need to know the board's finding, before I can know whether or not to add a Dereliction of Duty charge to Alison's court-martial charge sheet."

"Do you think that strictly necessary, Carolyn?" Harm asked.

Carolyn sliced into a baked potato before answering, "No, I'm not convinced it's strictly necessary, but those were the instructions left me by the Admiral before he had his procedure. I'm not quite sure, but I have a feeling that there is something… personal… going on there…"

"God's sakes Carolyn," Harm hissed urgently, looking around to see if anybody else was in earshot, "Think before you speak! You can't seriously think that the Admiral and Alison Krennick were… are…"

"Good God, Harm, no! No I just got the feeling that the Admiral felt betrayed, or let down, and that he was quite angry, more so than if it was just because Alison stepped over the line…"

Harm breathed a sigh of relief, "Okay, but even so it's best to keep those sorts of suspicions to yourself."

Carolyn considered his words, "Yeah you're right, and I shouldn't have vented, not even to you but, it does have me concerned, and adding a dereliction charge, at this late stage of the game, does smack of a touch of vindictiveness. After all, it was a long time ago, and she's got enough charges against her to make a retention in the Navy very, very doubtful, so why the additional charge?"

Harm nodded again, "You have a point, but you need to raise it with the Admiral, or with the convening authority, but for God's sakes, like I said be careful about what you say and to whom you say it!"

"You're right, and I certainly won't be saying it to this officer…" Carolyn looked pointedly over Harm's shoulder, and turning in his chair his expression broadened into a grin.

"Bud! Come and join us! When did you get back?" Harm demanded.

Bud put his tray on the table, "Just about ten minutes ago, Sir." He looked around, "Any idea where Harriet is, Sir?"

Harm shook his head, but looked questioningly across the table at Carolyn.

"She and Mac have have gone to Southgate Mall, for something apparently that neither of them can go without for another minute!" Carolyn supplied.

Bud checked his watch, "Oh, well, they can't be too much longer," he said philosophically and turned his attention to his lunch.

Harm gave him a few minutes before he asked, "How did it go, down at Lejeune, Bud?"

Bud swallowed, "McIlroy went down, busted to E-One and six months confinement, loss of all pay, for the six months, but he stays in the Corps, which is what he wanted."

"Sounds like you did a good job, there, Bud," Harm offered.

"Not good enough," the younger officer replied in a disgruntled voice.


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N: **Once again I plunge into a procedural world of which I am entirely ignorant, and where Angels should probably fear to tread. I don't even know if the Virginia Bar Association has offices in Fairfax, let alone how they convene or organise Professional Conduct Reviews – if there are such things! Neither do I know if they have available to them recourse to the disciplinary measures that I have allowed them. So if I have screwed up right royally, please just let it go for the sake of the story.

**55**

****Thursday, 18 April, 2001, 1307 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (181707ZApr01)** **

Harm had stopped off at the CP on his way back from the commissary, leaving word with Gunny Waters, with his compliments, for Meg and Loren to report directly to him as soon as they returned to the building.

Harm and Carolyn had spent the last 20 minutes of their lunch break trying to cheer up a disconsolate, disgruntled Bud, who rather than attacking his own lunch with his normal gusto, moodily pushed it around his plate, and barely tasted it.

"It's not that McIlroy was innocent," Bud explained when Carolyn teased him about his lack of appetite, "or even that he didn't deserve the punishment he got. The problem is, he's married with a pre-school-age kid. Sure, he keeps his BAH, and other allowances, but without his salary coming in, his wife is in for a hard six months. We all know how tough it is under normal conditions, and she, that is his wife, has been working swing shift at a local mom and pop store to supplement his salary, leaving the Sergeant to watch the kid in the evening. Even if she can find a babysitter for free for the evenings, she's still going to need to work extra shifts to keep food on the table, and how can she take extra shifts if there's no one to look after the kid? I don't get Judge Morgan, after the verdict, I asked for a continuance so the Sergeant's circumstances could be investigated, the motion was denied, sentencing was immediate."

Bud heaved another huge sigh, "I must have missed something, there must have been something else I could have done, and I missed it!"

Harm shook his head, "I doubt it, Bud. I've appeared for both prosecution and defence in Judge Morgan's court, and I always came out feeling battered, with the feeling that if he had his way, there would be no defence attorneys, the defendant would have the charges against him read out, and without any further discussion Morgan would hand down the sentence. Of course, that's just the way I felt, but I know I never won an acquittal in front of Judge Morgan, and I can't think off-hand of any of the current batch of JAGs who have.

"But you have nothing to blame yourself for, Bud, I read the file before I handed it off to you, McIlroy was in command of the tank, so whatever happened to the tank was his responsibility, as it happened it slid off the side of the bridge, into deep water and nearly drowned the entire crew. God knows how much the recovery operation took, so in some ways he was lucky that Judge Morgan didn't hit him with an additional financial penalty."

"I know all that, Sir, but it just doesn't feel right, or just to me. While he's in the brig, he'll get his three squares a day, at the moment that looks like more than his wife and son will be getting. It just doesn't seem like justice to me!"

Harm smiled at the memory of Bud's vehemence, the younger man had a much greater store of compassion than most. Harm's only worry, and his smile faded as the direction of his thoughts changed, was that Bud would allow the compassion he felt to become an emotional burden.

His thoughts on the subject of Bud and his emotions came to an abrupt halt as did he, when he entered Tiner's ante-office to find the Yeoman stood in what seemed to be earnest but amiable conversation with a petite, attractive red-headed young woman in smart civilian clothing. His eyebrows rose at this apparent breach of protocol, but before he could speak, Tiner spoke out, his words almost tripping over themselves as he hurried to explain stop

"Sir! May I introduce to you, Miss Annette Walker. Annette, I'd like you to meet Commander Rabb, our senior attorney and the acting JAG.

The young woman smiled, "I'm very pleased to meet you, Sir," she said with a pronounced West Texas drawl that struck a chord buried deep in Harm's memory.

Somewhat taken aback by both her accent and her poise, she looked to be about twenty-five at the very oldest, Harm noted, he could only respond with an almost automatic, "The pleasure is mine, Miss Walker."

Tiner darted a nervous look between his temporary CO and his visitor. "Miss Walker graduated from law school on the same day I did, Sir, and if she hadn't helped me out with constitutional law in our first year, then I probably would have washed out."

Annette Walker smiled again, she turned towards Harm, "And if Jason hadn't coached me through international law, in his turn, I would never have made it my own self."

For a second, it seemed to Harm that he was the straight man for a well-rehearsed pair of wise cracking comedians. But it seemed that Tiner was reading danger signals, and once again he pitched in to try and explain the situation. "Miss Walker just called in, Sir, to let me know that she has just received orders for ODS and then on graduation from there to NJS."

Harm shot the Yeoman a look which was meant to convey that although he still did not approve of civilian visitors paying social calls during duty hours, in this case he would let it slide. And then returning his attention to the young woman, he said, "So, you're intent on joining JAG?"

"Yes, Sir. And it was Jason talked me into choosing the Navy. Oh, that didn't quite come out right, Sir. I had to agree to either apply to the DA's Office back down to home or apply for the military. I'd already made up my mind to join the military, but I hadn't made a decision as to which branch of service, until…" All of a sudden her poise and maturity seemed to desert her, as she cast a side long look at Tiner, and then blushed.

Harm almost have to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing at her sudden confusion, "Well, it may be a little premature, but welcome to the Navy, Miss Walker and congratulations, indeed. You may not realise it, but places on that programme are extremely limited, and for you to be selected straight from law school and fresh from your bar examination, speaks very highly of you, and of your potential. I look forward to following your future career, with keen interest. But now, if you'll forgive me, I need Tiner to return his attention to his duties."

"Oh, of course, Sir. I didn't mean to cause any disruption, but I was so excited when my orders arrived this morning, and I thought if I came at lunchtime then there wouldn't be too much…"

"I can understand that, Miss Walker, but we do have some work to do this afternoon… So if you'll forgive me for being somewhat brusque; Tiner once you've walked the young lady out, I've a couple of tasks that I need you to catch up on. Miss Walker, as I said a few minutes ago it has been a pleasure meeting you." With an inclination of his head and a polite half-smile, Harm backed away and half turning opened his office door and left Tiner to escort his visitor off the premises.

Shaking his head in disbelief, who would have thought that Tiner could have caught the attention of a young woman like Annette Walker – that much was obvious from the way she looked at him – and would then have had the gall to let her call on him in duty hours? It all just goes to show, he mused with a grin, that the age of miracles had not yet passed.

Still grinning, he sat down and reached the top file from the stack that Tiner, who had obviously found some time for work between his dalliances, and placed his is in-tray at some stage during the lunch hour. Great, just what he needed a BUPERS directive, requiring all naval commands to render a quarterly return of hours worked, by rank for officers, and by rate and rating for enlisted by month for the current financial year. His grin disappeared, although he still shook his head in disbelief. "Tiner! Get me the SECNAV's office!"

****Thursday, 18 April, 2001, 1419 hours EDT, Conference Room, Virginia Estate Bar Association Offices,West Ox Road, Fairfax, VA (181707ZApr01)** **

Meg, Alison and Loren sat on one of the highly polished wooden benches that lined the marble-floored hallway that ran the length of the second floor of the turn of the century red-brick building that housed the northern officers of the Virginia State Bar Association. All three officers were bored and hungry. Loren had finished presenting her case by just gone mid day, and Meg's defence of Alison had taken them to just short of twelve forty-five. They had then been summarily dismissed by the chairperson of the panel, "While we consider our decision."

Questions addressed to a passing member of the association's clerical staff revealed that there were no vending machines in the building, and because all three needed to be present the instant the panel summoned them, none of them dared to leave the building for even five minutes in the search for sandwiches and coffees or sodas.

Of the three, and despite her audibly complaining stomach, Loren was, if not the happiest, at least the one most looking forward to hearing the panel's finding. Meg had mounted a valiant defence, acknowledging that the original trial had not been a triumph for anyone involved, and then citing Alison's inexperience at the time of the original Coulter trial and arguing that she should have been allocated a second chair on what was her first potentially capital case. Having made that point, she continued with a brief resume of Alison's legal career since that time, quoting from her annual fitness reports which uniformly praised her legal performance. Meg had finished her defence by stating that a person's career, in this case spanning more than twenty years should be judged in its entirety, and not just by one error.

At first, all three had tried to make light inconsequential conversation, but with the verdict of the panel hanging over their heads their talk soon dried up, and they found themselves as they were now, silently fretting with impatience.

Alison Krennick finally reached the limit of her patience, and she almost leaped to her feet pacing briskly to the end of the hall where for a few seconds she glared out of the window before whipping around and pacing to the other end of the hall, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor slabs, and made to sound even louder by the pervading hush.

Meg and Loren exchanged a raised eyebrows look, and each determined silently that they were not going to give Alison Krennick any satisfaction by protesting against, or even acknowledging her pacing, but to sit tight with gritted teeth.

Fortunately they were not forced to endure the click-click-click of Alison Krennick's heels for more than a few minutes. The conference room door opened, and a young paralegal stepped out into the hall. "The panel have reached a decision," the young woman said, "Please come in and take your places. Thank you."

The conference room layout had been changed for today's event, the table had been turned through ninety degrees to lie athwart the room, with chairs for the members of the panel ranged along its far side. A few feet in front of the conference table two smaller tables each with a single chair had been placed, and between, them level with the centre of the conference table stood a lectern. Alison Krennick to her seat behind the left-hand table, while Loren took the chair to the right and Meg stood at the lectern.

Within a couple of minutes, the side door to the conference room opened and the panel filed in, and as they did so both Alison and Loren stood. Suzanne Richardson took the centre chair on the long side of the conference table, with Hector de Castejon on her right, and Elizabeth Mountford on his other side. The chair to Richardson's left was taken by Peter Gilroy, with Matthew Stevenson outside him.

Suzanne Richardson placed a pair of heavy-rimmed spectacles on her nose, and then as chairperson of the panel said, "Be seated."

She waited a few seconds before opening the file in front of her. "Firstly, the panel wishes to apologise for making you wait so long for our findings. We can only hope that you will accept this delay as an indication of the duration and intensity of our deliberations. We heard this morning, from Miss Singer, as she detailed the errors and omissions made by the respondent. And they were many, reflecting poorly on the competence of the respondent. However, we also heard Miss Austin's robust defence of the respondent. That defence rests on two main points. Firstly that at the time of the original trial, the respondent was a relatively young and inexperienced attorney defending her first potentially capital case. Miss Austin contends that a young inexperienced attorney should not have been tasked to defend the case as the principal, let alone only, attorney and that at that stage in her career the respondent should have been sitting second chair, or at the very least been allocated a mentoring second chair. The panel also notes Miss Austin's second contention, that an individual's career, in any field, should be weighed as a whole, and should not be judged on one lone incident. Miss Austin cited several of the respondents fitness reports, all praising her professional abilities as an attorney. Miss Austin also drew the panel's attention to the respondent's record in litigation over the length of her career, now in excess of twenty years.

"We have weighed very carefully the degree of culpable negligence that must be laid at the respondent's feet. We have also taken into consideration the effects of the miscarriage of justice that was perpetrated against the original defendant. Against these, we have balanced Miss Austin's plea in mitigation. After due discussion and deliberation, we have reached a majority decision. Please stand."

"It is the finding of this panel that in the case of United States versus Coulter that the respondent, Alison Margaret Krennick, then acting as defence counsel for the said Coulter is guilty of mounting an inadequate defence. However, taking into consideration the more than sixteen years of exemplary conduct both as prosecuting and defence counsel displayed by the said Alison Margaret Krennick, we, the panel have decided against applying the ultimate sanction open to us. The respondent is retained as a member of the State Bar Association, of the Commonwealth of Virginia. However, the respondent is most heavily censured for her culpable negligence in the case of the United States versus Coulter, and remains under this association's disapprobation, and will so remain for a period of five years from this date. This hearing is adjourned. "

Alison Krennick's knees nearly gave way as she heard the verdict and sentence of the panel. It was only by determined application of her will that she remained standing as the panel rose and filed out of the conference room. Turning then to Meg, she offered her her hand, "I know you may not feel much like taking it, but please accept my deepest and most sincere thanks for your work on my behalf today. You have just saved my career. Five years on probation is not the worst thing that could happen to me. So, once again thank you."

Meg rather grudgingly took the offered hand, and said, "What I did today was one part of my duty. And I was glad to do it. If it comes to your court-martial, I may very well be a witness for the prosecution. That will be another facet of my duty, but if it does come to that, I hope you'll believe me when I say it is not a part of my duty that I should be glad to carry out."

Alison Krennick nodded, "Understood, so let us hope that it doesn't come to that. Lieutenant Singer," she turned her attention to Loren, "if it had been anyone else that was the respondent here today, I would have been your biggest fan. I know you have no reason to like me, and that adds to my respect for you for the dispassionate way in which you presented your findings and your conclusions. In fact, Lieutenant, you reminded me of me when I was having a good day." With one final nod to both Meg and Loren, Alison gathered up her purse and her cover and back straight and chin up and alone she walked the length of the conference room and out through the doors.

****Thursday, 18 April, 2001, 1443 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (1818437ZApr01)** **

"Enter!" Harm's voice only just missed betraying his irritation at a further disturbance of his day.

The door opened, and Mac, using her hip swing the door wide backed in to the office. Once once inside she turned to face him, the stack of files in her arms explaining her somewhat unorthodox method of entry.

"And this would be?" Harm asked lightly.

"My open case files," Mac said her face just visible over the top of her burden. She gave a little chuckle, "don't look so worried, flyboy, it is only four cases, but the Grant case is a bit like Topsy…"

Harm pulled a face, "You mean it just growed and growed?"

"Just that!" Mac chuckled, "Where do you want them?"

Harm raised his eyes to heaven, "if I told you where I really wanted them, I'd be laying myself open to a charge of using language unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, so suppose you put them over there on the side… What!?" Harm interrupted his somewhat whimsical directions to Mac, and froze halfway out of his seat, as there came a triple knock on his door.

Tiner entered the office, looking slightly pale," Sir, ma'am," he acknowledged Mac's presence, "you might want to read this instantly, Sir. It's just been emailed from Director Morrow's office at the Navy Yard, NCIS."

Harm took the offered sheet of paper and swiftly read it through, uttering a soft "My God!" as he finished his initial read through.

Mac looked across the expanse of carpet between them, "Harm?" she asked quietly.

"Huh? Oh, Mac… umm… Come and take a look…" he replied almost distractedly.

A frown now creasing her forehead, Mac close the distance between herself and the desk, coming around behind it to read over Harm's shoulder. As she read, her face slowly became expressionless. After a couple of minutes, Harm glanced sideways at her, "Finished?" he asked.

Mac nodded, "Yeah… You?"

"Yeah, twice now, I still can't believe it!" he turned his attention to Tiner, maybe waiting wordlessly and patiently instructions. "Full muster of all hands in the bullpen in five minutes, get onto the OIC security detachment, I want him, his XO, or his duty officer at the muster. I'll speak to Admiral Morris myself."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" The Yeoman replied, and about-facing quit the office, leaving the two officers staring at each other, both with a troubled expression on their face.

"What are you going to do?" Mac asked.

"Well, first off I'm going to call Admiral Morris, then when everyone's mustered I shall read out the gist of this message, and make the recommendations it contains into an order." He paused for a second, "And that order will apply to you too, Mac . Your bumper sticker, 'Property of a US Marine', is a bit of a give-away. Understand?"

Mac nodded soberly, "Yeah, no arguments from me on this. There's not much any of us can do, but reducing risk is our best, possibly our only, course of action."

If Harm was surprised by Mac's ready acquiescence, he hid it well, contenting himself with "Okay, I'm about to call Admiral Morris, can you go make sure that all hands are on deck? Oh, and Mac, not a word what it's about, please."

"You got it." she agreed.

Harm waited until she closed the office door behind her and with a feeling of resignation, he stretched out his hand for the phone.

To the accompaniment of Tiner's stentorian "Attention on deck!" Harm stepped out into the crowded bullpen. Quickly scanning the assemblage he noted the presence of Major Jack Keegan, the OIC security detachment, as well as Captain Pete Murray. He also saw that Judge Morris has been as good as his word, and that he, Judge Blakeney and their Legalmen were all present.

Harm eased his throat, "Stand easy," he ordered. "If I was in your shoes, I would be wondering why a muster has been called at very short notice in the middle of the working day. I'll try to answer both of those questions by reading to you the following message which arrived only a few minutes ago, from NCIS:

"At 07:48 hours morning, Sergeant Matthew Grant USMC was shot dead while he was sitting in his car in a tailback on the Beltway just short of the River Road turn off. He was driving his own vehicle, but in uniform, and was on his way to Bethesda. At 08:59 hours Lieutenant Commander Philippa Raynor was shot dead while she was a front seat passenger in a Navy sedan travelling on the Beltway between the turn-off for the US-50 and the MD-295. Then at 10:07 hours, Ship's Serviceman Three Peter Britton was shot and killed while driving a Navy Humvee on the Beltway near the Maryland 187 interchange. His front seat passenger, Seaman Andrea Hoffman was also killed when the vehicle broke through the crash barriers, and fell onto the underpass. His two rear seat passengers survived but both were taken to Bethesda for treatment, their current condition and prognosis is unknown. At 11:47 hours, Navy Captain Matthew Ridley was shot dead while travelling as a front seat passenger in his Escalade being driven by his wife. Captain Ridley was in civilian clothing, but his license plate read 'Fly Navy 76'. The Captain and his wife were also on the Beltway,

"So far, we are unaware of any further shootings involving US Navy or Marine Corps personnel, and it may be that these four incidents of which we are aware are unrelated. Metro police, with the assistance of NCIS are trying to track down the shooter, or shooters; so far there is no concrete evidence that links these shootings. They may be entirely coincidental, and apparently in order to reduce the risk of panic Metro PD are refusing to use the 'S' word, although I'm pretty sure, and I guess they are, that forensics, if nothing else will prove all these shootings to be connected. We don't know if the shooter or shooters are concentrating on Navy and Marine Corps personnel. However, as as it seems that that is the case then as a precaution, I am ordering that either in uniform, driving a Navy vehicle, or even in civilian wear in your own vehicle, if that vehicle carries any form of sticker or licence plate that could identify it as belonging to a member of the Navy or Marine Corps, then stay off the Beltway. Am I clear?"

The chorused response of "Sir, yes, Sir!" was gratifying in its volume at least.

Harm surveyed the faces in front of him, all looked shocked or even stunned by his revelations, so he hoped at least that the message had sunk in. And with a last look, trying to hammer home the seriousness of the situation, he dismissed the muster, turned to his office.

Dropping into the big chair, Harm rested his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his hands, only now allowing himself to worry about Loren, Meg and yes, even Alison Krennick. There was no reason on earth why Loren and Meg should touch the Beltway on the way back from Fairfax, and while Alison, if she was returning to Anacostia would be travelling the Beltway she would be south of the river, while all incidents so far had been north of it. But that didn't mean that the shooter couldn't or wouldn't change his hunting ground. If he was concentrating on Navy and Marine Corps personnel, the southern half of the Beltway was a target rich environment. There was an enormous number of Navy and Marine Corps personnel and vehicles that travelled that stretch of road on a daily basis, heading for the DC Navy Yard, HQ Marine Corps at Arlington, the barracks at Eighth and I, even such a minor establishment is HQ JAG, and not forgetting the thousands of commuters who flocked to and from the Pentagon every morning and evening.

Resisting the urge to call Loren and make sure she was all right, Harm tried to push his worries to one side, and reached for the top file from the stack in his in-tray

Twenty minutes later when Tiner's voice on the intercom disturbed him, he realised that he had read the same page four or five times without taking on board the meaning of a single word. Almost grateful for the interruption, he toggled the switch on the intercom, "Yes, Tiner?"

"_Commander Austin and Lieutenant Singer, to see you, Sir_."

Harm breathed a silent sigh of relief before he said, "Send them in please, Tiner."

The door opened and Meg and Loren, still in dress whites, crossed the room towards the big desk, while Tiner silently shut the door behind them. However, before they could reports themselves, Harm indicated the two leather-upholstered wing chairs stood in front of the desk, "Take a seat," he invited them, and waited until they had settled.

"Where have you been, and what took you so long?" he demanded brusquely.

Meg and Loren exchanged a surprised glance, "At the Krennick professional review board," Meg answered in a tone of voice which added an unspoken 'but you knew that.'

"It was that long a hearing?" Harm asked.

" It shouldn't have been," Loren answered indignantly, "I presented, Commander Austin defended, all according to schedule. And then it all went to hell; the panel took over an hour and a half to consider what should have been a slam dunk."

Harm couldn't resist a half-grin at Loren's aggrieved tone, but there was something about the quality of the grin that caught her attention, "What is it,Ha... uh... Sir? Something' s happening, I felt a... weird... atmosphere in the bullpen…" she turned towards Meg with a questioning expression on her face, Meg nodded in agreement, and Loren turned back towards Harm, "What's going on?"

Instead of replying, Harm half-stood and held out the NCIS email for Meg to read, "it's for both of you to read," he amplified.

Loren got to her feet and moved to stand behind Meg, so that she could read over the blonde Commander's shoulder, in much the same way that Mac had recently read the same document over Harm's shoulder. As they read, Harm could plainly see the emotions that followed each other in quick succession on the faces across the table, surprise, shock, disbelief, fear and anger.

Loren was the first to finish reading, if only by a few seconds, as before she had completely settled herself back in her chair, Meg leaned forward and with an expression of distaste on her face laid the email back on the surface of the big desk. Loren looked directly at Harm, interpreting the expression on his face, an art which she had become adept during the last few months. "That's why you got in our faces about where we'd been, and why we had been so long, wasn't it?"

"Partly," Harm hedged, "partly because I had to stand out there in the bullpen, and brief everybody, when all I really wanted to do is rant, rave, and preferably hit someone – or something. Just one more point, you read the recommendations at the end of that message, as far as HQ JAG is concerned they are not recommendations they are orders. In uniform or in a Navy vehicle, stay off the Beltway. Understood?"

The two officers' "Understood," may not have been a perfectly synchronised chorus, but the expressions on their faces told Harm that they did indeed understand the order and the intention behind it, which was to keep them safe.

Now that Harm knew the two women were safe, he could relax slightly, and with a "Give me a minute please," he rifled through the Admiral's Rolodex and grunted in satisfaction as he found and dialled the number for which he been looking.

"Hello, Alison? This is Harm, where are you?" He asked with a growing sense of relief as she picked up.

"_Just pulling in to Anacostia, the traffic is murder_!" she complained, her low-pitched gravelly, cigarette-hoarsened voice had never sounded so musical to his ears before.

"It always is." Harm told her, "listen, as soon as you get in, contact base security, and ask them to brief you on NCIS email, timed fourteen twenty-seven hours today, especially the recommendations, and treat those recommendations as an order."

_"Harm, what's going on_?" she demanded.

"Just get the briefing, and if you can, read the email. Alison, this is not a drill." He added in an effort to convince her of the seriousness of the situation.

_"I'll do that." _Whatever else Alison Krennick might be she was a naval officer, she knew am order when she heard it, and she understood the significance of Harm's last phrase.

"Good, I'll speak with you later." Harm put the phone down, and looked at his two visitors still sitting in the wing chairs, "Well, that went better than I thought it might, she sounded considerably less pissed than I thought she would." He surveyed the two officers sitting opposite, leaned back in his chair, resting his hands lightly on the arm rests and said, "Okay, give; what happened at the review?"

Meg couldn't resist a half-smile,"By some miracle, the panel decided not to disbar her, so she keeps her licence to practice law, although they have marked her record with a verdict of grave censure, and the Bar Association directs that a notice of their displeasure and disapprobation is to remain on her Bar Association record for five years."

Harm whistled softly, "Wow, how did you manage that?"

Loren chipped in, "It was amazing, I really thought I had this case sewn up. I got up on my hind legs, and I read from my case review, I listed my conclusions and my recommendations. The five of them sat behind that table and nodded their heads like wise old owls, and I really thought… Well, I was right, in that they agreed, in the end, with my conclusions that the defence had been inadequate, but then Commander Austin had her say. I've never heard anything like it. She must have had a zoo-full of rabbits to pull out of her hat, I don't think I've ever seen such an exhibition of smoke and mirrors. First off, there was the plea of youth and inexperience of defence counsel, then came the diffusion of blame gambit in that her higher authority shouldn't have allocated her such a case without help or at the very least she should have had a more experienced second chair mentor, or even that she should have been sitting second chair. Then out came the whole career ploy, that an attorney's career shouldn't be judged by one case, be it win or lose, but that the career should be looked at in its entirety. It was probably, knowing Alison Krennick, the best entry you could ever hope to find on her résumé!" Loren finished with a disbelieving shake of her head.

Meg coloured and grinned in embarrassment mixed with pleasure, "Well, back in the day, I had a partner who taught me one or two things!" she said with a sly glance at Harm.

"And you learned them very well," he beamed.

"Yeah, but she had a good teacher!" Loren grinned.

Harm sat up a little in the big chair, "Okay, now that you brought me up to date, go grab a coffee, and get changed out of your dress whites. I now have to bring the Admiral up-to-date! So, g'wan, git!"

Harm felt his smile fade with the closing of the door as he reached for the telephone. Dialling the Admiral's home number, he heard the ringing tone and waited.

_"Chegwidden."_

"Sir, it's Rabb I need to update you on a couple of matters."

_"Go ahead, Rabb, I'm dying of boredom out here!"_

"First off, Sir, there's a shooter working the Northern section of the Beltway, he appears so far to be concentrating on Navy and Marine Corps personnel. So far today, Sir, there have been five fatalities, in four separate incidents. Four of the five fatalities were one-shot kills, the fifth was a front seat passenger who was killed when the vehicle wrecked after the driver was shot. Branch of service, age, sex, commissioned or enlisted, none of them seem to matter. Metro PD and NCIS have started a joint investigation. I have ordered all JAG personnel that when in uniform, or travelling in a Navy vehicle, or if their own vehicle has any branch of service identification marks, then they are to stay off the Beltway. And Sir, with respect, I am offering the same advice to you."

There was a long, long silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment or two Harm thought that the Admiral had hung up on him.

_"If Metro PD and NCIS are handling it, there's not much else JAG can do. I support your position, and your orders, and your advice is noted. Now, you said there were two matters, Rabb?"_

"Yes, the Krennick review board. No written record of the proceedings yet of course, just a verbal report from Commander Austin and Lieutenant Singer; Commander Krennick keeps her licence, but basically they have put her on probation for five years." Harm held his breath and waited for the explosion.

Another long pause followed until the Admiral audibly sighed, "After all this time, I suppose that was about the best we can hope for in terms of the sentence. But at least, they found her guilty of mounting an inadequate defence. So, we can raise a charge of dereliction of duty against her."

"Uh... Article forty-three, Sir?"

_"Damn, of course, statute of limitations. What does that leave us with, Rabb?"_

"Article one three three, Sir, Conduct Unbecoming an Officer."

_"And that's it, not even Service Discrediting Conduct?"_

"No, Sir, not even Conduct to the Prejudice…"

"_Yes, yes, I know_!" The Admiral interrupted irritably, "_Pre-emption_! _Alright, Rabb, it's not your fault. What I need you to do now is to go ahead and schedule a meeting, I need to be there, Krennick needs to be there, as do Commanders Imes and... Mattoni for the defence, wasn't it?_"

"Yes, Sir. What time and date is most convenient for you?"

_"Any damn time of any damn day, just as long as it gets me away from Rivera for an hour or so!"_

Harm bit back a chuckle, "Got it, Sir, I'll have them check their calendars, and get back to you tomorrow, Sir."

_"Very well, Rabb, make it so!"_

Harm was sure he heard the click of the connection being broken before he'd even finished his, "Aye, aye, Sir!_"_

**Thursday April 18th, 1817 hours EDT, North Lynn Street, Arlington, VA (182217ZApr01)**

"Oh, for God's sake," a pouting Loren muttered almost between her teeth, as Harm eased his foot off the brake and the Lexus edged forward all of six feet before it stopped again. Although the air conditioning was on, both driver and passenger were hot, tired, sticky, uncomfortable, bored and rapidly running out of patience.

Crawling along the Custis Memorial Highway had been bad enough, but since taking the off-ramp for the Key Bridge, the crawl had reduced to a nose-to-tail and stop-start lack of progress. The journey from Falls Church to Canal Street Northwest, which normally took twenty minutes or so, so far had taken more than an hour, and as far as Harm could judge, looking at the almost stationary traffic ahead of him, was likely to take the best part of another hour.

"Just where did all this damn traffic suddenly come from?" Loren demanded, glaring at Harm as if road conditions were entirely his fault.

Harm gave her a quick, evaluating look. Loren was definitely wearing her 'look at me; this is me not happy with the world,' expression, but even so he couldn't resist the temptation to tease her – just a little – in the hope engaging her sense of humour, and letting her coax herself out of her fit of the sullens. "At a guess, I should say that most of it is traffic that would usually be using the Beltway, but now that the news of the shootings has broken, people are running scared, and are looking for alternate routes to home. Off-hand, I'd say that somewhere up ahead there, somewhere around the Du Pont Circle, or maybe Fourteenth and Massachusetts, there's an almighty gridlock, and what we have here is a tailback resulting from it "

"Wow, you don't say!" Loren replied irritably.

"Hey, cheer up a bit," Harm offered, deciding to go for the absurd, to see if that improved matters "it could be worse, it could be raining!"

"Damn well wish it was, it might be cooler!" Loren grumbled, flying in the face of all past experience that told her that a late April shower in DC, was likely to be warm, and do nothing to relieve the humidity, and in fact would probably add to the humidity. "I tell you one thing, though, there had better be some cold beers in the fridge when we finally get home, otherwise you'll be pulling about the fastest, slickest about-face you've ever pulled on your way to the store to get some!"

**Thursday April 18th, 1923 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington, DC (182323ZApr01)**

"I don't freaking believe it! Over an hour to drive eight city blocks! " Loren yelled in frustration, as she sailed her cover in the general direction of the wall-mounted pegs next to the door, and dropping her garment bag containing her dress whites, carelessly onto one of the armchairs as she stalked across to the kitchen area and yanked open the fridge door.

"Aaaah... That's better," she crooned as she pressed the chilled bottle against the side of her neck and her cheek, "Would you like one?" she asked Harm, pausing in the act of unscrewing the bottle top.

Harm grinned, "Sure, you've got a point, it will go down well!"

Loren managed to muster a weak grin as she handed him a bottle across the kitchen island. "Why don't you go take a shower and freshen up, while I make a start on dinner?" he asked.

Loren looked back at him measuringly, and took a swallow of her beer before answering "I cannot be doing with all the hassle of preparation and cleaning up afterwards, not tonight. Can't we order in, maybe a pizza? There's another half-dozen beers in the fridge, and we haven't had a pizza and suds night in months." she pleaded, conveniently forgetting the pizzas she and Mac had devoured at Lejeune.

Harm swallowed his own mouthful of beer, "Meat lover's feast on your half?"

"No, no… Tonight I think I'll go for mushrooms and bell pepper," she replied, and continued once she'd seen the surprise on his face with, "What? I can't decide to have a vegetarian meal once in a while? And anyway, it's too hot for meat."

"You can order anything you like, sweetheart, even a ham and pineapple if you want!"

Loren looked at him from under lowered brows, Harm had frequently in the past made known his opinion of pineapple as a topping for pizza. In his world abominations such as that just did not happen. So, it was with a touch of suspicion that Loren frowned and asked, "Did you just try to handle me?"

Harm put on a possible representation of innocence, "Who? Me? I wouldn't dare – not with you in your present mood!"

Loren glared at him before putting her half-finished beer back in the fridge. "One part of your suggestion, at least, had merit, I will go and take that shower!" she said with lofty dignity and then spoiled the effect by shedding her blouse as she strolled towards the bathroom, leaving to lie where it fell on the floor.

Harm grinned as the bathroom door closed behind her, and bent, picking up her blouse and draping it over the back of a chair before he picked up her garment bag and then her cover, hanging the one on the hook behind the door, and the other on one of the pegs next to the door. Crossing to the phone, he dialled the once-familiar number and placed the order for pizza.

It was about fifteen minutes later that Loren, wrapped in a towel from armpits to knees, emerged from the bathroom and disappeared into the bedroom, from which she emerged less than five minutes later, bare-legged, barefoot, and wearing a sleeveless, knee-length and scoop-necked summer dress in her favourite light blue. She crossed to the kitchen and retrieved her beer from the fridge before settling down the couch, where she took a swallow of beer, raised her feet into the air and wiggled her toes.

"Oh, this is bliss; you men have absolutely no idea just how lucky you are, being able to wear comfortable shoes all day!" she half complained, half crooned, wiggling her toes again.

Harm grinned, pretending to ignore Loren's comment even as the germ of an idea sprang into life his mind. "Well, if I'd known that all I needed to do to get you a sunnier mood was to tell you to kick your shoes off, I'd have done that on Key Bridge! As it is, I'm going to find out if you've left me any hot water to shower with. The pizzas should be here in about another fifteen minutes, if I'm not out, just stick it in the oven to keep warm, please."

Loren's lazily drawled "Aye, aye, Sir" was loaded with irony and accompanied by a cheeky grin and a casually mocking salute with her bottle.

It was just over an hour later, that the empty pizza box sat forlornly on the coffee table, overlooked by a rank of four empty beer bottles. Harm and Loren half-sat, half-lay on the couch, Loren's feet were tucked up sideways underneath her and her head rested in the hollow of Harm's shoulder, while his arm looped around Loren, allowing his hand to draw lazy comforting circles on her back.

"Sweetheart, you about ready for bed?" Harm asked.

"Nuh-huh, 'm not in mood," Loren murmured sleepily.

"Not what I meant," Harm smiled, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head, "but you're practically asleep now, why don't you go and get ready for bed, and I'll join you, as soon as I dispose of the trash and make sure we're secure."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan..." Loren agreed, but gave no indication of making a move at any time in the discernible future.

Harm gave her a little hug and a gentle shake, "Come on, lazybones, or we'll end up spending the night here, and then neither of us will be able to move in the morning, and it is a school night."

Loren mumbled something that might have been "So what…" but reluctantly unwound herself and sleepily ambled, yawning while she did so, towards the bedroom.

It took Harm very few minutes to clear away the trash and to check that the apartment door was properly secured for the night, but even so, in those few minutes Loren had cleaned her teeth, and stripped out of her clothing to don her night-gear, a pair of plain blue boxer shorts, one of seven pairs she had bought for herself, and one of Harm's old Raptor Squadron T-shirts, which at one time been Navy blue, but now after hundreds of washes had faded to an indeterminate grey so that the Squadron crest was barely discernible from the background.

Harm had detoured to the bathroom, and returned to the bedroom with a towel draped over his forearm, and a small bottle held in his hand. He sat on the very end of Loren's side of the bed, and moved the comforter out of the way. He patted the mattress invitingly, "Come on, just lie back, and relax and think of baseball, hot-dogs and apple pie, while I reduce you to a quivering jelly."

"And just how do you intend to do that?" Loren asked, although judging by the sleepy smile on her face and by the way she slid onto the bed, her head sinking into her pillow, and her feet resting on Harm's now towel clad thighs she had a pretty good idea.

Harm just smiled, "Hush, now," he abjured her, as he poured a little oil from the bottle onto his hand and then rubbed his hands together to warm it slightly before he picked up Loren's right foot and with careful gentle strokes he rubbed the oil into her skin, his fingers and thumbs searching for, finding and soothing the tightened muscles and ligaments in her foot. He spent nearly twenty minutes working on that foot before he gently placed it back on his thigh and turned his attention to her other foot. Long before he had finished, Loren's soft murmurs of pleasure had ceased, her eyes had closed and her breathing took up the rhythm of sleep. Harm carefully stood, and placed her feet back on the sheet covered mattress, tugging the comforter back into place before he headed back to the bathroom, tossing the towel into the laundry basket, and replacing the oil in the medicine cabinet.

Five minutes later, in tank top and boxer shorts, he crawled under the comforter next to Loren, and with a soft "Good night, my love," he dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead and reaching out switched off the light.

**Friday April 19th, 0650 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Washington, DC (191050ZApr01)**

Unusually, Harm had the radio switched on and tuned to a local station when Loren emerged from the bathroom, dressed and ready for work in her summer whites, dressed that is except for her shoes. "I don't know how you do it, but that foot massage last night was exactly what I needed!" she smiled.

Harm grinned as he passed her a couple of slices of toast and a glass of OJ, "Coffee is being brewed, and will be ready in a minute or so… honey?" he enquired offering her the jar.

"M'mm... please," Loren hastily swallowed a mouthful of orange juice before Harm could take her silence as a refusal, and return the jar to the kitchen cupboard. "What's with the radio, so early?" he asked.

"Just waiting to hear anything about the Beltway shootings, oh, I doubt if they've caught him, or them, yet, but I want to hear any advisories, and particularly the traffic news." He glanced at his watch, "if it takes us as long to get in this morning, as it took to get home last night, we're already adrift. But there is no way I'm leaving home before I've had my coffee!"

"God, I should hope not, just think of the effect of your normal early morning pre-caffeine fix mood would have on the support staff as well as the junior attorneys."

"Of which, you are one," Harm grinned just as the coffee machine gave its usual asthmatic gurgle to let the informed know that it had finished its cycle.

"Oh, your early morning mood doesn't bother me," Loren mumbled around a mouthful of honeyed toast, "I'm used to it, besides most the times I just ignore it anyway!" she added innocently.

Harm scowled, he was perfectly well aware that he was not what most people would call a morning person, and that he was generally unfit for polite company until he had his morning dose of caffeine, but that didn't mean he enjoyed being teased about it. But Loren's face was alive with barely suppressed laughter, and despite his morose attitude to mornings, he found her amusement infectious and reluctantly allowed his own grin to crease his face.

Loren smiled in approval, okay, it wasn't his full-blown one hundred mega-watt grin, but it seemed that even just the aroma of freshly brewed coffee was having its normal wondrous effect.

But despite the badinage between them both had been subconsciously listening to the radio, and their incipient good humour was instantly dispelled, as the newsreader' s voice poured out of the speaker,_ "Breaking news! And another shooting on the Beltway! Metro PD are still searching for a clue to the shooter's identity, his motives, and his methods. They ask that anyone having any information call them on the confidential hotline, one-eight hundred-five-five-five-crime…"_

Harm hastily swallowed his coffee, nearly scalding his mouth, "You finished?" He asked Loren.

Loren crammed the last corner of the toast into her mouth and took a gulp of coffee, wincing at the heat of it, but she nodded, and stepped into her shoes, hopping on one leg as she reached behind her to ease them on over her heels, before she grabbed her cover. It was only then she noticed the two packed sea bags by the door, "We flying this weekend?" she asked.

"Damn straight!" Harm declared forcefully, "you need to recognise solo hours, and anything that gets us away from this madhouse for the weekend has got to be a good thing!"

"Sounds like a damn good idea to me too!" Loren agreed, grabbing for both briefcases as Harm picked up the sea bags.

****Friday, 18 April, 2001, 0823 hours EDT, Security Detachment Check Point, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (1818437ZApr01)** **

Gunnery Sergeant Waters whispered an urgent "Heads up!" to his friend Sergeant "Julie" Andrews, as a flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye and he raised his head just in time to see Commander Rabb return Lance Corporal Dixon's salute before he strode across the polished parquet floor towards the CP desk and taking note of the look of dissatisfaction and on both Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer's faces he added an even more urgent and quieter, "Incoming!"

"'Morning, Gunny," Harm said gruffly as he reached for the signing-in book and pen." How many are still adrift?" He asked as he saw the paucity of names on today's page.

"Quite a few, Sir. I'm told that the Beltway is practically deserted, but all roads inside it are all nose to tail and practically gridlocked."

"Yeah, tell me about it!" Harm growled as he slid the book towards Loren and received his building passes from Sergeant Andrews, "Would you believe nearly an hour and a half to get from Georgetown to here!"

Gunny Waters' face remained nearly impassive, only a slight tic at the corner of his mouth gave any indication that he heard what the Commander had said.

Harm looked at the clock in the CP, and checked it against his watch, "All officers, as they sign in are to be told to report directly to the conference room, please, Gunny."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" the veteran Gunnery Sergeant replied, and watched in silence as the two officers stalked towards the elevator. Only when the elevator door and slid closed behind them did he turn to Sergeant Andrews and with a sorrowful shake of his head said, "Once the news broke, they shoulda realised that the traffic would be in an even worse snarl than usual, than usual and they shoulda given themselves more time to get to work on time!" he shook his head, more in sorrow than in anger, "Officers!" he said scathingly.

Sergeant Andrews cast a quick look around to ensure that there was nobody else within earshot, "Aw, give 'em a break, Gunny. After all they ain't got our advantages, they're only squids!"

"One day, one day…" Gunny Waters warned his friend.

"Yeah, yeah, promises, promises… I get plenty of those from my husband!" she grinned.

****Friday, 18 April, 2001, 0911 hours EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (1818437ZApr01)** **

A tight-lipped Harmon Rabb gazed levelly at the crowded conference room. To say that he was less than pleased would have been a gross understatement, but as he was as guilty as the latest arrival, he could only lay down the law as it pertains to future occasions.

"Ladies and gentlemen, those of you with guilty consciences know why we're here, and I suspect that those of you without guilty consciences also have a damn good idea of why we're here. We are JAGs, we are professional people, both as attorneys and as a naval officers. I know that circumstances are, to say the least, unusual, and that many of you have been forced to find alternative routes between your homes and this building. But we all battled homewards last night, and we should have taken that extra time into our calculations when leaving for work this morning. Some of us tried to do just that and miscalculated, it appears that others did not. This is the last time I will tolerate people straggling into the office after 08:00 hours, unless there is a valid reason, such as an interview at the Navy Yard, or the need to attend a summons at the Pentagon. Other than that, any officer, I repeat any officer, adrift at 08:01 hours, will answer to me, or in my absence to Commander Turner, who is assuming the duties of Chief of Staff from Colonel Mackenzie. Are there any questions?"

A stony silence greeted his question.

Biting back hard on his rising anger, Harm repeated, "Are there any questions?"

This time the response would have satisfied the strictest DI at Parris Island, the chorus of, "Sir! No, Sir!" was bellowed loudly enough almost to raise the roof.

Harm nodded, satisfied that the message had got through. "All of you are to pass on that message to the enlisted members of this organisation. We are all adults here, we can all get up that extra half an hour early, and make sure we report for duty on time. Now, all non-attorneys dismiss."

Harm waited until the disturbance caused by the half a dozen non-legal officers' departure died down. "Now, down to business…" He reached for the first of the five of files in front of him.

****Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1011 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (191411ZApr01)** **

"Come on in, Lieutenant," Harm said to Barlow, he had almost literally grabbed hold of the younger officer as the JAGs debouched from the conference room. Closing the office door, with a strict injunction to Tiner that he was not to be disturbed unless it was the Admiral, or the SECNAV. Anyone else would just have to wait. He waved the younger officer towards the wing chairs, with a brusque instruction to "Park your six," while he crossed to the wall safe, set the combination and used the large, old-fashioned, iron key to open the heavy metal door. Taking out the file, he carefully closed and locked the safe before turning back to Barlow.

"This is what we have on the Richardson case." He tapped and then opened the file cover and removed one sheet of paper. "This," he brandished the single sheet of paper, "is everything we have that leads me to the conclusion that we should launch an appeal against the conviction and sentence. I have a sneaking suspicion that the ONI, and perhaps even the CIA, would stop at almost nothing to get their hands on it. It is the deathbed statement of one Yim Jung-Hwa, a Korean illegal immigrant, taken by NCIS agent Valerie Fletcher. You will see that Miss Yim states that she was forced to become a stooge for naval intelligence, to pretend, to set up Captain Richardson so that he might be charged with espionage. She goes on to explain the contents of the envelopes that were passed backwards and forwards between them, this was always done out in the open, conveniently the photographer, whose work is contained in the file. You will also read in the file that the prosecution described Miss Yim as a Chinese employee of the Chinese Embassy here in DC, and that she was unavailable to testify, as she had returned to China as part of a normal staff rotation." Harm paused for effect before the asked his question, "Given what I just told you, can you find any grounds for either submitting an appeal to the Armed Forces Court of Appeal, or petioning for leave for a retrial?"

Barlow hesitated but perhaps only a second, "Either entrapment, or failing to disclose exculpatory evidence under Brady, or concealing a witness, Sir?"

"Very good, Lieutenant. But unfortunately, to accuse someone of entrapment, or contravening the Brady act, we have to have a name. The only name Miss Yim could supply was that of a Captain Smith, and I have been informed, in no uncertain terms by the Office of Naval Intelligence, that a Captain Smith is not assigned to that office, and never has been assigned to that office. I hesitate to call other officers liars, but I don't believe them. Interestingly enough, about eight years ago the Admiral, the then Major Mackenzie, and Lieutenant Roberts were held hostage in this very office by a Marine who had broken out of the brig at Groton in a desperate bid to get his case reviewed. It turned out that his conviction was based on pretty much the same evidence as was used against Captain Richardson, right down to the use of a foreign agent provocateuse. On this occasion however the agency that organised the sting was the CIA . It is my belief the ONI officer who framed Captain Richardson, moved across to the CIA at the end of his naval career, and then a few years later when he was confident that memories of the Richardson case, well, it's details, were forgotten, then he used the same MO against our Marine Corporal. Our problem is twofold, first find Captain Smith, secondly find a probative link between the two cases. In the meantime, I'd like you to start drafting the notice of appeal; we will try the Arms Forces Court of Appeal first. The trouble is it's going to be awkward for you. You share your office with Lieutenant Warren and he must positively not get any inkling of what it is you are engaged upon. I had hoped, as you do have slight seniority, to find you an office of your own, but with more senior staff on the way in I haven't been able to do that. So, for the moment you will have to do what you can when you can, and of course another complicating factor is that the file, and particularly that deathbed statement cannot leave this office. That's these four walls, not the building, this office. And when not in use, the file must be locked away in that safe. So for the moment, I suggest you move to the side table, and start making notes. And those notes must be secured as stringently as the file."

Lieutenant Barlow opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, the intercom buzzed and Tiner's disembodied voice intrude upon the room, "_Sir, Commanders Mattoni and Krennick need to see you, Sir."_

"I thought I told you no interruptions, Tiner?" Harm said not bothering to disguise the edge of irritation to his voice.

"_You did, Sir, and I told the Commanders that, Sir. But Commander Krennick insisted that they needed to speak with you, Sir._"

Harm drew a deep breath, "Alright, ask them to wait for a couple of minutes!" And with a muttered curse Harm released the intercom call button."Sorry, Mister Barlow, we will have to take this up at a later date. You'd best get me that file…"

Once Harm had secured the file he dismissed the younger officer, telling him to ask the two waiting Commanders to enter the JAG's office. He scowled as the two officers approached the desk and halted, "Thank you for seeing us, and our apologies for the intrusion." Alan Mattoni offered in a conciliatory tone.

"Never mind the flimflam, Alan, what's so all fired important that you have to pressurise my Yeoman into disobeying my orders?"

"My client has instructed me to present this to you, for onward transmission to the convening authority." The African-American commander held the single sheet of paper out to Harm.

"A plea-bargain?" Harm said as the bold typeface heading almost leaped off the paper, then as he read on, his eyebrows rose and his jaw dropped open. "You have got to be joking!" he objected.

"Not at all," the other man disagreed, "it's a reasonable offer. You drop the charge or charges, and my client resigns with immediate effect, keeping rank, pension and benefits. I reckon that you've got one charge, or possibly at the most two charges, that could be filed against my client. Anything arising from Coulter's original trial is out; it's way past the UCMJ statute of limitations, and if you charge my client with conduct unbecoming, that's about as far as you can go, she's only committed that one offence, and any other charges will be ruled out because of pre-emption."

For almost a full second Harm entertained the fantasy that somehow or other Alan Mattoni had bugged, his office, or tapped his phone, Mattoni's argument was so uncannily close to his own words to the Admiral only yesterday.

Harm shook his head, "I can't rule on, or even accept this, all I can do is pass it on to the convening authority."

"That's all we are asking, Harm." Mattoni said.


	56. Chapter 56

**56**

**Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1018 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (191418ZApr01)**

Harm finished relaying Alan Mattoni's plea bargain offer, and waited for the roar of outrage. He was to be surprised.

Although there was a long moment's silence, when the Admiral spoke his voice was icily calm. " I will call you back in five minutes, Rabb."

An astonished Harm took a second or two together his wits, "Aye, aye, Sir!" And slumped back into the big chair as his legs threatened to give way under him. He heard the click that told him of the broken connection and stared unbelievingly at the handset he was still holding. With an expression of wonder on his face he gently replaced it in its cradle, almost as if he feared it might explode.

He waited in nervous anticipation but even so, when the phone did finally ring he started in surprise.

"Rabb."

"_Admiral Chegwidden for you on line one, Sir_," Tiner said.

"Thank you. Put him through, please." Harm waited for the click, "Rabb," he repeated.

"_Mattoni's offer is unacceptable, Rabb_." The Admiral began.

" It has some merits, Sir. Although I don't believe it goes far enough."

"_What merits?_" The Admiral asked flatly.

"It saves the time, trouble and expense of a court-martial, Sir, and it also cuts out the airing of Navy dirty laundry in public. Added to which, Commander Krennick fades quietly into the background. She could only face the one charge of conduct unbecoming, although she is pretty sure to be found guilty, there is no guarantee that she would be dismissed from the service, especially as she has retained her bar licence. With all due respect, Sir, we now need to treat this with kid gloves."

"Rabb, I don't give a rat's ass. I want that woman out of JAG, out the Navy. But I don't want her walking out the door Scott-free and cocking a snoot at us!"

"Sir, would you consider a hefty blow to prestige, linked to a hefty and long-lasting financial penalty as something other than scot-free?"

"Retirement at a lower grade? H'mm... It might work… How low?"

"Offer her Lieutenant, Sir, I doubt she'd take that, but if she and Mattoni would come back with a counter offer of retirement at Lieutenant Commander, I'd say we'd have come out of it pretty satisfactorily, Sir."

"That is your recommendation, Rabb?"

"That is my recommendation to you, Sir. You you might be on hospital leave, Sir but you're still the JAG, and if you decline to sign off on the plea-bargain, then I can't pass it on up to the convening authority for their consideration."

"And you'd be happy with this, Rabb? After all, it was you and Lieutenant Singer upon whom Krennick was spying."

"To be perfectly honest, Sir, no, I'm not thrilled. But the alternative is to have the whole story dragged out in open court, and that might put Loren, myself, and possibly even you under some very critical microscopes."

"You do have a point there, Rabb. Okay, I don't like it, but draft the counter-proposal, and serve it on Mattoni, if she'll take the drop in grade, then I will sign off on it. But if she's obdurate about retaining grade, then she goes to an Article Thirty Two, and then on to court-martial."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" Harm paused for two seconds before he continued, "Sir, have you given any thought to whom the IO and then the court-martial judge should be? I have a feeling that we ought to get a visiting fireman or two..."

"I'm not quite that senile yet, Rabb, I have been thinking about that, and I think you should draft a letter to the OIC Trials Office at Key West, and ask him to nominate an IO, and then later, one to the OIC RLSO Northwest in Portland, and ask him to nominate a judge for the court-martial, if it should come to that."

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

The phone call ended, Harm, using Mattoni's initial offer as a template, painstakingly typed out the counter offer as detailed to him by Admiral Chegwidden. Running the spell-check to make sure there were no gross errors, he it the print button, stood, stretched, then stooped to retrieve the new offer.

Leaving the office, he remarked to Tiner, "I shall be in Commander Mattoni's office the next five, maybe ten minutes, so if anything comes up, that's where you can find me."

**Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1031 hours EDT, Commander Alan Mattoni's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (191431ZApr01)**

"Have you got a minute?" Harm asked, even as he knocked on the door-jamb.

"Only if you've got something sensible to say," Alan grinned.

Harm lounged casually against the door, "The Admiral wouldn't sign off on your plea-bargain offer. But then, you knew he wouldn't." Harm said shrewdly. "But what he has agreed to is to take it as your opening bid in the bargaining procedure, and has authorised me to make a counter offer. Alison takes a drop in grade to Lieutenant, and retires on the Lieutenant's pension, but keeps her veteran benefits. It's all here." He placed the offer on Mattoni's desk.

Alan Mattoni looked at him sceptically, "You know that she won't go for that!"

"Alright, come back with another offer, try to meet me halfway, but I can tell you now, you won't get much more than this. Turn it down, and she'll be taking her chances with a panel, and although I agree with you that a conviction is by no means certain, the evidence against her is pretty conclusive."

"Most of which I expect to be disallowed; Commander Austin carried out… I won't say an illegal search because she didn't actually search for anything, but I reckon I can get any reasonable judge to agree that the evidence she gathered is still fruit of the poisoned tree."

Harm grinned, "An interesting theory, I'm almost tempted to withdraw the counter offer and take it straight to trial, just to see how far you get with that argument." Harm straightened up and became serious, "Alan, take the offer to her. What's the best case scenario? She gets found guilty, her jacket gets marked, she won't get promoted, she's done her twenty, and next year, or the year after, she gets slammed with the up or out option. Worst case scenario? She gets dismissed, and loses pension and benefits, plus she gets a federal conviction on her record, that gets reported to the Bar Association of every state in which she is qualified. She's already on probation in Virginia, do you really think they'll let her keep her licence with the with a federal conviction? She's also a member of the New York bar, I believe, and they have a reputation of showing no mercy either. Alan, try to persuade her to take the counter offer. At least that way, she leaves with an unblemished record, as far as any future employer is concerned, and she gets something, for those years of service."

Alan leaned back in his chair and rested his hands lightly on the chair arms, "All that you say is very true, but it is all dependent on one thing; the panel finding her guilty, and the judge sentencing her to dismissal. Both those calls could go the other way, so you are predicating on a fifty percent chance of fifty percent, a one in four chance for you, a four to one chance for us. Sounds pretty good to me."

Harm shook his head in disbelief, he knew Alan Mattoni wasn't that naïve, "Alan, you're better at math than that, hell I am better at math than that. That sort of gambit might work with a JG fresh out of NJS, but I'm a bit too long in the tooth to fall for specious reasoning like that. Talk to your client, counsellor!"

**Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1040 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (191440ZApr01)**

Harm had taken the opportunity day to to the galley and grab a fresh brewed coffee, if the rest of the day turned out to be anything like this morning so far, he had a feeling he would need it. But he hadn't thought he would need it quite so soon. On entering Tiner's cubicle, he was brought up short by the sight of a slim, dark haired and liberally freckled Lieutenant Commander in service dress blues bearing the mill-rindes of a JAG officer.

She sat very primly bolt-upright on the chair, knees and ankles held primly together, with a highly polished stiff leather briefcase perched on her lap. As Harm entered the office she stood, as Tiner also stood to introduce her, "Lieutenant Commander Coleman, Sir."

Harm smiled, transferred his coffee to his left hand and extended his right hand in greeting, "Good morning, Commander, what can I do for you?"

Lieutenant Commander Coleman looked at his extended hand with much the same expression on her face as that she would have greeted a live rattlesnake. She swallowed convulsively, "I'd rather not, thank you, Sir. If we might go into your office, Sir? What I had to discuss," she added with a sidelong look at Tiner, "is rather sensitive, Sir."

Harm frowned, three "sirs" in one short period was, he thought, over-egging the pudding, but he smiled, opened the door, and seeing her flick eyes towards his coffee mug, asked, "Would you like for Tiner to get you a cup?"

"No!" Then she seemed to blush, "I'm sorry Sir, that came out a little bit more forceful than I had meant, but no, thank you for asking, but I'd rather not."

Harm's forehead creased in a slight frown, something about the woman's behaviour stirred a deep memory, but he couldn't quite bring it to the surface of his mind. Dismissing it as relatively unimportant, he waved her to one of the padded leather wing chairs, as he made his way around his desk, "Take a seat, Commander and tell me what brings you here from…?"

Instead of sitting, she snapped open her briefcase, and produced a white envelope and extended it to him. "I am the legal advisor to Admiral Scott at the ONI, and this is a court order compelling you to surrender any and all documents pertaining to the case of the government versus Captain Richardson."

Harm could hardly believe his ears and for a moment he was surprised at the rush of rage he felt. Whoever was behind this was misusing the law in the course of obstructing justice. It was the sort of behaviour he felt that was typical of sleazy, ambulance-chasing, shysters. It was not the sort of behaviour he expected of another JAG officer.

He took the document from her, and gave her a look of absolute loathing, "Snap to!" he ordered and saw out of the corner of his eye that she froze into a perfect brace. Opening the document he read it through carefully, looking for loopholes, but if she had prepared it for a judge' s signature, it appeared she knew exactly what she was doing, a second careful read-through was as fruitless as the first, until his I fell on the judge's signature. His eyes opened wide.

Raising his eyes back to her he gave her a hostile stare, "Are you daring to tell me, that you came to this headquarters, with an unsigned court order in your briefcase, and you took it to one of our own judges to get it signed." He saw her take a breath as if she was about to answer, "No! Do not answer that! With me!" he snapped.

Harm threw open his office door and stormed straight out across the middle of the bullpen, Lieutenant Commander Coleman may have been tall for a woman, but her legs were no way long enough to permit her to match Harm's stride, and she was forced almost into a trot in an effort to keep up with him. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Harm burst through the doors to the stairwell, heading for the next floor up, two and even three steps at a time. Emerging onto the hall lined with doors leading to Judges' Chambers and their legalmen's offices, he strode down the hall with the by now slightly flushed and slightly breathless Lieutenant Commander still in his wake. Without pausing he wrenched open the door to the office belonging to Judge Blakely, the force and speed of his entry causing the Colonel's Legalman, a young Petty Officer Second Class to jump in her chair and give a startled squeak.

"Is the judge in his chambers?" Harm asked without any preamble.

Legalman Two Lewis nodded nervously, "Y… y... yes, Sir…"

Harm nodded with satisfaction, "Please ask his Honour if he can spare ten minutes to hear an appeal in Chambers." He cast a withering look at Lieutenant Commander Coleman, "I really wouldn't like to be in your shoes for the next ten minutes or so."

"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir!" Lewis, realising that something was seriously wrong in Commander Rabb's world, fled from her desk and rapped on Judge Blakely's door where almost without waiting for permission to enter she opened it and disappeared into the judge's chambers. When the door reopened, it was reopened by the judge himself, who stood with a frown on his face as he looked at the two Navy officers.

**Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1049 hours EDT, Colonel Clifford Blakely's Judge's Chambers, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (191449ZApr01)**

"I hope you've got a damn good reason for this, Commander!" Judge Blakely said as Lewis, with an apologetic grin, slid past him to return to her desk.

Harm looked him straight in the face, "I believe I do, Your Honour."

"Very well, you'd better come in and explain it all to me!"

Judge Blakely settled back in his chair, a determined Marine game-face on. He waited until the two officers were ranged in front of his desk before he spoke, "Right, what's all this about?"

Harm spoke up, getting his shot in while Lieutenant Commander Coleman still searching for words. "This… Officer, came to you earlier this morning Your Honour, and asked you to sign a pre-prepared Court Order, requiring the JAG to surrender to her any and all documents pertaining to the case of a Captain Richardson."

Judge Blakely narrowed his eyes and stared at Harm, "And this has ruffled feathers how?"

"I was wondering, Your Honour what sort of story the ONI fed you in this case."

Judge Blakely was not impressed, "Are you questioning my judgement, Commander?"

"Not at all, Your Honour, however I am questioning the integrity of this officer, if she was responsible for drafting the order, and I'm certainly questioning the integrity of the Office of Naval Intelligence. I take it that Your Honour is unaware that very recently, a Captain Harding of the ONI took advantage of Admiral Chegwidden's absence on hospital leave to try to browbeat me into surrendering the same documents. I refused and spoke to the SECNAV who assured me, and the Admiral, that the ONI would no longer try to procure JAG's silence As it pertains to this case."

Blakely transferred his gaze to Coleman, "if this is so, it seems to me a remarkably peculiar method of safeguarding national security, which if I remember correctly – and I do – is the reason you gave to me this morning to have me sign that order. What is all this about?"

"Other than what I told you this earlier this morning Your Honour, I know nothing. I know nothing of any visit to JAG by Captain Harding and I know nothing of any directive from the SECNAV. All I know is that Admiral Scott ordered me to obtain a court order on the grounds of national security."

Both Harm and Judge Blakely studied her while she spoke and for a good many seconds afterwards until Blakely switched his attention back to Harm. "What is this Richardson case in which so many people are so interested?"

"Captain Richardson was sentenced to life imprisonment for espionage fourteen years ago. He maintained his innocence throughout his arrest, his trial, his sentencing and his imprisonment. Very recently, new evidence in the form of a deathbed statement by the chief witness against him, recanting her previous testimony has come to light. Her statement strongly implicates a then officer of the ONI in framing Captain Richardson. Had it not been a deathbed sentence, plus one other factor, JAG might have given it at best cursory attention. But Your Honour will remember the case of Corporal Maguda; the set-up in the Richardson case foreshadows the Maguda case exactly, right down to the use of a honey trap, and a legally vulnerable witness, coerced into giving evidence against the accused. It is now JAG's opinion that the same mind formulated the plan to frame Captain Richardson and also to frame Corporal Maguda. Unfortunately the only name we have was supplied by our dead former witness, is that of a Captain John Smith. ONI claim, probably truthfully for once, that there is not and there never has been an officer of that name working out of that office. It is our position that this court order, is yet another attempt on the part of the Office of Naval Intelligence, to obstruct justice by seizing and then destroying any evidence that might be of use in getting the original verdict and sentence overturned, and has nothing to do with national security, but was merely the ONI covering their collective six. Accordingly, I'm asking that the court order be set aside, and that the ONI be served an injunction prohibiting them from interfering with the JAGMAN investigation into the fraudulent conviction and sentencing of Captain Richardson."

Judge Blakely's face had grown sterner by the second as he listened to Harm's narrative. "Lieutenant Commander Coleman, you have heard Commander Rabb's rebuttal of your motive that having court order served upon him. Can you explain yourself?"

Coleman's face had grown steadily whiter as she listened to Harm, "No, Your Honour, I knew nothing the case, only as much as I was briefed this morning, which was that it affected national security, and that the files were required by ONI."

Judge Blakely stared at her for long, tension-filled moments before he spoke, "Despite the fact that you lied to me earlier this morning, I'm inclined to believe you, so I am not charging you with making a false official statement, nor am I placing you in confinement for contempt of court. However, I am vacating the court order, and I am issuing the injunction against ONI as requested by Commander Rabb. I shall also be reporting this incident to both Admiral Morris, the chief judge of the Navy Marine Corps trial judiciary, and also to Admiral Chegwidden. I very much doubt Commander Coleman that you have heard the last of this. Commander Rabb stand fast, but you Commander Coleman, you get out of my Chambers – now!"

As the door closed behind her Judge Blakely sighed, "What the hell do ONI think they are playing at? Have they become so arrogant that they didn't think you would appeal a court order?" He shook his head sadly. "I'll have a bailiff deliver the injunction before secure today. Take my advice, Commander Rabb, you watch your back, or better still have someone watch it for you. These intelligence types have a tendency to play the game by their own rules."

"I've already taken that into consideration, thank you, Your Honour."

**Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1107 hours EDT, JAG Ops, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (191507ZApr01)**

Although Harm felt not only a fierce surge of satisfaction at having the court order overturned, but he also felt a profound sense of relief, but neither emotion completely overcame the sheer anger he felt that another branch of the Navy he loved was attempting to subvert the very laws they were sworn to uphold in an effort to save face. So he was in a still rather less tolerant mood as he pushed open the doors to the bullpen to find the room in silence and everyone's attention fixed on the bank of TV monitors mounted high on the walls of the room.

Harm froze and drew a deep breath prepared, if necessary, to literally blast everyone back to their desks and their duties but before he could speak, a hand on his arm distracted him. He looked round to see that it was Meg who had accosted him, but when he opened his mouth to say something she shook her head merely looked up at the monitor showing the current ZNN newscast, where Stuart Dunston stood in front of a cluster of emergency vehicles, their lights flashing, on a stretch of road that Harm, with a sinking feeling, recognised as a stretch of the Beltway where it was crossed by the US-20. "...So far, neither the Metropolitan PD, the naval investigation service, nor the Maryland State Police will say whether or not they believe that this shooting is connected to others carried out by the individual or individuals who have been dubbed the Beltway Sniper by some media outlets. All that is known so far is that less than an hour ago a female Marine officer in uniform driving a civilian car was shot dead through the windscreen while in slow-moving traffic. We will be following this story and issuing updates as and when there is anything to report. In the meantime, this is Stuart Dunston for ZNN on the Capital Beltway, Maryland."

Harm looked around for the remote, not seeing it, called out, "Somebody silence that damn thing!" He didn't see who had the remote, but the sound faded into silence. "I know we are all concerned about what's happening out there, and yes, it is scary, but if the officer who was shot and killed this morning had taken note of the advisory from NCIS and found a different route, then she very probably would still have been alive. I am not saying that it was her own fault, but we have all had training on keeping ourselves safe, and risk avoidance. That is why so many of us were late this morning, because we took measures to avoid the risk of driving on the Beltway. We all want this to be over, we all want the shooter or shooters to be caught, tried, convicted and sentenced. The best way to achieve that ambition is to carry on with our duties, and let the properly constituted authorities carry on with theirs; so back to your desks people!"

The noise level rose above normal as support staff hurried back to their desks to subside to the usual buzz of a busy office. Harm looked around in satisfaction as work recommenced and to his surprise realise that the flush of anger that had sustained him since leaving Judge Blakely's chamber had dissipated. So with a mostly neutral, but slightly astonished expression on his face, he picked his way through the middle of the bullpen heading once more for the Admiral's office.

**Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1230 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (1916300ZApr01)**

Harm sat upright from where he he had been hunched over for the last hour and a bit, 'At least,' he reflected, 'nobody had come bothering me, nobody wanted to ruin my day by serving unwarranted' he mustered up a wry grin of the word, 'court orders on me, there's been no phone calls to disturb me, no visitors, nobody wanting me to save the world...' He let a chuckle break out he was reminded of a clichéd line from an old black-and-white adventure movie he'd watched as a teen, a band of intrepid adventurers had been plodding through a jungle somewhere, and one of the characters turned to another and said nervously, "I don't like it, Carruthers, it's too damned quiet!", and seconds later volleys of spears and arrows came flying out of the surrounding bush.

Before he could criticise himself for tempting the fates, his stomach gave a growl in protest. The early start this morning had meant an earlier than usual breakfast and obviously by his stomach's reckoning that was too long ago. A glance at the clock on the office wall and confirmed by a second glance at his watch told him that he could head for the cafeteria with a clear conscience. A further glance out of the window confirmed the sun was still shining in a blue sky. Loren was in her office, so it looked like the immediate future held a pleasant alfresco lunch.

The sense of anticipation he rose from his desk, and on his way out of the door, unhooked his cover from where it hung on the coat tree beside the door, and stepped into the ante-office, where Tiner was on the phone listening intently while scribbling urgently on a message pad. The Yeoman looked up and locked his eyes on Harm's, "Wait," he mouthed frantically as he continued to write.

"Yes, ma'am, I've got all that, but Commander Rabb's here, now, ma'am…" He looked up once more at Harm, and then offered him the handset.

"Rabb," he said glaring at his unfortunate Yeoman.

"Good afternoon Commander, this is Commander Helen Spencer, at the SECNAV's office, there is to be a meeting at fourteen hundred hours this afternoon, in the small conference room in the SECNAV's suite, you are to attend."

Harm nodded, he should have kept his big, mental, mouth shut. "And the subject of the meeting, so I know which files to consult before I leave for the Pentagon?" There was a longish silence before Commander Spencer replied.

"That is classified Commander, and I don't believe you will have any files covering the subject."

"I see, thank you, Commander. Goodbye." Harm handed the receiver back to Tiner and gave him a measuring look, "Tiner, sometimes your timing stinks!"

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir. Shall I organise transport for you, Sir, or shall you drive yourself?"

Harm thought for a moment. There was no telling how long a meeting like this could last. The Lexus was packed with his and Loren's weekend bags, and he had it in mind that they should revert to their old practice of changing into civilian clothes here at JAG before driving down to Charlottesville. "Yes, organise a car and driver for thirteen fifteen hours, please. To be at the main entrance."

**Friday, 19 April, 2001, 1352 hours EDT, Small Conference Room, SecNav's Suit, DoN, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA (191752ZApr01)**

Never comfortable at the Pentagon, Harm avoided visiting the building whenever he could, however, that did not mean that he required a guide from the CP, where he had been issued a visitor's badge, to the SECNAV's suite. Entering the SECNAV's Department general office, he had been met by an astonishingly pretty blonde who wore the rate and rating badge of Yeoman First Class, and who with a polite smile had directed him to the small conference room.

As he approached a he could hear even through the closed doors what sounded to be reasonably cheerful conversation, and opening the door he stepped inside the room and carried out a swift survey of those already there, all but one of whom were stood in a group at the end of the room, near the head of the table, holding cups of what he assumed was coffee. The one jarring note was struck by, and Harm indulged himself in a silent groan, the dark jacketed and jeans clad figure of NCIS agent Gibbs, who lounged back, his six supported by the edge of the conference table, his arms folded across his chest and a supercilious, if not superior, expression on his face as he looked at the rest of the attendees.

But before Harm could make a move, he was approached by another startlingly pretty young petty officer, a brunette this time, who wore the rate and rating badges of a Culinary Specialist Second Class, but also wore a professional smile, and asked, "Can I get you a cup of coffee before the conference starts, Sir?"

"Uh.. No, no thank you... " Harm replied, a little taken aback by the fact he hadn't noticed her approach, and wondered who selected the individuals for the SECNAV's staff, and what criteria were used.

Distracted by his fleeting thoughts about the physical appearance of the SECNAV's naval staff he hardly noticed when. with a murmured "I'll just take that, Sir," she deftly relieved him of his cover and briefcase. By this time Gibbs had seen him, and the smug smile, or supercilious sneer, whatever, had disappeared from the NCIS man's face, to be replaced by an unhappy scowl.

Harm was no happier than Gibbs to find himself sharing a room with the NCIS agent, apart from his profound distrust of NCIS, dating back toTurque's over-hasty, botched and slipshod investigation Diane's death, he had neither forgotten nor forgiven Frank's and Gibbs' not so veiled accusations concerning the assault on Mac. He'd made a major effort to play nice with NCIS and for a short time it had seemed as if Gibbs had reciprocated but although they had both enjoyed solving the case at Quantico their spirit of rivalry, edged with mutual dislike, was just too intense to allow them to be on good terms.

Harm had to put any further thoughts on hold as the door to the room opened again, and a Master Chief called out, in what Harm considered to be a quarterdeck voice, "Secretary of the Navy on deck!"

While Harm and one other naval officer and a Marine officer drew themselves into a brace remainder of the room although falling courteously silent displayed no such military etiquette. Apparently unruffled by his mixed reception secretary Nelson strode towards the head of the table and stood behind the chair positioned ready for him, "if you'll take a seat, ladies and gentlemen, we can begin."

As the rest of the participants approached the table they could see that each place had a folded piece of white card upon which their names have been printed. It took a couple of minutes for various people to find their places, but eventually everyone was seated in the right place. For Harm that meant we far end of the table from the SECNAV, and opposite Agent Gibbs.

Secretary Nelson beamed approvingly around the table, but Harm was sufficiently well acquainted with him to recognise his rather meaningless politician's smile. "I don't think any of you will be particularly surprised when I say that the purpose of this meeting is to pool our knowledge and expertise with the aim of capturing the marksman whom certain sections of the press have regrettably named the Beltway Sniper. As is only right and proper, the MPDC and the Maryland Estate Police are the lead agencies on this investigation, but with whoever is committing the murders concentrating on Navy and Marine Corps personnel, this office obviously has an interest. So let me begin by introducing you all. Firstly, our guests, MPDC Chief of Police, Lawrence Fetterman, Colonel Matthew Dunsfold, the CO of Maryland State Police, and Doctor Leonard Grisham, clinical psychologist from GWU, welcome to all of you to the Department of the Navy. Now for our guests' benefit, Suzanne Bachelier, the General Counsel for the Navy, NCIS Director Tom Morrow, Major Andrew Palmer USMC, Commander Charles Walker, from SWO and Commander Harmon Rabb, representing JAG and for his special abilities and last but not least NCIS Special Agent Gibbs, that agency's lead investigator, who also has special abilities that should prove useful."

Nelson paused and took a breath, "Lights, please, Petty Officer, and slide one, thank you!"

The room's main lights darkened, leaving only the recessed into the ceiling tiles small bulbs lit as simultaneously a map was projected onto the white-painted wall. A map showing the whole of the area enclosed by the Beltway and a good proportion of Virginia and Maryland outside the road.

Nelson half turned towards the map and picked up a laser pointer, "You will see that our killer has, so far, confined himself to the arc of the Beltway stretching from the American Legion Memorial Bridge counter-clockwise to Central Avenue, that is Maryland State Route 214. A distance of about thirty miles. Doctor Grisham believes that may have some significance. Doctor?"

Doctor Grisham, apparently in his early 30s, presented an appearance totally at odds with the uniforms of police and military, and the expensive lounge suit worn by secretary Nelson, dressed as he was in a pair of very faded jeans and a V-neck sweater with the sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms. "Without going into unnecessary details," he began, "the killer exhibits some of the traits of a clinical psychopath. Obviously, he has some sort of grudge against the military, the Navy and the Marine Corps in particular. However, if my diagnosis of psychopathy is correct, the fact that he has confined to the tax to the northern half of the Beltway is indeed significant. People subject to this disorder habitually create a no go area, a cordon sanitaire around the area where they live, leading me to believe that our suspect and possibly two suspects, live to the south and west of the Potomac, and probably outside the Beltway. Yes?"

Chief Fetterman had held up a hand, "You say one or two suspects. Why not three, or four, or ten, isn't that just a wild guess?"

"No, it's a simple fact of human nature, once you have more than two people sharing a secret, then it is not long before it ceases to remain a secret."

"Makes sense from the shooter's point of view as well," Gibbs interjected, "in the military, Sniper teams work in twos, the shooter and his spotter. The spotter' s job isn't just to find targets for the shooter, but also to watch his back. All the completed shoots have been carried out in broad daylight on busy roads, that means that a combination of factors for the shooter and the spotter have to be taken into account."

"Such as?" Secretary Nelson asked, when it appeared that Gibbs wasn't going to say any more.

"First off, there's the identification and acquisition of the target. Then there's the matter of waiting for a clear shot, lack of witnesses, and access to a clean getaway. I think we can safely assume that the combination of factors doesn't come around too often. We know how many killings there have been, we have no idea how many aborted shootings there have been. And if he does live south and west of the river, I suggest that he works north and east of it. The speed which he got from one end of his chosen section of the Beltway to the other suggests that he knows the area well."

"That's a worrying thought," Colonel Dunsfold exclaimed, "that he – or they - have set up for many more shootings only to call them off at the last second..."

"Don't get too fixated on the idea that the shooter or shooters are male," Harm contributed. "I agree that's most likely but I know personally of one female sniper, and have heard on good authority of at least one more." He saw Secretary Nelson's raised eyebrow and added before the politician could speak, "The Princess Alexi case, Mister Secretary."

Alexander Nelson thought for a second or two and then subsided back into his seat.

Doctor Grisham coughed self-importantly, "That may very well have been the case... uh... Commander... but it is statistically highly improbable that we are looking for a woman or women. Snipers tend to be young, male, in their late teens or early twenties from a deprived socio-economic background, and carrying a grudge against a specific group or groups... in this case the Navy and the Marine Corps..."

Tom Morrow shot a warning glance down the table at his not inclined to be too respectful subordinate, "That's all pretty much true, but as the Commander has said, we don't need to let out minds start running on rail-road tracks. The grudge aspect has, however, already been taken into account, and we are canvassing our recruiters for the names of any unsuccessful applicants who expressed interest in the USMC scout/sniper specialisation."

"Isn't that kind of running down the rail-road tracks you were just talking about, Director?" Chief Fetterman asked.

"It is just one strand of our enquiries, Chief, and as you so pointedly didn't say it doesn't really take into account why the shooter or shooters are also targeting Navy personnel. But we have so very little to go on, and we know so very little, practically nothing, about the perpetrator, his methods, his motives, that we're having to take into account almost every theory that crops up until we can discount them one by one."

"You say we have very little, Director," Alexander Nelson commented, "do we have anything from forensics yet?"

Tom Morrow opened the file on the table in front of him, "A little: from bullets and bullet fragments recovered during autopsy, we know he's using a .308 inch calibre rifle, with AP – that's armour piercing – rounds, with four groove, right-hand twist rifling…"

"Make that 7.62 mm calibre, and an L42A1 rifle," Gibbs interrupted.

Direct Morrow nodded, "7.62, L42A1 it is."

"What makes you so sure of that, Agent?" Chief Fetterman asked.

Tom Morrow answered for Gibbs, "Special Agent Gibbs, has extensive experience as a Marine Corps scout/sniper, including Desert Storm, he has a rather encyclopaedic knowledge of the tools of that trade, so I'm inclined to trust his judgement on this."

"Fair enough," Chief Fetterman grunted, and looked back at Gibbs, "What can you tell us about this rifle?"

The NCIS agent shrugged,"Made for the British Army in the early seventies by converting the old .303 inch Lee-Enfield, re-chambered for 7.62 millimetre NATO and given a heavier barrel, ten round magazine, maximum effective range is stated as eight hundred yards, although an experienced shooter could possibly extend that to a thousand yards."

There was a moment or two of silence as the rest of the meeting took in Gibbs had just said, but it was broken by Colonel Dunsfold who had been scribbling frantically on his memo pad, "With a radius of a thousand yards, that's an area of over three million square yards from the target of each shooting that we would have to search for evidence…" he said in dismay.

"Not that much, Colonel," Harm replied. "I've been looking at the map, and…" he tapped the file in front of him,"the scene of crime reports." He looked at the SECNAV, and asked," If I may?"

Once Nelson had nodded his agreement, Harm rose from his seat and walked towards the map display. "With the exception of the shooting of PO Britton – the Humvee driver, who was shot through the side window of his vehicle, all the other shootings have been head-on, through the windscreen. If you note, all these other shootings have occurred within three hundred yards of an overpass. At least two shootings took place on extremely busy roads crossing over the Beltway, in broad daylight. I suspect that our shooter is shooting from mobile cover, in other words something like a minivan, or a panel truck. And as no one reports hearing any shots, I strongly suspect he is also using a suppressor. Gibbs?"

Gibbs sent Harm an unfriendly stare, but at length grudgingly nodded, "Sounds reasonable, and if he is using a suppressor, that's going to cut down on his effective range, maybe by as much as a quarter."

"So, now what?" Secretary Nelson demanded.

"I suggest, we go back, and re-interview what witnesses we have, and see if any of them recall seeing a minivan or a panel truck, parked up, or even apparently broken down at the side of the road, and have teams check the overpasses and both sides of the Beltway for brass and any other physical evidence " He looked enquiringly at both Chief Fetterman and Colonel Dunsfold, both of whom although they sighed, nodded in agreement.

"Oh, I'll tell them to look, but our marksmen are taught to pick up their brass, and given the precision of his shootings I don't see our perpetrator been so careless as to leave concrete incriminating evidence behind. So if the Commander is correct, and the shooting is taking place from inside a vehicle, then any ejected brass will probably still be in that vehicle when the shooter moves away from the scene." Dunsfold grunted.

"Well, gentlemen, as unsatisfactory as this meeting has been in terms of getting any nearer to the perpetrator, at least we are all now, I hope, singing from the same hymn sheet. Thank you for your time gentlemen, let's hope that we get a break very soon." With that, secretary Nelson gathered his papers together, stood, turned and left the room, to the accompaniment of a whispered "Jackass," that Harm is pretty sure emanated from Chief Fetterman.

As Harm made his way through the halls back towards the CP, he heard his name called from behind him, twisting his head to look back over his shoulder, he said, "What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs drew level with him, and gave him a measuring glance, "You seemed pretty familiar with marksmanship for a Navy Lawyer?"

"Did I?" Harm replied in no more friendly a tone, "what gives you that impression?"

"Yeah, you did. As to why I am thinking that, of all the faces of the table yours was the only one that showed any real understanding while I was speaking, and your comments about using a vehicle, and a suppressor, were pretty solid. So I had to ask myself, where does a JAG Commander get to learn all this stuff?"

"Are you including me in your list of suspects – again, Agent Gibbs? Because if you are, based on the fact that I have a little knowledge of marksmanship, you might as well include yourself!"

Harm's shot across his bows brought a wry grin to Gibbs' face, "Nah, I got a pretty solid for alibi all the shootings." He chuckled of dryly, "How about you, Commander?"

Harm stopped and spun around to face the NCIS agent full-on, "Are you for real?" he demanded incredulously.

"In this case, no, I'm not being at all serious with you. As far as I can tell all the shootings took place during normal office hours, and I will assume you can account for your whereabouts for each incident. But no, I never even thought of you as a suspect. Look, Rabb, I've done some digging into your history, especially as it pertains to NCIS. That investigation into Lieutenant Schonke's murder was a complete goat rope, and now, knowing about it, I get your hostility, and the reasons behind your reaction at Bethesda. I doubt anything I say will get you to put that completely behind you, but, if you'll take my advice, you'll power down on the hostility, it's not going to do you any favours with any cop. But, I'd still like to know where you got your shooting lore?"

Harm raised his eyes skywards in exasperation, "Do you know, or know of, a veteran Gunnery Sergeant Crockett?"

"Of course I do, he's a legend in the Corps."

Harm nodded, "Of course you do… Well, a few years back, Gunnery Sergeant Crockett got into a spot of trouble, and I was able to help him out, in return he taught me how to shoot, more importantly how to set up a shot."

Gibbs nodded, "I heard some scuttlebutt about that, Commander. You were the one whose field craft was good enough to get close to him."

"I prefer to think he let me get close to him, because he could see that I was unarmed," Harm replied. "Now, much as I've enjoyed our little chat here, Agent Gibbs, I've got a JAG Corps to run."

**Friday, April 19, 2001, 1707 hours EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (192107ZApr01) **

"Are you just about ready to blow this joint, doll-face?" Harm drawled as he leaned nonchalantly against the door frame to Loren's office.

Loren could hardly resist a giggle, "Bogart? Really?" she challenged.

"Oh, I was trying for Cagney," Harm confessed a slightly crestfallen voice.

"Well, you missed," Loren said matter-of-factly, "but in answer to your question, yes, I am more than ready."

"You'll need this, then," Harm said as he bent and picked up Loren's weekend bag from where it sat on the floor next to his feet.

"Not travelling in uniform. Good call," Loren said approvingly.

"Yeah, this lunatic seems to be concentrating on the Northern section of the Beltway, but as his target supply dries up, there's no saying that he won't switch hunting grounds."

Loren gave a little shudder, "That sounds horrible; hunting grounds. Like we were no better than animals he's shooting for sport."

Harm grimaced, "In some measure, I believe that's the case. But, and talking of butts, it's about time you got yours out of uniform and into whatever you got hidden in this bag – which weighs about three hundred pounds, by the way – so we can get going on the road to Charlottesville!"

Loren started tidying away her desk. "Sounds like a plan," she said approvingly, and totally ignoring Harm's complaint about the weight of her bag, "and I take it you will be changing too?"

"I will indeed," Harm smiled, but in my case, I shall be using the JAG's private bathroom in which to change. He saw Loren's expression change, and hastily added, "I would invite you to come and share it with me, but, if you did, I reckon it would be at least another half hour before we got out of here, besides which Tiner is still at his desk, I don't think the walls are all that thick, and we really don't want conduct unbecoming charge against us, do we?"

Loren frowned, "Half an hour?" She queried. "What would we do for the other twenty-five minutes?" she asked innocently, and then let a devilish grin plaster itself across her face.

It took Harm the couple of seconds to figure out Loren's meaning, and when he did, his face took on a pained expression, he took a staggering pace backwards and clapped both hands over his heart, "Ouch!" He exclaimed. "That was a low blow!" He complained and then as he saw Loren's grin broaden, he quickly added, "And don't even dream of saying it was true!" and then exploded into laughter.

The few members of support staff, including Harriet Sims, who was still at their desks looked around and smiled. After a day like today, when everything that happened seemed expressly designed to stress-out Commander Rabb, to find that he was still capable of laughter at the end of the day was somehow reassuring.

**Friday 19 April 2001, 1932hrs EDT, Room 214, The Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (19 2332 ZApr01) **

"Unbelievable!" Loren muttered as she dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, and plumping down onto it. "This damned shooter is going to cause a hell a lot of problems if he is not caught quickly. With everybody avoiding the Beltway, the roads around it are going to be in permanent gridlock – with all that implies!"

"You can't blame people for running scared, although he has only targeted Marines and sailors so far, if that supply dries up, there's no telling who he'll go for next. Let's face it, by ordering our people to stay off the Beltway, we too are running scared."

Loren sighed, "I know, I know, but it's so frustrating to take half an hour to cover a stretch of road we can normally do in five minutes!"

Harm slipped off the bed onto his knees and turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. "One of the reasons we come away from these weekends, sweetheart, is to relax. So let's try to relax, we need to leave worrying about the Beltway shooter and all his works until Monday. Or at least until Sunday evening, or until we will have to cope with the DC traffic again!"

Loren pulled a face, "Yeah, and that's why you made sure Tiner knows exactly where we were, and that he had your cell phone number, isn't it?"

"That's just part of being the stand-in JAG, and I'm trying desperately to forget about JAG, Tiner, the Admiral, Krennick, Bud and Harriet, and all the rest. The only contact I want with JAG this weekend, is with you."

For some reason, Loren's eyes misted over at Harm's words. Blinking furiously she managed a tear-free smile, "there are times, Harmon Rabb, that you say the nicest things!"

**Friday 19 April 2001, 1712hrs EDT, Bull Pen, NCIS HQ, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (192112ZApr01)**

Agent Gibbs slid into his seat at his desk, and opening the top drawer he retrieved a small, hard-bound notebook from its depths. Flicking through the pages, he found what he was looking for and with what might have been a grin, or maybe it was just a wind induced grimace, he reached for the telephone on his desk and dialled a number.

"Hello?" Gibbs grinned again, but this time at the caution plain to hear in the other man's voice.

"Crockett, this is Gibbs. What do you know of a Commander Harmon Rabb, Navy JAG Corps?"

"That son of a bitch in trouble again?"

"Not hardly, we're working different angles of the same case, and when he seemed to know a little bit too much, your name came up in conversation. He reckoned he helped you out some trouble a few years back."

"Yeah, he did." Crockett said flatly.

"And what sort of trouble was that?" Gibbs persisted.

"Let's just say he saved my ass from a court-martial, and a lengthy spell in the brig."

"And you taught him Scout/Sniper techniques as a thank you?"

"That would be about right. But, I just honed up on some of his techniques. Even before I told him anything he was good enough to track me down in dense woods at a time when I didn't want to be found, just using field craft, no thermal imaging, no infra-red, just his eyes and ears. "

Gibbs whistled softly in appreciation. He knew just how tricky proposition that would have been, and his respect for Harmon Rabb went up a notch or two.

"Okay, he's good in the woods, how good is he with a rifle?"

Crockett chuckled, "you got money on this somewhere?" he challenged.

Gibbs smiled, a real smile of amusement, "One other things my pappy taught me was never to bet on an unknown quality. So how good is he?"

"Put it this way Gibbs, on the range is probably as good as you or I, but, if you are thinking of sending him into the field, don't do it. Rabb enjoys the challenge of the stalk, but I don't think he's going him to squeeze the trigger at the end of the stalk. He's not like you nor me, Gibbs. He's not a stone killer."

Gibbs nodded unconsciously, "Yeah, about what I figured. Thanks, Crockett."

Former Gunnery Sergeant Ray Crockett gave a dry, rasping chuckle on the other end of the line, "Yeah, this guy really has put a bug up your ass, hasn't he. You take care now, Gibbs." And with a click the line went dead.

**Saturday20 April 2001, 0840hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (201240ZApr01)**

"Okay, take her up, and fly the route we planned, north-east to Fredericksburg, then north west to Strasberg, and then straight south back to here. Should take you about two and one half hours Any questions?"

Loren shook her head, "No, all seems pretty straightforward. I'm planning on flying at Angels four, and I've got an up-to-date report from the weather gremlins, taking a special note of wind speed and direction." She grinned.

"Right, see you a couple of hours – and a bit!"

Harm drew Loren in for a kiss and then stood back stood back to watch her climb into the rear seat of the Stearman. The engine coughed and burst into life, and after a few seconds pause, Loren released the brakes and the vintage biplane rolled forward, weaving onto the taxi route, down towards the southern threshold of the runway.

As he had done on a previous occasion, Pop came to stand alongside Harm, wiping his hands on the ball of cotton waste as he did so. "You know she'll be all right," he observed, "there's always that little it in the back of your mind…" He looked shrewdly at Harm, "there's no point in denying it, and it never goes away. It was the same back in the day, every time your pilot took off for a mission, you had faith he'd be back… But…"

"Yeah, but… until one day he didn't come back." Harm said bluntly.

Pop gave Harm another shrewd look, there was just enough bitterness in the younger man's voice to give Pop a hint that the Commander knew from experience just what the older man had meant. There was also just a hint of finality in Harm's voice, and Pop figured he'd best not probe any more, and contented himself with one final comment, "Yeah, until that day."

Harm gave himself a shake, "Rather than just me sitting around on my butt all morning, you got anything you want a hand with?"

Pop nodded, "Yeah I do have one or two jobs that you could help out with, f'rinstance, that young gal that owns the Chipmunk just called in from this side of Fredericksburg, reckons she had a late start, and should be here in about an hour, and asks can we fuel her up." Pop pulled the keys for the Chipmunk out of his pocket and casually tossed them to Harm. "I'll get a couple of the boys to give you a hand to push her out, then you can taxi over to the browser. Make a note of how many pounds of fuel you put in, and then let me know."

Harm juggled the keys in his hand for a second or two, "All the way to the brim?" He asked for confirmation.

"All the way to the brim," Pop agreed.

When Sue Mackenzie arrived, it was nearer an hour and a half later than the hour she had forecast. "That damned Virginia Route 20 has got to be about the slowest road on God's green earth!" she complained to Pop and Harm, who had strolled out of the hangar to greet her when they heard her car pull up.

Pop just grinned, but Harm, who in his early days of flying from Charlottesville had figured that the I-95 and the VA-20 would be quicker than going straight across country grinned in sympathy. "That's why I stopped using it, coming down from DC. But from Quantico, it doesn't make much sense to take any other route."

Sue shook her head, "No, I've looked at the maps, and I've done the string check, and via Fredericksburg is the only practical route." Then a thought seemed to occur to her, and craning her neck she peered around the two men, then looked around the apron area, raised her eyebrows, and turned to face Harm, "Where's your Stearman?" She asked, a faint frown between her eyes, "you haven't bent her, have you?"

Far from being insulted Harm chuckled, "No such thing, Loren's gone solo, and I set her flying a cross-country route for a couple of hours."

Sue smiled in delight, "She has!?"and Harm nodded in confirmation, "Well done her! We always need more women pilots! And…" She glowered at Pop and Harm "before either of you two dinosaurs say anything, remember back in the day, when we needed every pilot, women did a damned good job in ferrying new aircraft from factories to wherever they were needed with the Women's Air Service Pilots!"

Pop and Harm exchanged a grin, and then turning back to face Sue, said in perfect unison, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

Sue looked a little startled at the recruit depot nature of their response, but then as the shoe fell, she realised the truth. "Okay, yeah, maybe I was a little bit over the top, but you two wise-guys… Sheesh! So, in an attempt to make amends, and seeing as you're both earthbound for the day, I've got an empty seat for the rest of the morning… Any takers?" she asked challengingly.

Pop looked horrified, "What? Do you think I'm crazy? Me, get in to one of those things? Hell, no! I did over 30 years in the Air Force, and they only got my ass into one of those things once. And after that I vowed it would never happen again. And it ain't, and what's more, I ain't about to change my mind any time real soon!"

Both Harm and Sue were chuckling by the time Pop finished his rant, but as soon as Sue got her breathing back under control, she turned towards Harm, the challenge plain to see in her face, "How about you, Harm?"

"Well, I've got my doubts, after all, I've seen you fly. But… I guess I'm willing to take a chance."

For a long, long moment in time, Sue's face was a picture of surprised, not to say shocked, indignation, and her mouth worked wordlessly before she found her voice again, and then with a mischievous smile, she said, "Okay, you asked for it! I suggest you get your butt into the front seat and strap in tight!"

Harm waited until Sue had carried out her pre-flight walk round check, before he zipped up the front of his flying jacket and under Sue's somewhat concerned gaze climbed onto the Chipmunk wing and stepped over the cockpit a-coming into the front seat, where bearing in mind her advice, he strapped in tightly.

He felt the plane's movement as Sue settled into the rear cockpit seat. Harm had already found and donned the radio/intercom headset, and settled back to listen as Sue requested taxiing clearance from the tower. Once the runway threshold, she asked for and obtained take-off clearance and the little airplane rolled down the runway and seemed to lift effortlessly into the air. Once airborne Sue climbed for height before banking to starboard to head for the western manoeuvre area.

Once over the area, which pretty well coincided with the limits of the southern section of the Rapidan wildlife management area, it became apparent that Sue had once again forgotten about Harm's Tomcat experience, as she threw the little training aircraft into as many violent manoeuvres as she could manage, but in comparison to the tremendous forces exerted by high-speed manoeuvres in an F-14 they paled into insignificance, and later, with hand on heart Harm could swear that he felt no discomfort whatsoever.

After about twenty minutes of aerobatics, Sue steadied the Chipmunk into straight and level flight at about eight thousand feet, "Would you like to take her for a few minutes… That is if you're feeling well enough…" Sue's voice practically oozed insincerity.

"Oh, yes, thanks. She's a responsive little beastie isn't she, just hasn't got the power of a Tomcat!" Harm replied with an absolutely beatific smile on his face. "Would you mind if I saw what I could do?"

Sue ground her teeth almost audibly, it seemed as if the infuriating squid in the front seat had outplayed her again, but then her sense of humour came to her rescue once again, "Alright," she chuckled, "I suppose I asked for that, so go ahead, do your worst!"

"As you command, m'lady," Harm grinned and immediately side slipped to starboard to two thousand feet, accompanied by an enthusiastic, "Yeehah!" from the rear seat, and immediately followed that manoeuvre by a further string of aerial stunts.

Harm had been keeping a careful eye on the time while first Sue and then he had been piloting the Chipmunk, and as it neared the hour and a half, he checked to make sure that his mic switch was on intercom, "Would you mind if we headed back? Loren's ETA is coming up, and I would like to be on the ground when she touches down."

"Okay, head on back, and I'll take over before we join the circuit." Sue agreed.

Harm had made his request only just in time. By the time the Chipmunk had landed and taxied back to the hangar the Stearman was on final approach, and Harm had only just got his feet on the asphalt with a yellow biplane touched down. With an approving nod Harm observed Loren's landing, and waited on the apron for the Stearman to return to the hangar.

With a beaming smile on her face Loren rolled the Stearman to a gentle halt, and switched off the ignition. Unfastening her harness, she threw her leg over the cockpit coaming, and slid straight into Harm's welcoming embrace. In return she threw her arms around his neck and raised her face to his.

Sue felt a twinge of envy, but with an almost exasperated expression on her face, she turned to an indulgently grinning Pop, "For God's sake! Are they always like this?"

Pop's grin took on a wicked edge, "ever' chanct they git!" He assured her in a deliberately broadened drawl.


	57. Chapter 57

**57**

****Saturday April 21 2001, 1914hrs EDT, Room 316, Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (212314ZApr01)** **

"Very nice!" Harm enthused as Loren finally quit the bathroom. She had been unusually coy this evening, uncharacteristically insisting on complete privacy while she showered and changed for the evening. Not that on this occasion Harm objected, firstly he had his own reasons for wanting a few minutes of privacy, and secondly, as he was now seeing, the end result had been well worth waiting for.

While Harm was lying on the bed, wrapped only in one of the hotels bathrobes, Loren had, unusually for a flying weekend, pulled out all the stop s. Not that she was ever less than impeccably turned out or groomed, but she usually contented herself with a pair of smart jeans and a button-down shirt or a sweater. But this evening she had outdone herself, the simple black taffeta dress fell in graceful folds from a high waistline to just below the knee, its long sleeves added to an aura of modesty that was in a counter-intuitive manner suggested by the V-neck which just exposed a tiny amount of cleavage. Her hair, freshly shampooed, and dried – Harm had easily heard the buzz of Loren's blow dryer through the bathroom door – fell in soft shining waves to rest on her shoulders.

Loren blushed slightly at the evident appreciation in Harm's voice and eyes, "You like? I bought this the other day… I thought it might be okay for here, I do get tired of being in jeans all weekend…"

Harm surged up off the bed, and stepped towards her. He took both her hands in his, "You look incredible, and I don't care when you bought that dress, or why you decided to wear it this evening, I'm just glad you did. You are stunning." He ended simply.

Loren smiled teasingly, "So, you do like it, even if it is only a little bit…"

Harm grinned in response, "Seeing you like that only makes me think for about the eleventy-first time what a supremely lucky guy I am!"

"Good answer, Mister pilot man, but I'll bet you say that to all the girls…" Loren grinned mischievously.

"Only the blondes I'm in love with, and who love me back… And I can count all those on the fingers of one thumb!"

Loren frowned slightly as she worked through what he'd said, but then her face cleared and resting one hand lightly on his shoulder, she leaned in and gave him a swift, gentle peck, careful to keep her black dress away from the fluffy white Bath robe, "Clown," she smiled tenderly, "now, before you say anything. I know I've hogged the bathroom, but if we are going to make our eight o'clock reservation you Mister are going to have to hustle!"

"Well, if we are late, then it will be your fault!" he smiled as he turned towards the bathroom.

Loren frowned again, she knew he was setting her up, and she knew that she was probably going to regret asking, but, "How do you figure it will be my fault?" she demanded.

Harm stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder, his expression far too innocent to be anything other than guilty, "Because you forgot the number one rule of the Navy!"

Loren sighed in resignation, "Go on…"

To his credit, Harm managed to retain a perfectly straight face, as he answered, "' He – or she – who bathes first, bathes fastest!"

"Oooh!" Loren ground out in frustration.

To Harm's surprise, when he returned from the bathroom, he found that Loren had been even more devious than usual. While certainly appreciating the picture she made, he was all too uneasily aware that the jeans and the Razorbacks sweatshirt, new although it was, were hardly compatible with Loren's smart black outfit. Standing at the foot of the bed, he shook his head baffled amusement and appreciation of Loren's duplicity. Laid out on the bed were pair of charcoal grey slacks, and a mid-blue shirt that he knew Loren liked him in, together with belt and a plain unadorned crimson silk tie.

His smile still on his face he turned towards Loren, by now sitting, her legs demurely crossed,in a chair by the window where she could observe the waterfowl on the lake. "Sneaky," he said admiringly, "okay, no tremendous feat to pack slacks and a shirt for me, but how did you manage to pack them in a sea-bag without getting them creased to hell?"

Loren smiled in return, "Oh, Harm, you don't really expect a girl to give up all her secrets, do you?"

Harm paused in the act of buttoning his shirt cuff, "I don't see how it could be done," he mused, and then glared accusingly at Loren, "There's more to this than meets the eye. You are hiding something, I don't know what it is, yet. But I will find out!"

Loren burst into delighted laughter, "Yeah? Just bring it on, Mister investigator man!"

Harm shook his head again, "I will find out," he repeated his caution.

Loren got to her feet, "Well, good luck with that! But if you don't get a move on, you will also find out just how grumpy I can be when I'm starving!"

"I've been ready for ages," Harm lied cheerfully, "I just been waiting for you!"

****Sunday April 22 2001, 0853hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (221253ZApr01)****

Harm had hoped that by getting into the hangar early, well, earlier than usual, that the coffee in the perma-stained carafe might be slightly more drinkable than it would become by lunchtime. Screwing his face up at the bitter taste, rendered all the more bitter by the memory of the Boars Head's breakfast coffee, he flashed a weak grin across the room at Loren, who, thumbs stuck into the belt loops on her jeans and her flight jacket unzipped, leaned against the office wall laughing at the expression on his face.

Harm took another heroic gulp of the so-called coffee and drained his mug. With a theatrical shudder he put the mug on top of the filing cabinet next to the carafe, shook his head ruefully and said, "Okay, you were right, the coffee isn't any better first thing in the morning!"

Loren's smile became wider, "Of course I was right! There is no way that any coffee could taste so bad at lunchtime, if it hadn't been bad at breakfast. The only reason we can drink that at lunchtime is that having been up in an open cockpit, we are cold, and what ever its other failings, at least it's hot!"

Harm straightened up and sit up his own flight jacket, "Your logic is, as ever, impeccable, counsellor. Shall we check out whether or not your piloting is as impeccable?"

Loren nodded, "We shall!" she agreed enthusiastically.

The pair walked out through the hangar and out onto the apron where Pop stood casting a critical eye over one of his 'boys' as he laboriously hand-pumped chemicals from a fifty-five gallon drum into the reservoir on a Grumman Ag-Cat.

"A new venture, Pop?" Harm asked idly.

"Nope, not one of mine," Pop answered scornfully, "New customer, tryin' to transfer her business up from Blacksburg… Dunno how she'll make out up here, but 'slong as she pays the bills it's none of my nevermind."

Harm nodded, while he loved to fly, he couldn't see the attraction in flying low and slow all day, dusting, he mused, must be a far cry skimming the waves in a Tomcat. Indicating the Stearman, with a jab of his thumb, he asked, "She all set?"

Pop looked at him scornfully, "Ain't never been a time when you wanted her that she weren't ready!"

Harm was about to respond in kind, when he saw Loren's eyebrows started to climb, and the beginning of a grin started to lift the corners of her mouth. Strongly suspecting that she was about to come out with some ribald comment, Harm hurried to forestall her, "You heard the man, let's get the pre-flight done!"

Loren turned obediently towards the airplane, but Harm could have sworn he heard her mutter, "Chicken," under her breath as she did so, but magnanimously decided on this occasion that he could afford to let her slide

As was now becoming customary, Harm stood back to allow Loren to carry out the pre-flight walk round and as she finished with a confirmatory nod and turned ready to emplane, Harm coughed politely, and waited for Loren to look back over her shoulder at him, an interrogative eyebrow already raised.

"You… uh… seem to have for gotten something," he said solemnly.

Loren halted, stiffened and turned to face Harm, "Yes?" she asked calmly.

"Yes," Harm confirmed affably.

Loren made a swift mental back-cast over the last few minutes, frantically searching her mind to make sure she hadn't missed any of the points on the walk round. She was all too well aware of the common human failing of dropping into a routine, completing a task almost on auto-pilot, but then five minutes later, being unable to recall the specifics and then second-guessing. She gave an irritated little shake of her head, she was positive she hadn't missed anything, and thinking that she might just have caught a gleam of amusement in Harm's eyes, at variance with his solemn expression, she glared at him suspiciously, beginning to wonder if somehow or other, he wasn't trying to set her up.

She heaved a long-suffering sigh, "Alright, what is it that you think I've forgotten?"

"Oh, Loren, I'm so disappointed…" He took two steps towards her, "You forgot this!" He crowed in triumph, as, ignoring her squeak of surprise, he looped a long arm around her waist and pulled her to him, at the same time using his other hand to tilt her chin up, so her face was lifted to his.

Taken by surprise. Loren might have been, but that didn't stop her from responding immediately and enthusiastically, only leaning back against Harm's strong forearm and breaking the kiss, when the need for air intervened.

"Umm... Yeah, I did sort kinda forget about that…" she smiled up at Harm, "Still, you were here to remind me, so no real harm done…"

"Yeah, and that's what I worry about…"

Loren rolled her eyes, the way he'd left that sentence hanging told her that what was coming up was going to be a very, very bad joke, but if she ever wanted to get airborne this morning, then she'd have to indulge him… "What is it you worry about?"

Harm's answering grin made Loren extremely grateful for the support of his forearm, "No Harm being done," he answered matter-of-factly.

Loren managed to resist the conflicting urges to groan at the old pun, or to giggle at its inanity. "Well then, if you've quite finished, shall we fly?"

"I don't see why not," Harm said reasonably, "now that we've completed the last item on the pre-flight check!"

Loren shook her head, "I give up. But mind, now, no drooling!"

Harm's answering "No, dear," was so docile in manner that it drew another ferociously suspicious glare from the love of his life.

Having watched, with an appreciative smile on his face, Loren climb up into the front cockpit, Harm settled himself in the rear cockpit and waiting until he'd seen that Loren had put on her headphones, he thumbed the intercom switch, "She's all yours, Loren, once we're up, make Angels four and steer, zero, zero, three degrees."

Loren's voice, now free of amusement, or exasperation crackled in his headset, "Angels four and zero, zero, three, aye!"

The formalities with the tower completed and with the Stearman poised at the southern end of the runway, Loren pushed the throttle wide open, the yellow biplane rolled with ever-increasing speed down the runway until its wings bit the air and it lifted off cleanly and smoothly. Still climbing to the four thousand feet level, Loren nudged the stick over slightly, bringing the airplane onto its desired course.

Course and height settled, Loren thumbed the intercom switch, "What are you up to?" she demanded.

"All in good time," Harm reassured her, "and bring her up to figures eight three knots," he added.

"Eight three knots, aye," Loren acknowledged him stolidly, although she was burning with curiosity.

Harm relaxed back in his seat and cast an eye over the instrument panel, and satisfied that all was as it should be, he switched off his microphone, laid his head back and launched into the Naval Aviators' version of 'The Bear Went Over The Mountain'.

**Sunday April 22 2001, 0957hrs EDT, Somewhere over Northern West Virginia (221357Z Apr 01)**

Harm was not the only one keeping a weather eye on the gauges, and it was just over an hour later that Harms earphones gave a preliminary crackle, "Harm, where exactly are we headed? We've used nearly a quarter tank of gas already…"

Harm thumbed the intercom switch, "What's the range at cruising speed for this old lady?"

"Maximum range at cruising speed is…" Loren rummaged through her memory, "five hundred and five miles…"

"Good; that gives us a total flight time of…"

Loren frantically scribbled on her knee pad, converting the five hundred and five miles to nautical miles and then doing the necessary division, "Um... Five hours and twenty minutes," she announced.

"Okay, then, no need to worry about turning back for another hour…" Harm grinned.

Loren gave an audible snort, "Well! If that's the way you want to play it…" And lapsed into silence.

Not that her silence was of very long duration, for it was less than ten minutes later that Harm again heard the crackling in his earphones, "Mifflin!" Loren exclaimed exultantly, "That's where we headed! We're going to see Grams!"

"Ninety per cent," Harm said placidly, "Yes, we are going to have lunch with Grams, but we aren't going to Mifflin!"

"Why all the mystery, then? Did you think I wouldn't want to go?" Loren demanded.

"Not at all. It was just so much fun pressing your buttons. Just a little payback for the pressed pants and shirt."

"What do you mean?" Loren tried, with reasonable success, for innocence.

"The hotel desk clerk busted you this morning when I checked out. You had housekeeping iron my shirt and press my pants. I knew there was no way you can pack those clothes in a sea-bag and have them ready to wear as soon as you unpack them!"

Loren gurgled with laughter, "Rats! I'd hoped to keep you guessing for a while longer! But if we're not headed for Mifflin, where are we going, I thought you said that was the nearest airport?"

"It is. But when I called Grams, I asked her how much rain there had been over the last week or so, and was the back forty being grazed. It's been dry enough, and the back forty is being rested, so we'll land practically on Grams' doorstep!"

Loren gulped, although she knew that the Stearman was more than capable of landing on a makeshift strip, she had never tried it before. "Oh, I guess you've done that before?"

"Sure have, plenty of times. Hell, that's where I took off and landed on this old girl's first test flight after I'd finished working on her! It's easy enough, the back forty's never been ploughed, and it's as smooth as a baby's butt!"

"Okay! The back forty it is!" Loren said, keeping her reservations to herself and, gritting her teeth, resolved not to disappoint Harm's belief in her.

**Sunday April 22, 2001, 1114hrs EDT, Sarah Rabb's Farm, Belleville, PA (221514Z Apr 01)**

The sound which Sarah Rabb had been waiting to hear for the last twenty minutes or so finally came to her ears, growing in volume as the source came nearer. Nodding in satisfaction. She used the wooden handled hooks to open the door of the kitchen's cooking range and fled the blaze with an armful of well dampened straw.

Harm had sat up and started looking for landmarks some ten minutes out, and soon found familiar sights coming up. "I am taking control," he told Loren.

Loren didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed, but there was only one response she could make, "You are taking control."

Harm took the stick in his hand and rested his feet on the rudder pedals, he could feel the slight resistance told him that Loren still had the Stearman. "I have control."

Immediately he felt the resistance of Loren's touch on the controls disappear "You have control," she told him.

Harm banked to port and put the biplane into a shallow dive, which to Loren's appalled gaze as she stared through the propeller arc, seemed to be aimed directly at the roof of a vaguely familiar looking farmhouse, but just short of the building Harm pulled back on the stick and the Stearman zoomed back up into the sky.

Harm turned into a gentle, wide climbing turn his eyes fixed firmly on the farmhouse. After a minute or so, he grinned as the chimney belched a plume of thick, grey smoke streaming gently away to the north.

"You see that smoke from the chimney?" he asked Loren.

"I see it!" Loren affirmed.

"Okay, that's your wind sock, from the South, at about five knots. The field you want is the long, narrow field just behind the small barn…"

Loren felt her heart skip a beat, "The field_ I_ want?" she queried.

"Sure, you've done all that flying, getting us up here, you didn't think I was going to take over at the minute and spoil your fun, did you?"

"I wasn't sure!" Loren answered, then she licked her suddenly dry lips, "I am taking control!"

"You are taking control."

Loren repeated Harm's actions of a few moments earlier, "I have control."

Harm took his hands and feet of the controls "You have control," he agreed.

Loren flew an up-wind leg, carrying out a visual check for any unsuspected obstacle there might be the ground, and once well past the field, banked through one hundred and eighty degrees to line up on the back forty.

The Stearman sank through the air, clearing the fence by about twenty feet to make a two point landing on the short-cropped grass, the tail-wheel dropping gently to the ground as Loren eased back on the throttle.

"Turn her around, taxi back up-field," Harm told her.

Once Loren had completed the manoeuvre, turning again so that the Stearman's nose pointed back along the empty expanse of the field, Loren switched off the ignition and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Harm unfastened his seat harness and climbed out of the cockpit, gaining just enough time one stretch before he turned to take hold of Loren by the waist as she slid off the lower plane.

Stepping into his embrace, she wound her arms around his waist, then threw her head back smiled up his face, "You deserve that I should be mad at you." she told him.

"And why should that be?" Harm asked innocently.

"For not telling me where we were going!" Loren said with a pout.

"Oh," Harm twinkled,"I thought I had explained that, that was payback for pulling that stunt with the ironing."

"You might have explained it, Mister, that doesn't mean that I accepted your explanation, or that I've forgiven you!"

"But you do, don't you!" Harm grinned.

"Yeah, I forgive you, I must do, otherwise I wouldn't let you kiss me." Loren said with a sly smile.

"So… I'm allowed to kiss you, am I?" Harm responded on a teasing note

"You are at the moment, you may not be in another… oh… twenty seconds…" Loren grinned.

"Well, in that case…" Harm tightened his embrace and pulled Loren in close as she lifted her face to his.

This time it wasn't the lack of air drove them apart, but a rather stern-voiced, "Harmon David Rabb! You stop that lolly-gagging right now, right this very minute!"

Harm and Loren almost jumped apart, both of their faces wearing rueful and embarrassed grins, then red-faced and giggling helplessly, they turned and double-timed, hand in hand, across the field to the gate where the tall figure of Sarah Rabb stood waiting for them.

Harm let Loren's hand drop, as he swung the gate open, and in one move swept his grandmother into his arms, at the same time planting a gentle kiss on her cheek, and leaning back, he grinned, "What's all this then, Grams? Getting jealous in your old age?"

Sarah Rabb returned his kiss with one of her own before she glared up at him, "Not so much of the old age!" she snapped at him, but with a twinkle in her eye, "just that I've got better things to do than to watch you making out all day!"

With that, she gave Harm a fierce hug before turning to Loren, "And it is so, so lovely to see you again, child." She gave Loren a penetrating look, "And is that rascal my grandson looking after you properly?"

Loren chuckled, "He tries ma'am, he tries, but he keeps me pretty busy looking after him!"

Grams laughed out loud, "I'll just bet he does!" she chuckled, folding Loren into her arms and kissing her, just as warmly as she had Harm, but then on releasing the younger woman. She gave her a glare, "and I thought I told you not to call me, ma'am, or Mrs Rabb but Grams!"

Loren blushed guiltily, "You did, ma'… I mean Grams…"

Sarah smiled, "There, that's much better! Now, both of you come up to the house, I put a fresh pot of coffee on as soon as I heard you, so it should be well done, by now!"

Harm stepped in between the two women, an arm going around each of their waists, and with gentle pressure he urged them on towards the house.

Ten minutes later all three were sat at Grams' kitchen table, a mug of the promise coffee in front of each, and a large platter heaped with cookies, still slightly warm from the oven in front of them. Sarah looked shrewdly at Harm, "Of course I'm always delighted when you come and visit with me, especially as you don't do it often enough!" She turned to Loren in an aside, "and I'm depending on you, dear, to make sure that you kick his six in this direction a little more frequently in the future."

Loren kept her eyes averted from Harm, locked onto Gram's face, "I can promise you that I will try… Grams, but I'm sure you know just how stubborn an animal he is!" she said demurely.

"Hey! 'He' is here!" Harm protested.

"Yes, you are, and don't think that I had forgotten – or my question!" Grams retorted.

"What question was that, Grams?" Harm asked politely, he knew when he was out-gunned and outmanoeuvred.

"As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself," Grams replied, "I was wondering what made you decide to come and visit with me."

"Oh… That question! Why didn't you say so?" Harm grinned, "it's just that Loren and I wanted you to have this…" Harm slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his flight jacket and then drew out a cream-coloured vellum envelope.

Grams' eyes grew wide and a beaming smile spread itself across her face "Is this what I think it is?" she asked.

Harm shrugged and careful to turn his head so that he was in profile to Grams he dropped a wink towards Loren, "I don't know what you think it might be, so why don't you open it?"

"Tone, young man!" Grams snapped, but it was clear that her heart wasn't really in the reprimand as she slid a clean knife under the envelope's flap and slid the embossed cream card onto the table, and read aloud:

_"Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior  
>and<br>Lieutenant Loren Maria Singer  
>Request the pleasure of your company at the Celebration of<br>Their Wedding  
>At the Episcopal Church of All Saints<br>Falls Church, Virginia.  
>At<br>2 30pm  
>Saturday, June 30, 2001<br>And Afterwards  
>For The Wedding Breakfast<br>At  
>The Best Western Hotel, Fairfax, Virginia<br>Dress: Dress Whites With Ribbons  
>RSVP"<em>

Grams' eyes swam with moisture. Harm reached out his hand and covered one of Grams', "We wanted you to be the first to receive your invitation." he said simply.

Grams pushed her chair from the table and standing turned to the kitchen sink, looking out over the yard as she rummaged in her jeans pocket for a Kleenex. She mopped her eyes and fiercely blew her nose, and with a fair assumption of dignity, she turned back towards the broadly smiling Harm and Loren.

"That is most thoughtful of you, Harmon; I shall have to check my calendar, but…" It was no good, she couldn't keep up the pretence any longer, "Darlings! Of course I'll be there!"

"I thought you might," Harm said coolly, "So, we need to sort out the logistics. For a start, Grams, there is no way you are driving to Falls Church in your Jeep, and as Loren is insisting on tradition inasmuch as I won't see her for the twenty-four hours before the wedding, I'll drive up here, in my SUV the day before the wedding, and bring you back to DC, and book you into the hotel for the night before and the night of the wedding. I'm hoping to get Jack Keeter…"

Grams chuckled as she sat down, "That Rascal!" she said fondly.

"Yes, Grams, that Rascal. I'm hoping to get him as best man, so the day after the wedding he can bring you back up here to Belleville. If I can't get Jack, I'm going to ask Frank, and will find somebody else to act as your chauffeur. Okay?"

"I'm perfectly capable of driving myself!" Grams objected.

Harm kept his face a neutral mask, even while he was wincing internally. This was going to take careful handling, Grams was fiercely independent and resented any suggestion that her powers were declining.

"Yes, Grams, you are, around here," he held up a hand to forestall any objection, "And you'd probably be fine driving down to DC, if you had a comfortable vehicle. But that army surplus Jeep, isn't a comfortable vehicle, and although it would get you to DC, after more than three hours being bounced around in that thing, you'd probably be too tired to enjoy yourself, and both Loren and I really want you to enjoy our special day. And besides," he added with a wicked gleam in his eye,"You'll probably bully poor Jack into letting you take the wheel of whatever super-car he's driving these days!"

"I would never do such a thing!" Grams exclaimed indignantly, "although, I might ask him nicely if I could spend half an hour or so in the driver's seat."

"Yes, ma'am," Harm agreed docilely.

"Don't you dare patronise me, Harmon Rabb!" Grams fumed.

"No, ma'am," Harm agreed once more.

Grams glared at him for a few seconds before she allowed a reluctant grin to crease her face, "You are absolutely incorrigible," she complained, and turning to Loren asked, "How do you put up with him?"

Loren grinned mischievously, "I duck the ones I can, Grams, and roll with the ones I can't."

Grams turned her piercing blue eyes on Loren, "Humph, it's plain to see that you two are well matched."

Loren smiled at Grams, and then turned her head to look at Harm, "Oh, I do hope so!"

Grams smiled indulgently at them both, "I was right, incorrigible, absolutely incorrigible, both of you!"

Harm and Loren dissolved into gales of laughter, while Sarah Rabb passed each of them a fresh mug of coffee and sat back, content that her only grandchild looked to have a secure and loving domestic future.

****Sunday April 22 2001, 1911hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (222311ZApr01)****

"Is that the last of it?" Loren asked, as she carefully wedged a two quart whiskey jug of Maple syrup into a corner of the Lexus' cargo bed, and surveyed the six other bundles and muslin-covered bowls that almost filled the loading space.

"Yes, thank God," Harm agreed, "I was beginning to wonder if Grams was going to load us down with so much that we'd exceed maximum take-off weight!"

Loren chuckled, Grams had loaded them down with all sorts of goodies from her pantry, but in reality they had been no way heavy enough to overload the Stearman. "It's like Grams said, if you wouldn't have given her so much warning, she wouldn't have had time to bake so much for us by the time we got there!"

Harm closed the hatch on the Stearman's baggage compartment and gave a lazy grin, "I should have known it was all my fault," he said in a resigned tone of voice, "So, if you've quite finished having a pop at me, help me get this old lady inside, and then we can go home."

Loren took the four steps that brought her toe to toe with Harm and slid her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest for a brief moment, "Today has been absolutely fantastic, Grams is everything you said she is, and more, I enjoyed the flying, both up to Belleville and back to here, but 'home' sounds really great, just about now."

Harm raised his hands to her shoulders, planted a kiss on the Crown of her head, squeezed gently and asked in a quiet voice, "Tired, sweetheart?"

Loren just nodded wordlessly.

"Okay, then, let's get this done."

Five minutes later Harm was winding the handle that rolled the hangar doors shut. Five minutes after that the Lexus turned left out of the airport approach road, and on to the US-29. And it was no more than ten minutes after that when Harm looked across to see that Loren's head was tilted back against the headrest, her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open. With a smile, he shook his head, leaving her to what ever dreams she might be having while he concentrated on getting home.

****Sunday April 22 2001, 2132hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (230132ZApr01)****

Loren hadn't really slept all the way home, but alternated short naps with longer periods of wakefulness, during which time she and Harm had discussed the past week's mundane events, both tacitly agreeing to avoid the subject of the shootings on the Beltway, and Harm resolving to steer clear of talking about the Richardson case.

Nevertheless, by the time Harm found a parking spot, not too far from the apartment building, Loren was once again yawning widely. Harm switched off the ignition and rolled his shoulders before glancing across at her. "You go on ahead, and get the kettle going," he suggested, "while I unload the car."

"Nuh-huh, it ain't going to happen, sailor," Loren said through a yawn, "I might be tired, but I can still give you a hand!"

Harm looked at through narrowed eyes for a moment and then yielded, "Okay, can you manage your sea-bag and that jug of Maple syrup?"

Loren scowled at him, "Damn straight I can, I can sling the sea-bag over my shoulder, and I've got law books that are heavier than that damned jug!"

Harm nodded, "Fair enough, if you take them up, and then start the kettle going, I'll be able to manage the rest."

Loren still wasn't sure that this was a fair division of labour, but although she was tired, she wasn't so tired as to miss the stubborn set of Harm's jaw or mistake, even in the dimly lit interior of the SUV, the uncompromising look he directed at her. With a nod Loren acquiesced in his ruling and opening the Lexus' door, she slid to the ground and walked around to the rear of the vehicle.

It was nearly a quarter of an hour later that Harm placed the last muslin-covered bowl on the kitchen island, and grinned across at Loren, who with a look of dismay on her face contemplated the now-full fridge, "There's no more room," she complained.

Harm walked around the island and stood behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her flat stomach. He gently pulled her back against him so that her back rested against his chest, and bending his head forward used his nose to push her ponytail out of the way before he nuzzled at a certain sensitive little spot just behind her ear.

Loren moaned softly as her own hands came up to cover Harm's, "Oh, that is so good… But you've got two strikes against you… First, you kissing me like that doesn't alter the fact the fridge is full, and we've still got two huge bowls to try to find somewhere for them to live, and secondly, although I might have dozed in the car, I am still way, way too tired to respond properly, the way you deserve."

"Okay… Let's deal with your second point first. It doesn't matter. We've got the rest of our lives, and anyway, this was more for comfort, to stop you stressing about the fridge. And about the fridge, let's see… Okay, take out that carton of eggs, they won't come to harm overnight, and I can use them for breakfast… And the same with the cheese. In fact, it will taste better if it is given a chance to reach room temperature." Harm's forehead wrinkled in a frown, "Didn't Grams say that one of these bowls just had biscuits in it? As long as they are covered they don't need to go in the fridge, surely? After all, we don't put bread in there do we?"

"No, no, we don't..." Loren whimpered as Harm returned his attentions to her neck. Loren then made a major effort, "Harm… the food… fridge… Ohhhh..."

Harm dipped and swept a strong forearm under Loren's knees as she half turned towards him, her arms clasping behind his neck in an automatic move to prevent herself from falling on her six. Her head rested naturally in the hollow of Harm's shoulder and she could hear his chuckle deep in his chest as he straightened up, kicked the fridge door close and then strode in the direction of the bedroom.

****Monday April 22 2001, 0532hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (220932ZApr01)****

Loren had been still more than half asleep when Harm had guided her into the shower, now showered, shampooed and neatly buttoned into her summer whites, her hair in its customary bun she it least looked like a naval officer, even if she didn't feel much like one.

With a scowl at Harm, already busy at the range, she hoisted herself onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and reached for the jug of orange juice. Harm turned and cast an appraising eye over her, nodded to himself, and let the beginnings of a smile play on the corners of his lips as he, judged her mood, "Coffee?" he asked lightly.

Loren's attempt at "please," may have sounded more like a grunt, but Harm took it in the spirit in which it was meant, and passed to her a mug of the fresh, steaming brew. Loren took a sip and as the nature of the brew exploded on her taste buds her eyes opened wide. Harm had ground some of his favourite mocha beans and had added a teaspoon of grated chocolate to the brew.

The early morning dew had faded almost as fast Loren's early morning sourness dissipated, "Oh, my, God," she said. "This was almost worth getting out of bed at Oh Christ Hundred Hours!"

"Maybe this will help a little more," Harm suggested as he slid a plate loaded with a short stack of pancakes, and a pile of Canadian bacon towards her, with a nod to the jug of Grams' Maple syrup.

"Almost, I said, almost," Loren reminded him as she poured syrup over her pancakes, "but yeah, this helps as well."

Harm smiled in satisfaction, as he put his own plate of scrambled eggs, toast and mushrooms on the counter. "Well, it was either an early reveille, or risk spending another hour and a half in traffic getting to Falls Church." he remarked.

"Damn, I had so much fun this weekend, that I'd just about forgotten about that son of a bitch!" Loren mumbled around a mouthful of bacon.

"Unfortunately, sweetheart, until he, she or they are caught no one in the Navy or Marine Corps can afford to forget about them."

Loren picked up on Harm's use of the program, "You think there is more than one shooter involved?"

"Maybe not a shooter, but something our favourite NCIS agent said made sense…" Harm quickly outlined what Gibbs had mentioned about sniper teams at the SECNAV's meeting on Friday, attributing his own comment about the use of a minivan or panel truck as a platform to the same source.

Loren nodded thoughtfully as she used the last scrap of pancake to mop up the remaining syrup on her plate, "Makes sense… But… You still don't like him do you?"

"No, I don't like him," Harm replied.

Loren studied him thoughtfully as she shoved her coffee mug towards him for a refill, "And it's not just because you both want to be king of the hill, is it?"

"No, I don't think so," Harm replied, "it's just the way he goes about things, I reckon he has the old-time cop mentality; it's not whether or not he's got the right guy or gal, but it's more about his clear up rate. It's like when I had to ream out Burrows a few months ago, in that embezzlement case, he was juggling the evidence to fit in with his preconceived ideas, rather than seeing where the evidence led him." Harm gave a shrug, "and I get the feeling Gibbs is wired the same way."

Loren picked up her fresh mug of coffee and took a sip, but it was more than just the warmth of the coffee that was reflected in her eyes when she looked across at Harm. "Yeah," she said softly, "I can see how that wouldn't fit too well with you."

Harm rose quickly, almost abruptly, from his stall and made a great play of gathering together with dirty breakfast dishes. The warmth in Loren's eyes spread to the rest of her face as she smiled, it was so like her Harm to be embarrassed by even the mildest compliment, even if only implied.

**Monday, April 23, 2001, 0647 hours EDT, Security Detachment Check Point, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (231047ZApr01)**

Gunnery Sergeant Waters called a soft, "Incoming" to Sergeant 'Julie' Andrews, and just as he had on Friday, indicated the front door where, in a complete contrast to that officer's demeanour on Friday, a smiling Commander Rabb held open the door for his fiancée. It was no secret that the two officers were engaged – keeping that sort of secret at the rumour mill that was JAG was beyond human powers, but it was surprising, perhaps, that despite some forecasting a gloomy outcome, the engagement seemed to be holding firm. However, most of the officers, and indeed the enlisted at JAG were more surprised that the easy-going Commander should have fallen, and fallen hard by the look of it, for the short tempered, sharp-tongued, overly ambitious, somewhat ruthless and acerbic blonde Lieutenant.

But, the veteran MP mused, even that description was no longer true. He had often heard that the love of a good woman could change a man, but in this case, the reverse seemed to be true. It had been a gradual change, at first little more than a change of expression from her usual discontented scowl, then the occasional smile appeared, and wonder of all wonders, Victor Galindez had confided one evening over a beer that Lieutenant Singer, had even made him a coffee one morning. Since that date, the occasional smiles became more frequent, and unless like the other morning, the Commander, or someone or something else had done something to ruffle her feathers she usually had a quiet, pleasant word for which ever MP signed them in for the day and handed out their building passes.

And today was no exception, Lieutenant Singer reached the counter before the Commander, and turning she handed off to him her briefcase while she signed in, complete with smile and a "Good morning, Sergeant Andrews, how is your little one?"

Sergeant Andrews smiled, a bit wryly, but still she smiled, "He's over the fever now, thank you, ma'am, but the school won't take him back until the last of his spots have cleared up. So he's stuck at home, either with my husband, or when he's on duty, Corporal Summers and/or Sergeant Hernandez, complaining that he is 'bored' driving them all mad. I just thank God I can come here for a daily dose of sanity!" She finished over her shoulder as she turned to the file drawer to extract both officer's building passes.

**Monday April 23 2001, 0657hrs EDT, Ops Bullpen, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA ****(220932ZApr01)**

"What was all that about, with Sergeant Andrews?" Harm asked as they strolled along the hall from the elevator towards the bullpen.

"Oh, her little boy, he's in second grade, one of the other kids brought a dose of chickenpox to school, he's been off school now... this will be his third week..."

Harm winced, even after all these years, he could remember the misery of chickenpox, and how his mother had to bandage his hands to stop him trying to relieve the intolerable itch by scratching at it. "Yeah, okay, I get that, but since when did you…" He let his voice trailed into silence as he eyed Loren warily, suddenly realising that he might just have stepped into a minefield.

But to his relief Loren merely grinned up at him, "Since when did I get all concerned about my fellow workers and their families?"

"Umm... Yeah, kinda," Harm admitted shamefacedly.

"Oh, since a certain pilot turned lawyer recommended that I started playing nice with the people I work with, and see what sort of effect it had…"

"What? You mean you actually listened to something I said?" Harm grinned.

Loren favoured him with one of her angry kitten type glares, "I listened to you just now, and I heard you real plain, and you Mister are going to be sorry for that remark, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow…"

Harm joined in with the rest of the quotation, "But someday soon, and for the rest of your life!" They finished in chorus, and promptly dissolved into quiet laughter, Loren, smiling over her shoulder as she peeled off from Harm's side and headed towards her own office.

Harm took a second or two to look around the bullpen, it was by no means fully occupied yet, but a good proportion of its staff were already at their desks, true, some were taking a few minutes of personal time, but there was still just over an hour in hand before they needed to be heads down and butts up at their workstations.

He could see that Carolyn's, Meg's and Alan's offices were all open, and after hesitating for a moment, he veered away from Tiner's ante-chamber and headed for Alan Mattoni's office.

"Got a moment?" he asked as he rapped on the door-frame.

Alan Mattoni turned his head and looked at Harm, an expression of mild curiosity on his face. "For you, this early on Monday morning? I guess so."

"Did you get to speak to Alison over the weekend?" Harm asked.

Alan leaned back in his chair, idly twirling a pencil between his long fingers, in much the same way that Harm himself did. " I did." He drew a deep breath, "As I guessed on Friday, she won't take it. Not dropping two grades. She'll take the drop to Lieutenant Commander; she doesn't like it, but she'll take it. In her words, she's sick of the uncertainty, she doesn't feel like chancing the panel or the judge, this way at least it's over and done with, and she says she can at last get on with her life."

Harm nodded, he had mixed feelings about this case. On the one hand he was disappointed Alison Krennick will be getting off so lightly. He still felt somewhat violated when he recalled just how she had been spying on him, on the other hand there was no telling where, in open trial, Krennick's testimony could lead. Once the door had been opened, and it would only take one shrewd question from Alan Mattoni to open that door, then the whole sorry saga of Alison's years ago pursuit of him, his failure to report it and Admiral Chegwidden's failure to notice, let alone act, would all be dragged out into the open for the delectation of a scandal-mongering press and a salacious public. But he wasn't about to let Alan know how he felt. At least by taking the path of the plea-bargain all parties, including Alison Krennick, would be escaping with most of their dignity and reputations intact

Keeping a mask-like expression he asked,"Have you typed out the counter offer, yet?"

Alan indicated his monitor, "On it now." he said laconically.

"Okay, once you typed out and printed off – in triplicate, you and Carolyn get-together and bring it to me in my office, please."

Alan nodded, "Will do."

**Monday April 23 2001, 0944hrs EDT, Admiral Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221344ZApr01)**

Harm eased himself into the big chair with a sigh of relief, staff call had seemed to last for ever this morning. It started out well enough, he'd farmed out Mac's outstanding cases, one each to Alan, Meg and Carolyn. None of them had been particularly thrilled, and Carolyn's usual smile was conspicuous by its absence. Then the news had broken, two more shootings on the Beltway over the weekend; the first, a female Marine Corporal, in a worrying development. She had been on her way to her boyfriend's parents on Saturday morning. She was in civilian clothes in her own car, which bore no markings, decals or stickers identifying it as the property of a Marine. The second shooting took place late Saturday afternoon, when a hospital corpsman from Bethesda was targeted at the intersection of the Beltway with the Rockville Pike. In addition, it seemed that the Navy and Marine Corps had decided upon mutual extermination, the Navy Yard Brig, was overflowing with sailors and Marines from the USS Boxer. The Boxer had just returned from a six month deployment during which time ill-feeling between the ship's crew and the embarked Marines had reached an almost unprecedented level. All it had taken to raise the simmering resentment between the two moieties into open hostilities had been a jogged elbow and a spilled beer in a somewhat seedy waterfront bar.

The ruckus had kicked off at about 21:30 hours on Friday and news of it, had percolated swiftly through the DC Navy's scuttlebutt machine. It had eventually come to the ears of the CNO as he left church with his wife at about 11:50 hours, Sunday. In the meantime, of course, the tale had grown in the telling, and the version that reached the CNO's ears involved several hundred drunken sailors and the same number of out of control Marines and had taken the combined efforts of the metro police, the Navy Shore Patrol and a company of Marines drafted in from Quantico to quell the riot. As a result, the CNO was not happy and apparently had muttered something about relieving the captain of the Boxer of his command.

Even from a preliminary reading of the file that had landed on his desk with a resounding thump, Harm deduced that the numbers of rioting sailors and Marines had been inflated by a factor of at least ten by the time the news had reached the CNO's ears, and the fight had been speedily and efficiently broken up by the Metro Police alone, who, no doubt with relief had handed the culprits over to the Navy. This, of course, he reminded himself did not reduce the gravity of the offences, but it did reduce the numbers to almost manageable level, and he had been able to divide the sheaf of file folders between Bud Roberts, Loren, Tom Burrows, Liz Fairchild and Michael Warren. None of them were particularly ecstatic, but it was all grist to the mill, now he was faced with the task of balancing the CNO's desire for punishment against the rights of the accused.

"Come back, Admiral," he breathed, "I'm too young for this crap!"

Where, if anywhere, this line of thought would take him became moot when the intercom on his desk buzzed.

"Yes, Tiner?"

"_Commander Imes, to see you, Sir_."

"Thank you, Tiner, ask her step in"

"_Aye, aye, Sir_!"

The door opened to admit Carolyn who crossed the carpet towards the big desk with a set expression and a determined stride. Harm rose to greet her, with a noncommittal, "Carolyn, take a seat, and tell me how I can help you"

"Well," the obviously aggrieved officer opened once she had settled herself in one of the wing chairs, "I'm not too happy about being blindsided over the Krennick plea-bargain. I almost suspect undue command influence," she said flatly.

Harm winced, the same thought had crossed his mind a time or two, particularly given the Admiral's intransigence over the matter, almost as if the older man felt personally betrayed by Krennick's actions.

Nevertheless, he was bound to support his superior officer," I can see how you might feel that, and with hindsight, I do owe you an apology. As soon as the term plea-bargain started to be tossed about I should have had you brought in on the deal, but it all happened so quickly on Friday afternoon, and with everything else that was going on… That visit from ONI's so-called attorney, the on the spot appeal to Judge Blakely, and then getting called away to listen to the SECNAV beat his gums over the Beltway shooter. All I can say, is sorry, I dropped the ball."

Carolyn sat in silence as she listened to Harm, eventually she shook her head, and said ruefully "Damn you Harmon Rabb. Admit it, you just handled me! I came in here just about ready to rip you a new one, and you've just taken the wind right out of my sails!"

Harm eyed her appraisingly,, as she strode across the carpet she was so tense he had been surprised not to see sparks of static electricity shooting from her, now as he watched her shoulders relaxed as the tension flowed from her. Deciding to take a chance, Harm let a slow, lazy grin stretched across his face, "Guilty as charged, counsellor," he acknowledged, "But look at it this way: we didn't have that much on her, just the one charge, conduct unbecoming an officer. By no means was it certain, the panel would convict, nor was it certain that the judge would order her dismissal. By letting her walk, she keeps her dignity, she retains whatever standing she has with whatever bars she is qualified, she avoids a federal conviction, which means she can still practice law – and let's face it, despite what we might think of her as a person, she's a shark in the courtroom. Against that, she takes a hefty drop in prestige, she also takes a long term pretty hefty financial hit. You and I both know that the step from Lieutenant Commander to Commander is only surpassed in terms of prestige and remuneration by the step from Commander to Captain."

Carolyn made an impatient gesture with her hand, "I know all that, Harm, and that wasn't the problem, being kept out of the loop was the problem, and you've apologised for that, and sort of explained why it happened. I'm still not ecstatic over the situation, but I can now live with it. So, if you'll excuse me, I'll get back to my desk, I've got that horrible Grant case I inherited from Mac!"

Carolyn stood, smoothing the creases across the front of her white skirt as she did so, and Harm was about to utter a casual dismissal when his face broke into a frown and Carolyn was sufficiently startled to turn and look over her shoulder as without any sort of knock or announcement, the office door opened.

Harm was about to blister Tiner's hide when his brain registered the image that his eyes had sent to it, "Admiral on deck!" was the best he could manage after a couple of seconds of stunned silence.

A J Chegwidden growled his familiar, "As you were people, as you were!"

Harm took in not only the fact that the Admiral was in summer whites, but also the stress-lines at the corners of the Admiral's mouth, and stepped smartly away from the big chair. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Sir."

Chegwidden made his way around the desk and with a barely audible sigh of relief sank in to the padded leather of the big chair. "Don't let me keep you, Commander," he said pointedly to Carolyn.

She picked up immediately on the hint, and receiving a brusque nod in reply to her, "By your leave, Sir?" performed a smart about-face and quietly left the office, closing the door behind her.

Chegwidden nodded to the wing chair recently vacated by the female officer, "Park your butt, Rabb. Seems I can't even be sick in peace without you setting the whole of the Pentagon by its ears."

"Sir!" Harm began to protest, "I've been at pains not to…"

Chegwidden shifted in the chair as if trying to achieve a more comfortable position, "I know, I know, I'm not so unjust, I'm just as much to blame as you this time around. For once, it seems you are more sinned against than sinning. I had a very interesting visit yesterday afternoon from Admiral Morris and Colonel Blakely, it seems you shoved a stick into an ants nest and gave it a damned good wiggle. What the hell is all this about, Rabb?"

Harm gave an uneasy grin, "It seems it was all about the Richardson case, Sir. It should seem that the ONI have a vested interest in preventing us from reopening the case. First off, there was the visit from Captain Harding, demanding that we drop the case. Naturally, he will deny it, but I have Colonel Mackenzie as a witness. Then, if you spoke with Judge Blakely yesterday, you know about their shyster attempt to get us to surrender the file. The thing is, Sir," Harm's voice became more thoughtful, "if they hadn't been so persistent, I probably wouldn't have been so…"

"Obdurate?" the Admiral supplied.

"Exactly, Sir." Harm grinned.

Chegwidden let a bleak grin of his own cross his face, "Where is the file now?" he demanded.

"In your wall safe, Sir," Harm replied.

"Best place for it!" Chegwidden agreed, "For the moment, anyway." He paused for breath, "Okay, Rabb, read me in on what else has been happening."

"Are you coming back permanently, Sir? I thought you had more leave time coming…"

"Strictly speaking, Rabb, I do. But on Friday evening I had a phone call from the New Mexico State police, they wanted the former Private Rivera back in their jurisdiction to make witness statements against the Sheriff and County Commissioners of Cochise County. There's more than a few residents of Cochise County of Mexican descent who have been swindled, coerced and even killed on some sort of illegal land grab. Apparently their land, granted under an old Spanish land grant is sitting on top of some of the richest pitchblende or Uraninite deposits to be found in recent years, rich enough apparently to yield weapons grade plutonium. So, I loaded him onto a C-141 on Saturday, and the New Mexico State Police collected him from MCAS Yuma and took him home with them."

Harm was almost sure that he saw a gleam of smug satisfaction in the Admiral's eye as he recounted Private Rivera's return to his home state.

But the Admiral hadn't finished yet, "So, without Rivera's company, things felt a bit solitary at home, so I decided to come back to work. Don't worry about it too much, Commander, I'm keeping an eye on how I feel, and once I start getting tired, home I shall go!"

Harm wasn't quite sure how he felt, disappointed in not sitting in the big chair, and making the big decisions, or relieved that the Admiral was back, and once again it was his task to make the big decisions, but he mustered a smile, "It's good to have you back, Sir, we've missed your hands on the reins."

Chegwidden gave a snort of disdain "How many times, Mister Rabb, and I told you not to try and bullshit me. You ain't that good at it!"

"No, Sir, but if I don't practice at it, then I'm never going to get better."

Chegwidden's snort this time was an effort to disguise his amusement, "I will allow, Commander, that you're better at handling me than you are at bullshitting me – but not by much. Now, pull that chair around, and tell me what's going on in my JAG!"

**Monday, April 23, 2001, 1238 hours EDT, Commissary, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (231648ZApr01)**

Harm and Loren chose the table under the largest cherry tree in the outside dining area, taking advantage of its bloom-laden branches to take shelter from the sun, which was already heating the DC air to a hot and uncomfortable humidity. Both had salads on their plate, and both had condensation-beaded bottles of mineral water to hand, and were looking forward to a quiet, relaxed and relaxing lunch. They were, however doomed to disappointment, as the table was invaded in quick succession by Meg, Carolyn, Alan and Mac, the last two just beating Bud and Harriet to the last remaining chairs.

No sooner had they seated themselves when Harm found himself under a barrage of questions, trying to make sense of the overlapping queries, the one word that he could clearly make out was "Chegwidden".

Holding up a hand for silence, he cleared his throat," Okay, I'm going to say this once only; yes, the Admiral is in his office. Yes, he has decided to return to duty. No, he has not yet finished his medical leave. And no, I am no wiser as to his condition than the rest of you. Satisfied?"

The babble broke out anew, and once again Harm raised a hand to still it, "Actually, I don't really give a rat's ass if you are satisfied or not, this is lunchtime, I came out here for a quiet lunch with my fiancée, not," he added severely, "to gossip about my commanding officer. Now, if anyone else wants to enjoy a quiet break with myself and Loren they are welcome to stay, but if you're here to absorb and pass on scuttlebutt, please feel free to do it elsewhere."

The other officers had the grace to look embarrassed, and almost as one they turned their attention to the meals in front of them.


	58. Chapter 58

**58**

**Monday, April 23, 2001, 1327 hours EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (231727ZApr01)**

"You got a minute?"

Harm looked up at his visitor, an eyebrow quirked, not that he was surprised by her visit, after all at one time or another all the attorneys in the office visited each other, but her question was loaded with just a little too much sweetness.

Harm leaned back in his chair and half swivelled to face the door, "Sure, Mac, come on in and take the weight off," he answered in a casual tone.

Mac strolled into the office, quietly closing the door behind her before taking a seat in one of the visitors chairs.

Harm grinned, not his hundred megawatt full on version, but a wry, sort of half-grin that only twitched one side of his mouth, "What's on your mind, Mac?" he asked genially.

Mac frowned, to pronounced vertical lines appearing between her brows, "What was all that about, outside at lunch? We start to ask a couple of questions because we're concerned about our CO and you jumped straight down our throats."

"Quite simple, Mac. First point, I went outside to have a quiet lunch, like I said, with my fiancée. Second point, the Admiral told us all that he wasn't prepared to discuss what was wrong with him and as long as whatever it was, is, still affecting him, I for one will continue to accede to his wishes. Third point, discussing whatever was or is wrong with the Admiral against his wishes is disrespectful of those wishes. Does the phrase disrespect to a superior officer ring any bells? After all, Mac, it's not that long ago that you reamed out a pair of Seamen for that self same offence, is it not?"

Mac was flustered, she'd come to demand an explanation, and an apology from Harm for his words and attitude at lunch, instead with one sentence he'd turned the tables on her, and thrown her onto the defensive.

"Harm, that's not quite the same thing, you're not comparing oranges with oranges. Those two Seamen were openly disrespectful to you, they were gossiping about your sex life… We were just concerned that perhaps the Admiral had come back to work too soon."

Harm nodded judiciously, "I'll accept that your motives were different, but just how is discussing in whatever terms my sex life any different to discussing the Admiral's health issues, issues that he quite clearly stated he wished to remain private?"

"But you know what's wrong with him, don't you?" Mac demanded.

"I do, but only because I might have needed to contact him while he was in hospital, and the title of the unit where he was a patient would have told me the nature of his illness anyway."

"But what if I'd needed to contact him?" Mac persisted, "After all, I am still his chief of staff."

Understanding dawned on Harm, "That's what's put a bug up your six, isn't it? The fact that he confided in me, and not in you. And again Mac, that can be easily explained. First off, his condition might have been one, might still be one, that he would be extremely uncomfortable discussing with any female. Secondly, there was a risk that if he did tell you, you might let it slip to Harriet. And you know as well as I do that if Harriet learns something, then the whole of JAG – no, let me correct that – the whole of the Navy community in the greater DC area will also learn about it PDQ!"

"That's not true, Harm," Mac protested although she silently felt compelled to agree, more or less with Harm's assessment of her friend, even if not to the degree he had painted.

"Is it not?" Harm asked sardonically. "Well, he's back now, in the big chair, why don't you just go and ask him how this procedure went, and how he's doing, how he's feeling while he is convalescing?"

Mac visibly winced as she tried to imagine A J Chegwidden's reaction to those questions. Questions he would undoubtedly classify as impertinent and intrusive.

Harm easily read Mac's expression, "Yeah, not a pretty thought, is it, imagining what he would say, or do? So, if you think he wouldn't answer you, what in God's name possessed you to that you think I would betray his confidence? And as for jumping down your throats, I had already intimated I wasn't going to go there, but when you all persisted, it was obvious to me that stronger words would be needed." He looked steadily at Mac for a few moments before he added, "And you knew that, all of you, otherwise you wouldn't have looked so embarrassed. Or," he added shrewdly, "was your embarrassment caused by me saying what I did, rather than you see coming to any sense of wrongdoing?"

Mac blushed, there was just enough truth in Harm's suggestion to sting. She took a breath, and said, "Well, you're obviously not prepared to give me, or any of the others any benefit of the doubt, so I don't see that there's any point in continuing this conversation."

Gathering the shreds of her tattered dignity about, Mac stood, and with a slight inclination of her head towards Harm, crossed to the door, opened it and stepped out into the bullpen.

**Monday, April 23, 2001, 1717 hours EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (232117ZApr01)**

Harm stretched and rolled his shoulders to try and ease some of the stiffness out of his back and neck. Just for once he'd been left alone in blessed solitude to get on with the work that had piled up in his in-tray, but now he'd had enough for the day, and looking at his watch he was surprised that Loren hadn't already come to tell him that she was securing for the day. Not that it mattered who decided first that they'd finished for the day, they still had to wait for each other.

Stowing the files into the secure draw in his desk, Harm turned the key in the lock, and returned his key ring to his pocket before he closed his briefcase, and standing pixies cover up from the credenza by the door before he left his office and walked across the rapidly emptying bullpen towards Loren's door.

He hadn't quite made it to his destination before the door opened and Loren, similarly burdened with cover and briefcase closed it behind her before she turned towards him with a smile on her face. "Ready?" he asked her.

"Oh yeah, more than ready… And you owe me big time!"

"And how do you work that one out?" he asked, intrigued by both her words and her delivery.

"Well, you pulled off such a convincing grumpy bear at lunch and then apparently sent Mac away with a flea in her ear so that everybody's been too scared to go near you all afternoon, and they've been coming to me to find out what hair you've got up your ass!" Loren complained with a grin.

"Ah... I thought it had been too quiet this afternoon!" Harm chuckled.

He was still chuckling quietly to himself as they stepped out through the building's main doors, Harm returning the Marine sentry's salute as they did so, but then he stopped short and his chuckle ceased. "Well, well, well… Would you look at that!"

"Look at what?" Loren demanded.

"That green coupé!" Harm nodded in the direction he meant for her to look.

All Loren could see however was a green BMW Z3 that was just on the point of leaving the parking lot. "So?" She queried and looked up at Harm.

His grin now verged on the mischievous, "it's about time somebody gave that young man a bit of hell!" And seeing Loren's mystified expression, he explained, "That was Tiner in the passenger seat, the driver was that little redhead I caught him talking to the other day, so it looks as if there might be something blowing in the wind from that direction, and if so, being that he's about the biggest gossip monger in JAG, with the possible exception of Harriet, oh, and PO Three Hawkins, he's overdue for some ribbing!"

For a few moments Loren was stunned into silence, but then she giggled, "Harm! That's unkind! Funny, yes, but also unkind!"

"Yeah, isn't it," Harm beamed.

Loren shook her head in mock despair, "Alright, enjoy your moment, but I know something that'll wipe the smile off your face!"

"And what's that?"

"The drive home."

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 0203 hours EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (240603ZApr01)**

The ski mask and black overall clad figure padded noiselessly along the hall, and eased into the bullpen, snapping the pair of night vision goggles into place before his eyes as he scanned the nameplates above the various offices. Locating his target he glided, still silently, towards it and with a black, latex gloved hand gingerly tried the door handle. With an almost silent disgusted click of his tongue his hand went to the small pouch at his belt, to produce a small, almost flat, black leather wallet. Opening it, he looked at the door lock and selected from the wallet two small, gleaming implements that looked almost like miniature golf clubs.

It was the work of less than twenty seconds for him to pick the lock and ease into the office that lay beyond the door. A quick glance was sufficient to show that there were no files left lying on the desk, on top of the file cabinets, or indeed on top of any other surface. A quick tug on the handles of the file cabinets drawers showed them to be locked, but again they yielded swiftly and silently to the lock picks in expert hands. It took nearly ten minutes for the intruder to find to his disappointment that whatever he was looking for was not in the file cabinets

For nearly a minute he crouched in thought in the shadow next to the cabinets and then his eyes fell on the drawers in the desk's single pedestal. The topmost drawer was unlocked, but proved to hold no more than a few items of stationery. The next to drawers however were locked, but yet again proved no match to the black-clad figure's lock-picking expertise. The site of a half dozen files in the bottom drawer brought a faint lift of hope to the intruder, but a swift scan, courtesy of the pencil light held between his teeth, while he pushed the light vision goggles up onto his forehead, doomed him once more to disappointment.

With a sigh he returned the files to the drawer and carefully re-locked it. Making sure that he also re-secured the file cabinets, he silently made his way out of the office, again carefully locking the door behind him and headed back along the hallway, to the window through which he had made his entry into the building from the fire escape.

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 0941 hours EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (241341ZApr01)**

Harm had collected the Richardson file from the Admiral's wall safe, and on his way back to his own office had collected Barlow from the office he shared with Lieutenant Fairchild. He waved the younger officer to one of the visitors chairs while he closed the door behind him, checked that the blinds were opened and dropped the deadbolt into place before taking his own seat behind his desk.

"What have you still got left on your plate?"

"The Monaghan article thirty-two, that's a simple DUI, and I have court this afternoon, and probably tomorrow: the Seaman Apprentice caught shoplifting from the Navy Yard BX, Liz... uh... Lieutenant Fairchild, I mean, is defending that one and she tells me he's adamant that he's not guilty, and it was simple absent-mindedness. And actually Sir, I'm inclined to believe him, he had made multiple purchases, and had paid over a hundred dollars, but apparently he'd slipped the card into his waistband because his arms were full and simply forgot about it at the checkout. He tried to explain this to the rent a cop on the door, apologised and said he was quite willing to pay for it, had the funds to pay for it, but nothing would do for the security guard, but to call the MPs."

Harm grinned wryly, "Sounds like you should be defending him!"

Barlow offered a tentative smile, "I asked Fairchild if she'd be willing to change roles, she told me to… uh... go to blazes, Sir!"

"Or somewhere even warmer?" Harm smiled.

"Exactly, Sir!"

Harm nodded, "We've all had to prosecute or defend when we have known that our client is innocent on the one hand or guilty as hell on the other; it's all part of being a JAG, but I hope I don't have to remind you of your article twenty-seven obligations?" he added sympathetically.

"No Sir, I'm well aware of them," Barlow answered.

"Good. So, Captain Richardson… How far have you got on drafting your appeal?"

"Well, Sir, I decided to go for the strongest opening available to me, and have taken the concealing evidence and witness tampering approach, emphasising that the prosecution in the case by indulging in that behaviour denied the captain his constitutional right to a fair trial…"

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 0948 hours EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (241348ZApr01)**

The soft tap on the door frame was immediately followed by a cheerful, "May I come in?"

Loren looked around, a smile of welcome on her face as she recognised her visitor, "Of course, come right ahead, ma'am."

Carolyn Imes walked into the office and indicated one of the visitors' chairs, "I'm not disturbing you I hope, and I shouldn't be too long anyway."

Loren closed the file in front of her with herself-deprecating grin, "You are disturbing me, and I am heartily thankful for it! I hate torts!"

Carolyn winced in sympathy, "That medical malpractice the Admiral hit you with this morning?" she asked.

Loren nodded grimly, "Just that. And I'm not too sure that a tort is the right way to go about this, at first glance it looks better suited to a dereliction of duty prosecution under article ninety-two."

"That's quite a coincidence," Carolyn remarked, "as it's my article ninety-two case I came to talk to you about. You saw that file the Admiral slid across to me this morning?"

Loren nodded, 'It would have been hard for anybody to miss seeing that file, it must have been at least 3 inches thick!'she thought, but contented herself with a nod and an interested expression on her face.

"That file is only the beginning, NCIS and the IG's office have been very busy. You recall that Meg Austin went undercover a while back at Quantico?" And receiving a second nod from Loren, Carolyn continued, "they have collected literally dozens, if not scores statements from members of the MCCDC at Quantico, plus other statements from sundry individuals from other units, and I have been tasked with preparing the prosecution case. And frankly speaking it's too much work for one individual to complete within the 'suggested' time frame, and I could really use a second chair. I can't ask Meg or Harm, they were involved in the initial investigation and I will probably need to call them as witnesses. I can't ask Mac, she won't be here. Alan Mattoni is defending, and I really need somebody with a bit more experience than any of the unholy trinity." Carolyn gave a little self-conscious little laugh, "What I'm trying to say, is would you like to sit second chair the courts martial of the Sergeant Major and the CO of MCCDC and the First Sergeant and Company Commander of H and S Company?"

Loren's eyes widened in surprise, "Are you sure you want me? You don't want to go this one alone? It's a career maker!"

Carolyn smiled, "It's only a career maker if the prosecution is successful, and without help I don't have enough time to frame a potentially successful prosecution case. I'd far sooner share the credit than see these… these… these cavemen walk away scot-free! You did excellent work on the Coulter case, and this case is likely to be just as tricky, so yes, I do want you, and not just because there's nobody else suitable available. As far as I'm concerned you're my first choice, and would have been even if Harm and Meg were available!"

"In that case, ma'am, I'll be very happy to sit second chair to you."

Carolyn breathed out in what was unmistakably a sigh of relief, "Thank God! And thank you, Loren!"

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 1127 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (241527ZApr01)**

Admiral Chegwidden frowned at the e-mail in his hand, and then looked up at his Yeoman, his frown still in place.

"Did you read this, Tiner?" He demanded, knowing full well that the insatiably curious petty officer would have done just that.

"Yes, Sir." Jason Tiner responded, almost making it sound as if there was an 'of course' tacked onto the end of his reply.

"Good," Chegwidden grunted, "Then you'll know what I'm about to say next, won't you?"

"Yes, Sir, 'Pass the word for Commander Rabb', Sir."

"Well don't just stand there man, get on with it!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

Five minutes later, Harm stood at attention in front of the big desk, "Commander Rabb, reporting as…"

"Yes, yes, I know all that!" The Admiral interrupted impatiently, "Stand easy, stand at ease!"

Harm adopted the position of parade rest and waited. He was not kept waiting for more than a few seconds.

"I have a message here from Captain Ingles, you'll remember him," Chegwidden said dryly," He is the skipper of the Patrick Henry. The Henry's battle group is now deployed in the eastern Mediterranean, keeping an eye on our excitable friends in southern Europe. Apparently there is some sort of problem, the last three days two of his Tomcats have fallen out of the sky, and Captain Ingles and his CAG are not happy. Fortunately on both occasions the crews ejected safely, the first crew were feet dry over Italy, and their bird went down in shallow water off Lecce on the Adriatic coast. The second crew weren't quite so lucky, they ended up going for a dip in the Adriatic, until they were picked up by an Italian fishing boat out of Bari. For some reason, strange as it may appear, Captain Ingles seems to be convinced that you are the man to discover the reason why his birds have suddenly started falling out of the sky, and specifically asked for you go out to the Patrick Henry and investigate!"

"Yes, Sir! But by the Admiral's leave, Sir, is there any mention by name of the crews that went down?"

Chegwidden grinned mirthlessly "I'm sure you'll know some of the names Commander, Lieutenant Commander Jonas and Lieutenant Maartens, Commander Loftness and Lieutenant Hawkes."

Harm's stomach suddenly started to pull some impossibly intricate and high G combat manoeuvres of its own as he heard the names. He had flown as a wing man to Boomer Jonas, and both Beth Maartens and Skates had been his back-seaters on various occasions, and he recalled that while Skates had confessed to him that she didn't 'swim so good', he remembered that Beth Maartens had been an Olympic prospect for the national swimming team, and found himself hoping that if anyone had had to take an enforced swim it was the blonde and not the brunette Lieutenant who had ended up in the drink. But although he could feel his stomach roiling, Harm had no idea that he had turned almost as white as his shirt until the Admiral looked at him in sudden concern.

"Are you feeling alright, Rabb? You've gone as white as a ghost!"

Harm gulped, "I… I… I'm fine… Thank you, Sir." He summoned up every last vestige of self-discipline in an effort to control his voice as he asked, "no word of any injuries, Sir? Or which crew ended up swimming?"

Chegwidden ran his eyes swiftly down the message once again, pursed his lips and shook his head "No, nothing said about casualties, or swimmers." His expression became thoughtful and his eyes took on a piercing quality as he wondered briefly at just what was bothering his subordinate; Rabb usually kept tight control over his emotions, and this display was so atypical that it raised doubts in Chegwidden's mind. Had Rabb gotten too close to his female crew while while deployed on the Patrick Henry? "You seem exceptionally concerned, Rabb?"

"Umm... Yes, Sir, a little concerned. Loftness I know slightly, but Jonas has flown as my wing man, and both the RIOs have been my GIBS, and I know one of them isn't a strong swimmer."

Chegwidden relaxed as he recalled that Rabb had successfully defended Hawkes at her last year's court-martial, and that she had specifically requested Rabb as she had been his more or less permanent RIO when he had flown off the Patrick Henry, therefore he acknowledged that for Rabb to feel a degree of concern was fitting, and signified no more than worry about a partner, a feeling with which as a former Seal he was all too familiar.

"Very well, Rabb. See Tiner for your orders and itinerary, get moving! Dismissed!"

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 1154 hours EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (241554ZApr01)**

"Hey sweetheart," Harm said softly from the doorway, his own grin answering Loren's smile of pleasure as she looked up, "Got time for an early lunch with a passing sailor?"

Two vertical lines appearing between Loren's eyebrows, "Passing sailor?" she queried.

Harm made a grimace that pulled the corners of his mouth down, "'Fraid so, I'm off to the eastern Mediterranean for a few days, not sure for how long exactly, but the skipper of the PH seems to think that I'm the one man who can find out why his birds falling out of the sky. It's the best part of a full day each way courtesy of the Zoomies, so it doesn't look like I'll be back for the weekend."

Loren's frown mutated into a discontented pout while Harm spoke as at the same time she locked away the two files that were on her desk. "If you're heading out, then damn straight I have time for lunch!" She stood and grabbed her cover. "Where to?"

"Cathy's Cookie Corner?" Harm suggested. "They do a mean egg or cheese salad sub…" He left the statement hanging as a question.

Loren nodded, "Suits me!"

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 1206hrs EDT, Cathy's Cookie Corner, Broad Street, Falls Church, VA (241606ZMar01)**

"This sucks!" Loren snarled just before she took a huge bite of her shrimp and coleslaw sub.

Harm swallowed a mouthful of his egg salad sandwich and raised an eyebrow, "How so? I thought we'd been pretty lucky up to now."

Loren took a slow sip of her diet Pepsi, "Alright, I suppose so…" she reluctantly conceded, and then after another sip she shrugged, "Yeah, you're right… In fact, I think we have been so lucky that I have started taking it for granted, and that's why this one has gotten me so pissed, but it doesn't seem like five minutes ago that I got back from LeJeune, and then you had to send me down to Norfolk, on top of you being temporary JAG," she added accusingly, "then there is that you're having to hide away with Barlow on this oh-so-sensitive… whatever it is! And now this crap in the Med."

Harm was feeling more than just sympathetic towards Loren, he'd been looking forward to a less stressful week now that the Admiral was back in the big chair, but duty was duty and besides those were his friends who were getting into trouble out there. They had enough to worry about with the reaction to their presence by the always unpredictable locals – he hesitated to label them as the enemy at the moment – without having to be concerned that their rides would suddenly start to break up around them.

Even so despite his feelings, there was only one real response he could make, "Loren, sweetheart I'm going to miss you like hell, but you know that we don't pick and choose our assignments, we eat whatever's served up to us and besides three of the guys who went down are friends of mine, one of them was Skates…"

Loren finished chewing her last mouthful of sandwich and swallowed, "I know, I know, he says to us 'go', and we goeth," she deliberately misquoted, "and you wouldn't be the guy I love if you weren't jumping onto a white horse and rushing off to help your friends. But, take care out there, please?"

"I will, I promise, no flying unless I'm ordered. Which reminds me…" he fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and then pulled out his car keys "Take these, you'll need them to get home tonight. And remember, stay off the Beltway, promise."

Loren took the keys, and then grinned mischievously, "Yes, dear, I'll stay off the Beltway, and I'll be back home before the Lexus turns into a pumpkin, and I'll try not to leave my slipper on the JAG steps!"

Harm regarded her sourly, "Very funny, but this is serious, avoid the Beltway."

Loren nodded, her grin vanished, "Believe me, I know it is, and despite how pissed I might get at the gridlocks I will not use the Beltway!"

Harm nodded in approval, "Okay, that's that settled. One other thing, though, you're due a check ride on Sunday with Mike. if I'm not back on Saturday, or if I haven't phoned you to say I'll be back late on Saturday, then it's up to you whether you drive down to Charlottesville or not. You know where the plane's keys are at home. But if you decide not to go, give Mike a call beforehand, so he doesn't waste his time on an unnecessary journey."

"Got it," Loren confirmed, "but I think I can say now that I won't be going to Charlottesville if you're not back." She regarded him solemnly for a minute or so, and just as his eyebrows started to climb again, she sighed, "Damn! I hate it that we're in uniform, in public."

Loren didn't need to finish her sentence, as Harm's hand reached across the table and covered one of hers, squeezing gently "I know… And time is running out. I told Tiner to have a pool car and driver ready for me for thirteen hundred, so I reckon I just about have time to walk you back before I have to split!"

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001 1247hrs EDT, JAG Ops, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (241606ZMar01)**

"Harm that was your car waiting outside! You're going to be late – again!" Loren chided him.

Harm glanced at his watch, "No, not late, not yet. Besides even I was, I still need to get my briefcase and helmet from my office."

Loren glared at him suspiciously, "I thought you said no flying this time."

"Unless ordered," Harm reminded her, "and if I do have to fly, I shall need my own helmet…" He glanced at his watch again, and a grin of unholy glee plastered itself over his face as he suddenly yanked open the door to the supply closet with one hand and grabbing Loren by the arm with the other hand, he used their momentum to spin her from the hallway into the darkness of the closet and close the door behind them.

Loren's squeak of, "What the…" was silenced by Harm's lips coming down firmly on hers. Loren's mouth already open to voice her protest offered no impediment to Harm as he kissed her very, very thoroughly and passionately, only breaking the kiss with a need for air made it imperative.

"Harm are you crazy? You'll get us both court-martialed!"

In the darkness of the closet Loren couldn't see Harm's grin, but she could hear it in his voice, "No we won't, I'm only doing exactly what the Admiral told us. He said he didn't want to have to send a chaperone with us to the break room, because that's what the supply closet was for!" Harm continued overriding any further protest Loren might be thinking of making, "And anyway you weren't exactly slow in responding," he teased gently.

"I… I'd… I don't know what you mean!" Loren stammered furiously.

"No?" Harm demanded, "Where are your hands right now?"

Thankful that the darkness hid her blushes, Loren hastily snatched her hands away from the back of Harm's neck, where she had been toying with the short hairs while they kissed..

"And anyway, did you really think I was going to fly halfway across the world without kissing my best girl goodbye?"

"Best girl?" Loren spluttered, "I better damn-well be your only girl!" then her voice softened, and she reached up with a gentle hand to trace the line of his jaw, "be careful over there, Harm, and if you do have to fly, be careful up there too, and remember that I'm back here waiting for you. Now go on, get outta here!"

With a final caress of her cheek with his thumb, Harm opened the door and slipped out into the hallway.

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 1827 hours EDT, Male Surgical Ward, Surgical Wing, Bethesda National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (242227ZApr01)**

The two jeans and T-shirt clad women made almost no noise, apart from an occasional faint squeak from their tennis shoes on the polished floor, as they made their way along the hallway from the nurses' station, finally to arrive at their destination.

"Evening, Gunny, how are you this evening?" Carolyn Imes smiled.

Victor Galindez pushed himself into a more upright position, still wincing slightly as abused muscles protested. "Good evening, ma'am, ma'am," he greeted Carolyn and Meg formally, "doing pretty well thank you, ma'am. I had the last of the stitches removed this afternoon, well as many as they are going to remove, they tell me the ones on the inside will dissolve naturally," he added dubiously.

Meg nodded, "that's pretty standard these days, Gunny. And it's a good thing," she added with a hint of a teasing her voice, "after all would you really want them opening you up again, that would mean more stitches, and another ten days in hospital while they heal!"

Victor gave her a look of intense dislike, "With all due respect ma'am, you have a cruel streak!"

Meg managed to keep a smile in place, "Y'all know what they say, Gunny; sometimes ya just have to be cruel to be kind!"

Victor couldn't help the grin that twitched the corners of his mouth, "This is you being kind, ma'am?"

"Just as kind as you were to me while you were conditioning me for that investigation down at Quantico. Remember what they also say Gunny, payback's a bitch!"

Victor knew when he was onto a losing proposition, "Okay, ma'am, you got me. For the moment. But I will remind you that I do have four sisters, so you may have me on my back foot for the moment, but retreat? Hell no!"

Carolyn, immensely enjoying the give-and-take between the other two had taken up position on one of the uncomfortable blue plastic chairs, while Meg perched on the side of the bed, and then delved into the large, coarse linen, grocery bag." I figured you'd be kind of tired of hospital food, Gunny, so I brought you something just to vary the diet a little." She pulled out of the bag a flat box, which bore the name and logo of Zia Angelina's Trattoria Tradizionale and gave off the distinctive aroma of pizza.

Gunny's face split in a huge grin, "Ma'am, for this, all is forgiven!" And then something niggled at the back of his memory, and he closed the lid to check the printing on top of the box. "Isn't this from the place we went for that pizza just before we went to Quantico?" He asked with a trace of concern in his voice.

Meg grinned hugely, as far as she was concerned she had just scored another point, "It is, Gunny it is, but don't worry it won't bite you back."

"Not one of your Texas chilli pizzas?" Galindez asked for confirmation.

Meg shook her head, "No, just a small, double pepperoni, with extra cheese. I did debate whether I ought to bring you a beer or two, I seem to recall you enjoyed those, but then I figured you'd enjoy those more once you're out of here. So…" she delved into the depths of the bag once more, and brought out two cartons of purple grape juice, "These aren't maybe as cold as you'd like, but they will wash down the pizza, and yes I checked with the doctors, you are allowed to have them."

Victor nodded, and put the pizza and drinks to one side, "Bring me up to date, will you ma'am? What's happening at JAG? Is anybody any nearer catching this damn sniper?"

Both Carolyn and Meg grimly shook their heads, their grins vanishing like early morning mist in sunlight. "No, nothing, but at least there's been nothing new since the weekend, maybe he's given up."

The Gunnery Sergeant shook his head, "I don't believe that for a minute, ma'am. And what's more, neither do you," he added shrewdly. "Nope, this guy has got a taste for it, he won't stop until he's been brought down."

"That might well be the case, Gunnery Sergeant, but it's none of your nevermind. So when you get out of here, you'll be staying at home, minding doctors orders like a good little Marine. You leave catching this lunatic to whoever has been given the duty. Do you read me, Gunnery Sergeant?" Carolyn demanded.

"Yes, ma'am, I hear you, but it's kinda hard. This… this lunatic is out there killing my brothers and sisters, it's the duty of every Marine to bring him down. But…" He indicated his midriff, "I'm not in the best of shapes right now, so, I will follow doctors orders."

Meg shot Carolyn a warning glance, and delved back into the depths of her bag, "Now that your stitches are out, I can't see them keeping you for too much longer Gunny, but I figure if you are cooped up in your apartment for a few more days, then you'll need some fresh reading material. This is a little unusual, it's a murder mystery, but set in ancient Rome, the author's English, and there is a good bit of humour in there."

Victor took hold of the book glanced doubtfully at the cover, "' The Silver Pigs'" he read out loud, and noticing that the book was not new he asked, "You've read it, ma'am?"

Make nodded, "I have, I liked it. As I said, there's murder, mystery, tragedy, humour. A bad boy hero, and an elegant heroine. Oh, and a formidable mother!"

Victor did grin at that, "Yeah, I don't know whether I want to read about that, I've a right formidable mother of my very own!"

"Well, Gunnery Sergeant, you're about to find out just how formidable_ I_ can be!" A new voice broke in from the doorway.

Surprisingly, at least to Meg and Carolyn, Victors grin became even wider, "Bring it on, ma'am, let's see just how good your game is!"

Meg and Caroline gaped in astonishment at Victor, and then at the newly-arrived nurse. She was a solid looking woman in her 40s, with the Silver Oak Leaf of a full commander on the point of one collar, and the oak-Leaf badge of the Navy nursing Corps on her other collar-point.

The nurse sent a ferocious glare at the unrepentant Marine Corps NCO, and then smiled at Meg and Carolyn, "Ladies, I'm afraid we're coming up to the end of visiting hours, and the Gunnery Sergeant and myself are about to engage in a another skirmish over his wound dressing, so…"

Meg stood up, "We understand. So, we'll get out of your way," she said with one of her flashing smiles, and then continued, "Carolyn? Are you ready?"

Carolyn had also stood, "Ready when you are," she replied to Meg, before turning to Victor, "Gunny, we'll check with the hospital again tomorrow to see if there's any news of your impending release. If not we, or one of us, will be back tomorrow."

Victor nodded, "Yes, ma'am, thank you ma'am."

The two JAG officers made last smiling, farewells, including the nurse commander in their final comments as they stepped out of the door and into the hallway.

Nurse Commander Isabel Madison followed them with her eyes until they turned a corner, and then with a speculative gleam, she turned back to her patient.

"And who were your visitors, Gunny?" she asked as she closed the door and shut the blinds.

"Uh, two of our JAG attorneys, ma'am," Victor said uneasily as he observed her preparing his fresh dressings.

"Ah..." Commander Madison observed, and then with a bright, professional smile she turned towards the bed, "You know the drill, Gunnery Sergeant."

"Yes, ma'am," the Gunny replied, his hand reaching for the gown's tie at the back of his neck

**Tuesday, April 24, 2001, 2149 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (250049ZApr01)**

Loren had decided that if she couldn't be with Harm, then she was going to spoil herself while he was away and had stopped at a local store on her way home and loaded the Lexus up with an assortment of what she thought of with a guilty grin as 'goodies'.

Lugging the two grocery sacks up to the apartment however had almost her wish that she hadn't indulged herself quite so much – almost. But freshly showered and changed she set about preparing her dinner. She set the salmon steak to marinade while she put a potato in the oven to bake and then shredded the salad leaves and tossed them with a light dressing, and just to occupy herself while the potato was baking, she set about the mixed fresh fruit she had bought and turned her hand to making a gallon of ice cream.

So it was with a sense of house-wifely accomplishment that an hour and a half or so later that she sat down to her simple dinner and even treated herself to a glass of chilled Chardonnay and mineral water to go with it. She wasn't normally one for drinking alone, but she figured that on this one occasion that one glass wouldn't hurt.

Her dinner eaten and the washing up and clearing down completed, Loren retired to the bathroom, filled with scented steam from the bath salts in the water, and lit by a dozen or so candles and treated herself to a long, luxurious soak, only regretfully quitting the bath when the water grew uncomfortably cool.

Ten minutes later she was dressed in her Winnie the Pooh pyjamas, and having secured the apartment door she was about ready to climb into bed. Shortly after that she curled up in bed with an Alexander Kent novel which featured a new, to her, historical hero, a British naval officer with the strange name of Bolitho, but after a couple of pages gave it up as a bad job, she just could not concentrate on the story or the characters. At first she put her uneasiness down to Harm's absence, missing the reassurance of that large, strong body lying next to hers, but she also had a niggling, insistent feeling that something else was wrong and she felt vulnerable. With an inward grin at her own foolishness in indulging in her misgivings she threw the covers off and climbed out of bed, and resorting to a ritual in which she hadn't partaken since Harm moved into the apartment, she got on her hands and knees and reaching under the bed opened the lock-box that was secured to the bed frame. Her hands remembered their task and in a few seconds she held her Smith and Wesson Sigma and a full clip of ammunition. The sound of the clip sliding home brought some measure of reassurance to her, but the harsh, metallic rasp as she locked and loaded brought an even greater sense of security.

Even so, it was with a wry grin that she checked the safety on the weapon and put it in the drawer of the night stand. Sliding back under the covers she picked up her book only to put it to one side within a few minutes, not that she wasn't interested in the story, it was just her eyes were losing the battle against sleep. So with a final yawn, she put the book on the night-stand and turned off the light, and was asleep within minutes.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0813 hours CEST, AMC Movement Control Checkpoint, Joint Air Facility, Naples, Italy (250613ZApr01)**

Harm was still working at the kinks out of his spine that had developed during the nine-hour flight DC to Naples. He was tired, the seats on a C-17 weren't the most comfortable in the world, and were too close together to properly allow him leg room, consequently his attempts at sleep had been confined to an uneasy series of cat-naps. Adding to his fatigue was his body's insistence that it was now zero two hundred hours, or thereabouts, and he should be at home, asleep in bed, and not hauling his sea-bag the length of the AMC building at Naples.

A hand rubbing over his bristly chin also reminded him that he felt grubby, and was definitely in need of a shave. He knew there would be no time for a shower, but his electric razor was one of the last items he'd packed in his sea-bag, and over there was a sign to the wash-rooms.

Ten minutes later, freshly shaved and partially refreshed from a hasty wash, he approached the Navy flight operations desk and produced his orders. The young Personnelman Second Class checked the orders, and then the passenger manifest for the Patrick Henry's COD.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but your name's not on the passenger list."

Harm gritted his teeth, this was slightly unusual but it was not the first time that a hastily mobilised JAG hadn't been added to a passenger manifest. "You've seen my orders, I'm to report to the Patrick Henry. Those orders were signed by the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, and they were sufficient to get me from DC to here without giving me time to grab a meal or a shower. Now, I'm not the pull rank on you type, I'm just going to point out that a two star Admiral outranks both of us. I'm going to leave it to your imagination as to what his reaction is going to be when I tell him that a PN Two prevented me from following his orders. Look," he continued in a reasonable tone, "These orders were cut around eighteen hundred hours last night, Naples time. Probably too late to make it through admin to get to you by now. Does that sound reasonable?"

The young Petty Officer breathed a sigh of relief, he had plenty of experience in judging the temperament of officers, and he recognised not only the fatigue in the Commander's face, also the effort the officer was making to keep his temper under control. Besides, he had ambitions to make the Navy his career, and getting athwart of a two star's hawse was hardly likely to prove beneficial.

"I guess so, Sir." He scribbled rapidly on a transit docket and handed it to Harm, and after a quick glance at the clock on the wall above his head, he added, "Emplaning now, Sir," he nodded in the direction of the door that led out onto the apron, where a dozen or so individuals in Navy uniform had formed a somewhat ragged line.

With a nod of thanks to the Petty Officer, Harm once more shouldered his sea-bag and strode off to join the line.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0237 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, ten fifty-four Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (250637ZApril01)**

Loren's eyes snapped open, she was awake on the instant. This was not a natural surfacing from the depths of sleep awakening, something, something out of place had woken her up. Straining every nerve, she listened to the darkness. There it was again, the unmistakable sound of the heavy drapes in the lounge being drawn.

Loren was conscious that her heart was pounding so hard that it felt it might break her ribs, and that her mouth and throat were suddenly dry and that the palms of her hands were wet with sweat. Slowly, silently, and by touch alone she turned onto her side and reaching out opened the drawer on the night stand, her hand going unerringly to the grips of the Sigma.

Loren rolled out of bed, and licking her dry lips, she edged towards the bedroom door. Very slowly and very quietly she turned the door handle and edged it open just a crack, thankful that Harm had shown her the trick with washing-up liquid that prevented the hinges from squeaking.

Peering through the crack she could see that the drapes on one of the windows had been pulled back, allowing sufficient lamp and starlight into the lounge for her to make out a black clad figure stooped over the desk between the two lounge windows. Taking a breath she threw the door open and hit the light switch, flooding the room with light, even as she raised the Sigma to point in the direction of the intruder and screamed "Freeze!"

The man in the black coveralls and ski mask gave a yelp of pain and threw up his left forearm to knock aside his night vision goggles that with the sudden explosion of light had temporarily blinded him, but instead of obeying Loren's command, he raised his right arm to point his hand at her.

Seeing the bulk of a silenced pistol in his hand Loren did not hesitate, she squeezed the trigger of the Sigma twice in rapid succession, aiming at the centre of mass of her target. The black clad figure was thrown back by the impact of the two nine-millimetre slugs and collapsed onto the floor, the double report of the Sigma drowning the 'phut' of his weapon and the impact of his bullet in the door frame no more than six or seven inches from her head.

Heedless of her bare feet and her pyjama clad appearance, Loren darted forwards, keeping the supine figure covered with the Sigma while she kicked his pistol out of his reach. Noting with surprise, and with a measure of relief that he was still breathing, she grabbed a throw cushion from the nearest armchair and pressed it to his wound, even as she grabbed the telephone and dialled 911.

"_Emergency operator, what is your emergency_?"

"This is Loren Singer, there has been a shooting at apartment 3A, 1054 Canal Street Northwest, I need police and an ambulance."

"_You are Loren Singer, and there has been a shooting at apartment 3A, 1054 Canal Street Northwest, and you need need police and an ambulance, is that correct?_"

"Yes, dammit, just get the police and an ambulance here right away!"

"_They are already on the way, ma'am, but I need you to stay on the…_"

"No! I haven't got time for this!"

Loren turned her attention back to the wounded man, he looked to be in a bad way, and for a few more minutes she put her full weight on the cushion in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, although there was no way she could tell what sort of damage the bullets had done. As the adrenaline rush faded, she began to take stock of the situation. There could be little doubt that she had surprised an intruder, and that she had fired in self defence, but the lawyer in her insisted that she would benefit from an attorney.

Turning back to the telephone, she caused it to scroll through the address and phone number listings until she found the name she wanted. Punching in the number, she waited for a reply.

"_H'lo..._?" The sleepy voice mumbled.

"Meg! This is Loren, I know how late it is, but I have an emergency on my hands, and I need an attorney. I've just shot someone, and he doesn't look so good, the police and ambulance are on the way!"

The impact of Loren's words drove the last vestiges of sleep from Meg Austin's mind, the phone still pressed to her ear, she was already reaching for her clothes, "_Okay, stay calm, where are you_?"

"At home. Please, Meg, hurry... I can hear the sirens!"

"_I'm on my way, Loren!_" Meg assured the younger officer, the phone jammed between her shoulder and her ear as she wrenched tight the buckle on her waist belt.

Loren drew a deep shuddering breath, her last sentence had sounded shaky and on the verge of panic even to her own ears, fighting to control her voice she said, "Thanks Meg, the door will probably be open when you arrive so just come on in."

"_Okay, I'm leaving now_," Meg said she as shrugged into her brown leather jacket. "_Remember, don't say a word to the police until I get there_!"

"No, no, I won't!" But Loren was talking to a dead phone, Meg was already halfway down the stairs from the old loft apartment.

Although she had been expecting it, the sharp knock on the apartment door and the shout of, "Metro police, open up!" made Loren jump.

Looking across the room she saw the door sway open slightly "Come on in, its open!" She yelled in reply.

The next few minutes passed in a confusion of hurrying bodies, as the first responders secured the two weapons and ensured that Loren was the only uninjured occupant of the apartment. The EMTs, who arrived within a minute or two of the police tactfully but firmly moved Loren to one side as they began work on the still breathing but still bleeding intruder.

After what seemed to Loren to be an age, two plain-clothes detectives arrived and began firing off questions. Loren, who had recovered some of her composure and had taken a seat in one of the armchairs merely looked at them and said one word, "Lawyer."

The two detectives looked at each other resignedly and shrugged. "Your attorney's on his way, is he?" The older of the two asked.

"No, I'm here," an exasperated Meg Austin announced from the doorway, but then turned her attention to Loren, "Are you alright, Loren?"

Loren managed a half-smile, "I'm good, thanks Meg…"

The older detective flashed his badge, "I'm Detective Rogers, this is my partner, Detective Walsh, and you are?"

"Commander Megan Austin, Navy JAG Corps," Meg showed her Navy ID, "and my client is Lieutenant Loren Singer, also Navy JAG Corps." Meg paused for effect and she eyed the two detectives expressionlessly, "we are both attorneys."

Both she and Loren were hard put not to grin of the look of consternation exchanged by the two plain-clothes police officers.

Rogers nodded again, "Well, we'd like to ask your client a few questions, from what we know, she called in a shooting at this address, and the EMTs have just taken the victim away."

"So, he still alive – or so I presume, judging from a lack of the coroners unit?"

"He was still alive when he left here, but he didn't look too good to me," Detective Walsh answered.

"Well, now I'm here my client is perfectly willing to answer your questions, and to coöperate in whatever way she can, but I'm sure she'd be much more comfortable and much more responsive if she was allowed to clean up some, and get dressed in proper clothing."

"Agreed, we'll probably need those PJs for evidence anyway," Rogers observed.

"But, we'd rather you didn't accompany her while she's washing up and changing," Walsh commented as Meg turned to go with Loren. "That way we can be sure you're not rehearsing her."

For a second it looked as if Meg was about to explode, but she made a visible attempt to master her anger and sat down again, "Yes, agreed. Go on Loren, I'm not going anywhere."

Ten minutes passed in an uneasy silence until Loren, now in jeans and a sweatshirt with her hair brushed and tied back in a ponytail re-entered the lounge, her bloodied pyjamas folded inside a plastic carrier bag.

The detectives waited until she had seated herself next to Megan on the couch, before they started their questions.

"All we have, as the report from the 911 operator, saying that you reported a shooting at this address. Do you know who did the shooting?"

Loren gave a quick glance at Meg and receiving a nod of encouragement replied, "Yes, I did the shooting."

"Why?"

"I was awoken by a noise in the lounge, I knew there was nobody else supposed to be in the apartment, so I got my weapon, went to the bedroom door and opened it a crack, I could see an intruder going through the papers on that desk…" She indicated the desk standing between the two windows, "I told him to freeze and I hit the light switch. He was wearing night goggles, and I guess the light must have dazzled him, but he raised his hand and I could see his pistol, so I fired twice."

"Seems pretty cut and dried," Rogers agreed, "he was wearing black, and a ski mask, and night goggles, seems pretty much like a home invasion to me. Where are the weapons now?"

"I have them secured," one of the uniformed first responders replied, "A Smith & Wesson Sigma, and Glock Seventeen, fitted with a supressor. Both weapons have been recently fired."

"Where were you standing, when you fired, Lieutenant?" Detective Walsh asked.

"In that doorway there… Oh, fuck…" Loren swore involuntarily and her voice trailed off as for the first time she saw the bullet hole in the door frame.

Rogers followed her line of sight and whistled softly, his experienced eye picking up that the intruder's shot had only missed Loren by a small margin. But he still needed to complete his initial enquiries. "The Sigma, that's not a service weapon, is it?"

Loren shook her head, "No, no it's my own personal property, I have the necessary firearms licence and CCW permit in that desk."

"You didn't say that you loaded the weapon before you challenged the burglar," Walsh observed.

"No, I had it loaded with a full clip in my night-stand drawer."

"Do you normally keep a loaded weapon in your night-stand?" Walsh asked in some surprise.

"I got into the habit the couple of years ago when I first arrived in DC, and the Georgetown rapist was active… You might remember how long it took the police to catch him?" Loren added the barb to the end of her sentence.

Rogers winced, he had been part of the Georgetown rapist task force, and remembered only too well that it was only after he had assaulted seventeen victims that he finally slipped up and left evidence behind. Evidence that led to his eventual capture, trial and imprisonment.

Rogers took another look around the apartment, "I take it that you're not meaning to leave town in the near future?"

Loren shook her head, "No, not unless I get sent TAD somewhere, and that's always a possibility."

"Okay… Well, as I say it looks like you defended yourself and your home in the course of a home invasion. We'll have to report the incident to the DA's office, but I can't see anything coming of it. But just in case we need to talk to you again, where can we find you if you're not at home?"

Loren got to her feet, and crossed to the side table that stood just inside the door. Opening her purse, which was lying on the table, she took out her card turning back towards the detectives handed it to Rogers.

"We'll leave you in peace now, Lieutenant, and as I say, you may be hearing from us at a later date."

Loren almost collapsed into one of the armchairs as her knees threatened to give way beneath her, "Meg, would you mind staying for a while?" she pleaded.

Meg smiled, "Of course not, but would you mind if I made some tea?"

Loren made to stand, "Oh dear, I'm afraid all this has made me forget my manners…" She answered shakily.

"No, stay put, I'm sure I can work it out!" The tall Texan woman said.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0924 hours CEST, **_**USS Patrick Henry**_**, Adriatic Sea (250613ZApr01)**

Harm strode down the tail ramp of the C-2 Greyhound COD onto the flight deck of the Patrick Henry, looking around for the officer that protocol said should be waiting to greet him. Slightly bemused by this lack, he slung his sea-bag over his shoulder and made his way across to the watertight door that gave access to the island. Once inside, he stripped off his white vest and skull protector, showing them into the hands of a passing sailor. Once again he looked round for his shipboard guide, still no-one seemed to notice him or even care that he had arrived. A frown furrowing his forehead, and deciding that he have a quiet word with the XO at a later time, he turned towards the ladders that would take him up to the bridge, where he was sure he would find the skipper.

He had barely taken two steps however when an incredulous voice from above called out, "Hammer?"

Looking up he stared into the green eyes of Lieutenant Beth Maartens, otherwise known as Fiddler, "Hi, Fiddler, if you've come to meet me and take me to the skipper, you're a few minutes adrift!"

The blonde officer shook her head, "Not guilty, but I will be if I stay and talk; heading for a briefing!" she rattled off as she clattered down the stairs and past him. "Catch up in the wardroom, later!" She grinned over her shoulder as she took yet another ladder leading below.

Harm grinned, at least whatever had gone wrong hadn't affected Beth Maartens in the slightest.

Continuing his upwards climb, Harm reached the bridge deck, and dropping his sea-bag into a corner he rapped once on the bulkhead next to the door and stepped onto the bridge.

The petty officer of the watch gave him a quick, startled look, "JAG on the bridge!" he declared.

Captain Tobias Ingles, the Patrick Henry's skipper, looked up from the operations plot where he had been in deep conversation with his XO. His eyebrows rose almost it seemed to his hairline, "Rabb?" he said, "What the hell are you doing on my ship?"

The question, and its abrupt delivery, rocked Harm back onto his heels, and he retreated into protocol to give his suddenly whirling brain a second or two to recover, "Commander Rabb, reporting as ordered, Sir!"

Tobias Ingles bristled, "Whose damned orders?" he demanded.

"Ad… Admiral Chegwidden's orders… Sir," Harm stammered, his hand going to his breast pocket to produce his written orders.

"And just why has the JAG ordered you here? You can't be due your quals!"

Now thoroughly bewildered Harm replied, "No Sir, not here to fly. I'm here to investigate your mishaps."

Ingles looked at his visitor as if he had suddenly grown two heads, "What damned mishaps?"

"The two F-14s that went down in the in the past three days…" Harm answered.

"What in the name of God are you wittering on about? We haven't lost any birds!"

Harm shook his head, "I read your email myself, Sir, you said two Tomcats had gone down, both crews ejected, one crew were feet dry in Sicily, and the others went for a swim and were picked up by an Italian fishing boat!"

Ingles exploded, "Rabb, if you've been drinking, I'll make sure you never see the light of day again! I don't know what the hell is going on here, but one thing I do know: this ship has not lost any aircraft!"


	59. Chapter 59

**59**

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0924 hours CEST, The Bridge, USS Patrick Henry, Adriatic Sea (250624ZApr01)**

"Sir, I have not been drinking!" Harm defended himself, assuming a stiff brace.

"Relax Rabb, I know you haven't, not even you would be brave enough or stupid enough to turn up on my bridge under the influence of alcohol! But I was not kidding about my airplanes, this ship has not lost any of its birds to enemy action, or other circumstances for more than a year, not even with you flying through the mother of all storms!"

Harm looked blank for a moment, then his brow creased in a frown, "it looks like I've been sent on a wild goose chase… But why the hell would anyone want to do that… And who would want to…" He stumbled to a halt as realisation began to dawn.

Not privy to his thoughts, Captain Ingles grinned, "And besides me, who else have you pissed off recently?"

Harm grinned a little self-consciously, "I am trying not to push unnecessary buttons these days, Sir, but yes there is one… Shall we say, organisation that has the clout and the ability to pull this off…"

Tobias Ingles nodded, whoever was jerking Rabb around, had also jerked him around. Him, a Captain in the United States Navy. And nobody, in Tobias Ingles' book, got away with jerking him around. "Very well, Rabb, somebody is apparently all out tee off me, you and Admiral Chegwidden, and it seems pretty plain to me that you have some idea as to the why and of who is responsible?"

"Yes, Sir, but by your leave, Sir, I'd rather not air my suspicions without something to back them up!"

"Always the legal weenie, hey, Rabb!"

Harm risked a slight joke, "That's what they pay me for, Sir."

Ingles gave him a long look between slightly narrowed eyes, "Well, let's see if we can at least rule out anybody on board as originating that message. E-mail, you say?"

"Yes, Sir, e-mail it was." Harm answered.

Ingles pursed his lips and grabbed the ships broadcast system microphone, "Communications officer of the watch to the bridge, communications officer of the watch to the bridge ASAP!"

He closed the circuit and nodded with grim satisfaction, "This won't take long, Commander."

It didn't, the communications officer of the watch was on the bridge and reporting himself in under four minutes. Ingles heard him out and grunted an acknowledgement before he introduced the two officers, "Commander Carlton, this Commander Rabb, and as you can see he is JAG Corps, so be careful what you say!" he grinned to show he was joking, "Rabb, Lieutenant Commander Carlton is Comm-OOW, I want you to work with him and satisfy yourself as to whether or not this bogus e-mail originated from this ship! What sort of time frame are we looking at, Rabb?"

"Admiral Chegwidden briefed me and about eleven thirty hours, DC time, so..." Harm drew the syllable out while he quickly calculated time zone differences, "between ten hundred zulu and sixteen hundred hours zulu yesterday, Sir."

Ingles nodded and turned towards his own officer, "I want you to check each and every email that left this ship between those hours. Commander Rabb will work with you, as he's already seen the email for which you will be looking. Understood?"

Lieutenant Commander Carlton braced up to attention, "Aye, aye, skipper!" he paused for a second or two, "Commander Rabb, if you'd care to follow me, sir?"

Once more slinging his sea-bag over his shoulder, and although knowing perfectly well the location of the communications compartment Harm followed the other officer into the bowels of the ship.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1143 hours CEST, USS Patrick Henry, Adriatic Sea (250843ZApr01)**

"As far as I can tell, Sir, that's the last of them," Lieutenant Commander Carlton said sourly as he rolled his shoulders.

Although Harm was thankful that his ordeal, as he thought of it, was over – he hated squinting at computer screens for prolonged periods – he knew he had to be totally sure that nothing had been missed. "Are we certain enough that we've seen everything, that we can go back to the skipper and assure him that the email did not come from the Henry?"

"You've seen the log Sir, we've checked every damned email on that log, and you said none of them we've seen are the one you read in DC…"

"Excuse me, sir. Permission to speak, please?"

Carlton frowned with displeasure at being interrupted, but he knew, trusted and liked the men and women who worked for him in the comms department, "Yes, go ahead, Templeton."

"Sir, there is an anomaly here. I've got an EMP signature that matches an outgoing email, but its time stamp doesn't match anything on the log, Sir."

Both Harm and Carlton swivelled their stools around to face the petty officer, "Put it up on screen, and let's hear it on speaker," Carlton ordered.

The three faces assumed intent expression as they watched the dance of light across the oscilloscope screen and heard the high-pitched squeal. "Play it again Templeton!" Carlton said. Their activity attracted the attention of the Chief Petty Officer of the watch, and he left his station to come and stand behind the two officers just as Templeton replayed the signal.

A thoughtful expression settle on Chief Murtagh's black face, "Again, Templeton, but see if you can slow it down a bit more…"

Once again the signal was replayed, but at half the speed, "There! I thought I heard that!" the Chief exclaimed in a tone of deep satisfaction. "That signal never came from this ship, Sir," he remarked to Carlton.

"How do you explain the EMP, Chief?" Carlton asked.

"That little blip at the start of the signal… Kill the audio, Templeton and play it again, slower if you can… There, Sir! That little jump in the signal, just there… That signal was bounced off us."

"Any way of reading that signal, so we can read the message?"

Chief Murtagh shook his head, "'Fraid not, Sir, it didn't come through us, it just bounced off us!"

"Chief, if if the Henry was the last station to have the message bounced off it, what would the recipient see as its point of origin?" Harm asked thoughtfully.

"They'd see the Henry, Sir," Murtagh replied, confirming Harm's suspicions.

"And how difficult would it be to bounce an email like that?"

"Not too difficult at all, Sir. Anyone with a reasonable amount of computer skills can do it, just relaying through a proxy, or if somebody wanted to, just to make it a little more difficult to trace, relay through a series of proxies."

Harm turned to Carlton, "Thanks to you, and your crew, we may now have an idea of what we're looking for…" He fished his notebook out of his pocket, and made a note of the mystery email's time stamp, "of course, without be able to read this message we have absolutely no proof that it is the one that sent me halfway around the world, but…"

"But it is what you legal types call circumstantial evidence, isn't it, Sir?" Carlton asked.

"It is indeed," Harm answered, "it wouldn't stand up as is in court, but it's pointing us in the right direction! So, let's go tell the skipper, and see if we can come up with a reason, although I'm beginning to have a pretty good idea of who sent it and why!"

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1203 hours CEST, The Bridge, USS Patrick Henry, Adriatic Sea (250903ZApr01)**

Captain Ingles paused as the slam in quick succession of the two catapults announced the departure of two F/A-18Cs to patrol the Eastern seaboard of the Adriatic Sea, "Something tells me that you know a damn sight more about this than you're letting on, Commander Rabb! And that's just not damn' well good enough. You come onto my bridge, and tell me that some third party is pinging signals off my goddamn ship, and say you don't know anything more? Rabb, I've only got one thing to say about that – bullshit!"

Harm grimaced, "Skipper, I don't _know _anything more than I have told you. I do have my suspicions, but without proof, I daren't go public. You know how it goes, Sir, 'Contemptuous Words'..."

Tobias Ingles fumed silently, he was furious about the slur to his ship's good name, but at the same time, he could not ask Rabb possibly to incriminate himself in front of witnesses in the shape of the bridge crew. Still determined, however, to get to the bottom of this in so far as it concerned his ship, he turned to the younger officer, "Very well, Rabb, with me! XO, you have the ship!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!" A surprised XO replied, it was almost unheard of for the skipper to leave the bridge during flight operations, while Ingles led Rabb into his sea-cabin.

Ingles almost threw himself into the chair behind his desk, and indicating one of the chairs that stood in front of the desk grunted, "Sit down, tell me what in God's name you think is going on!"

Harm drew a deep breath, "Well Sir, but this whole… carousel started spinning about fourteen years ago…"

Ingles listened intently as Harm told of the appeal launched by Captain Richardson after the death bed retraction of the key witness' testimony, and then the attempted intimidation by Captain Harding and the quasi-legal attempt by Lieutenant Commander Coleman to force him to hand over the Richardson file, although even now he was careful, without proof, not to name names of individuals or organisations.

Ingles heard him out in silence and when at last Harm had finished speaking, he shook his head in disapprobation, "That is an almost incredible tale, Rabb, and were it not for the fact we are on board my ship as you tell it I would be inclined to have the Doctor write you up for a psych eval!"

Harm returned the senior officer's stare, "I know it sounds crazy even paranoid, Sir, but I really believe that my being sent here is somehow connected with these people's attempts to get their hands on that file! The thing is, it's safely under lock and key, and taking me out of the picture won't help them at all…"

"Unless, of course," Ingles said slowly, "they believe that with you out of the way, a path to this file will be cleared…"

Harm shook his head, "I don't see it, Sir. The file is in a building that has twenty-four hour security, it is in a secure container that cannot be removed and has double protection…" he shook his head again.

"I know you people at JAG claim you spend long hours, outside normal duty hours, poring over files and musty old scrolls… Do you ever take work home?"

"Yes, of course we do, Sir, we wouldn't be able to… Oh! Crap! Sir, can you get me started home?" Harm asked desperately.

"Why the sudden urgency?"

"If you are right, Sir, and they are targeting my home, they have to act quickly while I'm still away. They must know that their ruse would be discovered the minute I set foot on your deck. Given flight times between Italy and DC, they have a maximum of thirty-six hours in which to act, nearer twenty-four, and I've been gone nearly twelve hours. Sir, I share an apartment with my fiancée, and if she's all alone… Well, let's just say that I'm pretty certain these people are not the type to leave potential witnesses…" Harm's facial expression pleaded for understanding.

Ingles' face showed that he understood Harm's concerns, "I can certainly get you on the next COD to Naples, will your orders get you priority transport the rest of the way back to the States?"

Harm paused for thought, "Probably, depending on what's available. They aren't endorsed for civil airlines so I just have to take whatever military transport is around."

"Okay, Rabb, you are on the…" Ingles checked his watch, "the fourteen hundred zulu COD, that's seventeen hundred hours shipboard time." He looked shrewdly at the JAG Corps Commander, "In the meantime, you look pretty frazzled. Get yourself down to the wardroom, get some chow into you and take a time-out. Just don't miss that COD. Now, is there anything else that you think I could do?"

"You could get me a ship to shore line at about fourteen hundred, shipboard time, so I can bring the JAG up-to-date, Sir?"

"Consider it done, Rabb. Just get yourself to the comcen for fourteen hundred, and there'll be a line there for you..."

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0557 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (250957ZApr01)**

Meg blinked, yawned, stretched and finally opened her eyes. Once she and Loren had had a cup of tea, she had dissuaded the seemingly distracted Loren from trying to shampoo the bloodstained rug, and had gently led her back to bed, noticing as she did that the other blonde's hands were cold and clammy. She had encouraged the younger woman to slip out of her jeans and sweatshirt and back beneath the comforter, and had sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Loren's hair and soothing her back to sleep.

That mission accomplished, she had returned to the lounge, and rolled up the bloody rug and cushion, and place them in the waste-basket, so the blood didn't seep through to the hardwood floor below and had then called up on the couch, covering herself with the throw that normally lived over the back of it. But now, if they were going to get to Falls Church in time for first parade, then they needed to be making a move now. Although… Meg wasn't too sure that Loren was fit for duty this morning, but even if not, common sense as well as duty dictated that she report last night incident to the Admiral.

With that necessity in mind, Meg wasn't too bothered about not making a noise as she rummaged through the kitchen closets in a search for coffee and bread for toasting.

Loren always swore afterwards that it was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee that brought her stumbling and wrapped in her bath robe into the lounge area, where she blinked owl-like at Meg until memories of last night's events returned.

"Umm... Did you... uh... switch on the hot water before you left home last night?" Loren asked Meg as she gratefully accepted a fresh cup of coffee from her.

An expression of annoyance flashed across Meg's face, "No, dammit! I was too concerned with getting here as fast as I could!"

Loren made to pick up her coffee, but then noticed that her hand was shaking violently. Curling both hands into hard little fists, she dropped them from the island-top to rest them on her thighs in the hope that Megan hadn't noticed before she answered, "I thought you might not have… And I know from bitter experience just how long that excuse for a furnace takes to heat the water! Although…" She added somewhat wistfully, "the water pressure in that shower is fantastic!"

"Oh, isn't it just!" Meg endorsed with a sigh.

"The one here isn't quite as good, but the water will be hot, and using it will save you at least half an hour… There's clean towels in the bathroom, and you are more than welcome to use my shower stuff and shampoos… So if you want to go ahead, then do so, I can always get showered while you're heading back across towards Union Station," Loren said with a smile.

Meg nodded her thanks, and started gathering up her dirty cup and plate, all the while wondering at Loren's almost unnatural calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all, but she wasn't given much time to ponder as Loren exclaimed, "No, no, leave this to me, you go on. Go and have your shower, there are a couple of new toothbrushes in the medicine closet, help yourself to one of those."

With a further murmur of thanks, Meg did exactly as she was bid, but still mentally shaking her head over how well Loren was coping, or was that seeming to cope? She asked herself worriedly.

Loren heaved a sigh of relief as the bathroom door closed behind her guest and gingerly opened her fists, her hands she noted, almost detachedly were still shaking, but not quite so badly, she thought, as they had been before. Bracing her elbows on the island top she picked up her now warm coffee cup in both hands and drained it in a couple of swallows. She eyed the two slices of toast on her plate with disfavour, and sliding off her stool she carefully gathered the breakfast wreckage together and piled it next to the sink.

Fortunately, the two cups and plates together with a couple of knives and spoons only really need rinsing under a running tap once Loren had scraped the debris into the garbage disposal, and without Meg to see her, Loren was able to use both hands to slot the plates into the sink tidy.

Even so, she had only just finished when Meg re-emerged from the bathroom, "I used one of your shower caps I hope that's all right?"

Loren jammed her hands into her bath robe pockets, and with a grin answered, "after coming over here in the middle of the night and then staying with me, if a shower cap is the extent of your fees, counsellor, then I figure I'm well ahead of the game!"

Meg gave Loren another long, considering look, still not fully convinced that the Junior officer was as much in control as she seemed to be. "Are you sure you're okay, Loren?"

"I'm fine go on, go home and get changed, if we stand around gossiping for much longer we're both going to be adrift!"

Meg's forehead furrowed in a slight frown," If you're sure…?"

"Honestly, I'm sure. Go on, I'm fine."

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0703 hours EDT, Commander Megan Austin's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4th Street NE, Washington, DC Washington DC (251103ZApr01)**

Although she was tired, a couple of hours napping on Loren's couch was no real substitute for a good nights sleep in her comfortable bed, Meg felt much better for the hot shower she had at Loren's, and now freshly dressed from the skin out, her summer whites pristine from the cleaners, she felt she could at least face the day with a fair degree of confidence.

Taking a last look around the apartment, she slung her purse over her shoulder, in the approved manner, and picking up her cover and keys she turned towards the door. Before she could even open it the movement was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone.

Megan paused, waiting for the answering machine to cut in. It was early for cold calling, but she'd noticed a tendency over the last few weeks or so for telesales people to start earlier, finish later, and to be more persistent.

After six rings, Meg heard her own voice on the tape, "Hi, this is Austin, I can't get to the phone right now, but you know what to do after the ping!"

"_M... M... Megan... if... y...you're... there...p...please...p...p...pick up..._" Loren sobbed into the phone

Instantly dropping cover and keys, Meg whirled about and snatched up the phone, "Loren, what's wrong?" she demanded.

"_It... it... it's sill... silly... bu... but I... can't... can't get dress...dressed... and... and I... I can't... can't s...s...stop...c...c...crying.._."

'Meltdown!' Meg thought savagely, 'Thank God', but spoke reassuringly into the phone, "OK, Loren, take a deep breath... I'm leaving now, and I'll be with you as soon as I can!"

"_Th...thanks...but...but... hu... hurry... pl... please..._" Loren wept.

"I will, I will... I'm going to hang up now so I can leave...OK?"

"_Ye...yes..._"

Meg hurriedly locked her apartment and dashed downstairs, not wanting to risk getting trapped in the old and always temperamental elevator, and wasted no time in backing her Mustang out of the garage. She had learned from Harm's bitter, personal experience, not to leave her prized car outside at any time.

It wasn't many minutes, though, before she realised her haste in leaving the building was unavailing. It seemed that DC was still being paralysed by its fear of the Beltway shooter, and the extra traffic, a lot of it generated by the wish to avoid the later so-called rush-hour, was already threatening the city with gridlock.

The battle through the traffic took more than double the time that Meg had estimated, the twenty minutes it had taken her to travel between her apartment and Loren's more than doubling to over three quarters of an hour. Stuck in a tail-back of traffic waiting to turn from eleventh Street onto K Street, Meg regretted that she hadn't gotten around to fitting a hands free cell phone kit to the car and resolved that that lack would be remedied in the near future, as every time she put her hand to her purse grab her cell phone, the tail-back unjammed just enough for the Mustang to jolt forward a vehicle's length or two, effectively preventing her from calling Loren to reassure her, or the Admiral to brief him on what was happening.

Eventually, and with a sigh of relief Meg found a parking spot less than a block from the Canal Street apartment, and hurried along the sidewalk until she reached her destination. Pressing the call button, she was slightly disturbed to find himself being buzzed in without being interrogated over the intercom, and then arriving the door to the apartment, she was even more disturbed to find it standing open.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0729 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (251029ZApr01)**

Her mouth suddenly dry, and her heart pounding in her chest, Meg found herself wishing that she was armed. Moistening her dry lips, she called out, "Loren?"

"In… In he… In here…" Loren's choked voice came from the bedroom.

Meg exhaled a long, silent breath, "Okay Loren, is it alright if I come in?"

Loren made a muffled noise which Meg took as an affirmative, and crossing the lounge she carefully pushed open the bedroom door, and was taken aback by the sight that confronted her. Loren sat on the side of the bed, only half-dressed. Her blouse hung open, and her white skirt was puddled around her ankles. She turned a woebegone and tear-soaked face towards Meg, "S... Sorry… to… to…ca… call you… ba… back…" she hiccoughed through her tears, "but… I… I can't… do my buttons… up. It's si... silly... but... but I…ca…can't stop my hands… fr…from shaking…" She held out her hands in proof of her claim.

It took Meg's fingers less than two minutes to button Loren into her uniform, before she led the still violently shaking younger woman into the lounge, "You are in no fit state to turn to, so what I'm going to do, is to take you up to Bethesda, and get you something to calm you down. In the meantime, I'm going to call JAG," she said firmly, fumbling in her purse for her cell phone.

"_JAG operations, Yeoman One Tiner speaking, Sir._"

"Tiner, this is Commander Austin, is the Admiral in yet?"

"_No, ma'am, not yet._"

"Very well, as soon as he comes in, make sure he gets this message, understood?"

"_Aye, aye, ma'am…_" There was a couple of seconds delay as Tiner grabbed his memo pad and pencil "_Go-ahead, ma'am_."

"I'm taking Lieutenant Singer to the ER at Bethesda. There was an incident at her apartment last night; physically I think she's fine, but she appears to be in shock. Have you got that, Tiner?"

Tiner read back the message, satisfying Meg that he had got it right, before she added "if the Admiral needs me, I'm on my cell phone."

"_Got it, ma'am,_" Tiner acknowledged.

Loren had sat almost apathetically during the phone call, but as Meg finished her call and returned her cell phone to her verse, she roused herself to say, "I… I do… don't nee… don't need to go… to hosp… hospital, I… I'll be… fi… fine, once I… can st… stop shak… shaking and stop the… these damned tears!"

Meg squatted in front of her and took both Loren's hands in her own, noting as she did so that they were still clammy and icy cold, "Loren, it's because you can't stop shaking, and because you can't stop crying that I think you do need hospital. You are not going to make me make it an order, are you? Because I will if I have to!"

Loren tried to smile through her tears, "N… no, ma'am…" as she realised that the blonde Commander was bullying her for what she saw as her own good.

"Okay, let's get this place locked up, then we go downstairs, and you can wait in the lobby while I bring the car around; I had to park around the corner," she added in explanation.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0748 hours EDT, JAG Ops, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church VA (251048ZApr01)**

Admiral AJ Chegwidden's bear-like growl of, "As you were, people, as you were," as he acknowledged the springing to attention of the occupants of the bullpen, had rarely sounded quite so welcome to Jason Tiner's ear, and in apparent disobedience to the Admiral's instruction, he leaped to his feet, "Good morning, sir. Urgent message from Commander Austin, Sir..."

Admiral Chegwidden gave a grunt of what might have been acknowledgement as he took the slip of paper from his Yeoman's hand as he passed into his office.

Tiner allowed a wry grin to pass across his face as he sat down behind his desk, poised on the edge of his chair, and began a silent countdown. He hadn't quite completed the backwards count from thirty when the Admiral's bellow split the air.

"Tiner!"

The Yeoman sprang to his feet and took the two steps to the Admiral's office door, "Sir?" he inquired.

"Tiner, what sort of half-assed message is this? What incident? Why shouldn't Lieutenant Singer be fine?"

"Sir! I don't know, sir! Commander Austin sounded like she was being extremely circumspect, sir! But she did say she would be available through her cell-phone, sir!"

"Dammit, Tiner! I've got eyes! I can read !"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, don't just stand there, man! Get me Commander Austin on her cell!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Tiner quietly closed the door and returned to his own desk, returning a silent 'Okay' and a rueful grin to PN Three Hawkins' equally silent, "You alright?" from his office door, where she had been drawn, as usual, by the Admiral's verbal and very vocal fireworks.

Reassured that her friend wasn't in any real trouble, Hawkins grinned, and with a nod turned back towards her own desk. Although probably the worst scuttlebutt-monger in JAG, her appearance at the Yeoman's door was prompted by genuine concern for Jason Tiner, as well as her love of rumour.

She was forced to make a sharp side-step on her way back to her desk, to avoid a small procession of Lance Corporal Somers, who was leading two civilian clad people towards Tiner's office. The first civilian appeared to be in his mid-50s, and despite his suit, looked slightly unkempt and crumpled, the second civilian was a tall African-American woman in her thirties.

Hawkins watched interestedly from her desk as the two spoke briefly to Tiner.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0748 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church VA (251048ZApr01)**

Chegwidden was about to yell for his Yeoman again, to find out what was taking him so long to make a simple phone call, but he was forestalled by a sharp rap on his door frame.

"Yes!"

Tiner opened the door, "Special Agents Franks and Owen from NCIS, to see you, sir"

Chegwidden is face increased in a scowl, what the hell, he wondered did the rent-a-cops – a bitter grin twitched his lips as he inadvertently used Rabb's description of that agency – want with him now, and at a time when he was consumed with impatience to find out what the hell was happening to one of his officers. But they had come to see him, there was no help it, "Alright, Tiner, send 'em on in!"

He sat back in the Big Chair, and watched with a dour expression on his face as the two agents walked towards him. Waving them towards the two wing-chairs which stood in front of his desk, he grunted as affably as he could, "Take a seat, and tell me how I can help you, but make it as quick as you can; I need to be somewhere else in a very few moments!"

Franks exchanged a look with his partner, before turning back to face the Admiral, "So, you didn't hear about the burglary last night?" he asked.

"What burglary?" Chegwidden ground out between his teeth.

Franks exchanged another look with Owen, "I guess then, it would be fair to say that you don't know nothing about the shooting neither?"

Chegwidden took a breath in order to take a tight hold of his temper, "Franks, I know you claim to be from Arizona, but that doesn't mean that you have to talk all folksy all the time! Now, how about you cut to the chase, and tell me in clear English just what the hell you want?"

Franks pulled a notebook from the inside pocket of his crumpled suit jacket, "Seems that in the small hours of the night, your Lieutenant Singer surprised a burglar in her apartment. Shots were fired, the burglar missed, Singer didn't. She called Metro PD, an ambulance, and her attorney, although I'm not sure in what order. The burglar was DOA when he arrived at George Washington."

Chegwidden's ears pricked up as soon as he heard Loren's name, he had an inkling of understanding why, if she was physically okay, as Commander Austin's message had intimated, she was headed to Bethesda. Franks' mention of Singer calling an attorney also gave him, given Rabb's absence, a pretty shrewd idea of how Commander Austin got herself mixed up in this mess.

Keeping his most bitter thoughts to himself, he pursed his lips and nodded judiciously, "I had an idea that something was in the wind, but if Lieutenant Singer shot a burglar, in her apartment, what has that to do with NCIS?"

"On the face of it, Admiral, not a lot. Metro PD are happy that your Lieutenant fired in self defence, at a midnight intruder and with a legally held weapon. The intruder, by the way, was dressed in black overalls and a black special warfare vest. He would have done better to wear body armour, Singer put two into him at centre of mass. He was also in possession of lock picks, a silenced Glock Seventeen, and a pair of night vision goggles with a NATO stock number in addition to a serial number. What he didn't have was any form of ID, so the ME at GW fingerprinted him, and got a hit – in the armed forces database. Seems Lieutenant Singer's burglar was Lieutenant Neville Turlington, assigned to the Office of…"

"Naval Intelligence, dammit!" Chegwidden interrupted.

"You knew the Lieutenant, Admiral?" Franks eyebrows rose on his forehead as he asked.

"No, dammit, I didn't know him. But JAG has been butting heads with the ONI recently. Does – did Turlington work with or for a Captain Harding?"

"We don't know, yet, Admiral. We are still in the initial preliminary stages of our investigation."

"What damned investigation! A woman shot an intruder in her apartment in the middle of the night, as he shot, or after he shot at her. What the hell is there to investigate? If there ever was an open and shut case then surely to God this is it "

"I agree, Admiral," the hitherto silent Agent Owens replied, "and if the intruder had not been another naval officer then there wouldn't be any need for an investigation. Well, not by us. But…"

Whatever she might have been about to say, was interrupted by the shrill sound of Chegwidden's phone. With a muffled curse, followed by a hastily apologetic glance female agent, the Admiral picked up the receiver, "Tiner, I thought you knew better than to interrupted me when I have visitors!"

"_Yes, Sir! But this seems to be urgent, Sir, I have Commander Rabb on a ship-to-shore line from the Patrick Henry, Sir._"

"If it's urgent," snarled the exasperated Admiral, "then what the hell are you doing babbling on like a… a…"

"_Yes, Sir! Commander Rabb, Sir_!"

"Yes, Rabb?"

"_Sir, something stinks, Sir. Captain Ingles never sent that e-mail, and none of his birds have fallen out of the sky. Sir, it looks like I was sent out here on a wild goose chase, and the only reason I can think of for that was to get me out of DC. And Sir, the only people I can think of with a reason to want me out of DC and enough clout to play it this way is…_"

"I'm ahead of you, Rabb. I've got two NCIS agents sitting in my office now, trying to explain to me how a Lieutenant from the people you're talking about got himself shot dead in Lieutenant Singer's apartment last night!"

"_Sir! Loren! Is… is she okay_?" Harm's voice was suddenly frantic.

"Power down, Rabb, power down; I haven't seen her this morning, but as far as we know, physically, she is fine, which is more than can be said for the guy she shot. It's my guess, however, that she is a mite shook up, Commander Austin is taking her to Bethesda, and I was just about to investigate that, when your friends from the Navy Yard showed up."

"_Will she be facing charges, Sir_?" Harm demanded, "_if so then I…_"

Chegwidden shook his head, and then felt a rush of chagrin at his futile act being witnessed by Franks and Owen, the former barely able to keep a smirk off his face, "Stand down, Commander. Metro PD handled the call, and reading between the lines from what I've been told this morning, Lieutenant Singer had the presence of mind to call Commander Austin to act as her attorney. If I've heard right, Metro PD aren't raising any charges, they reckon it was a clear case of self-defence, and I've a shrewd suspicion, although we haven't finished talking about it yet, that the NCIS investigation is going to be focused on what that strange Lieutenant was doing in Lieutenant Singer's apartment, and not on her actions after she discovered him. Now, does that make you any happier?"

"_A little, Sir, thank you_." Harm drew a fresh breath, "_As I'm not needed out here on the Henry, Sir, Captain Ingles is putting me on the next COD to Naples, at fifteen hundred Zulu. It would be helpful, Sir if you could speak to the AMC people at Naples, and expedite my return to DC_?"

"Alright, Commander, consider it done!"

"_Aye, aye, Sir… And thank you Sir. There is one more thing, Sir, if I might ask_?"

"And what's that, Commander?" Chegwidden, who almost predict what was coming next and was fighting the grin that threatened his expression.

"_If you could get a message to Loren… uh… Lieutenant Singer, and let her know I'm on my way home_?"

"My next stop from here is Bethesda, Commander, I'll deliver your message to her personally."

"_Thank you, Sir_." Harm said simply.

"Okay, Rabb, that's enough beating your gums on the Navy's dime. Get your six on that COD, and I'll make sure there's onward transport from Naples for you!"

"_Aye, aye, Sir. Rabb out_!"

Chegwidden replaced the phone on its cradle, and looked up at the two NCIS agents, "Well, you heard all that, can I take it that you are not about to make a liar out of me?"

"Don't appear to be thataways to me, Admiral." Franks answered.

His flippant return to what Chegwidden had called 'folksy' speech earned the NCIS agent a black look from the fuming two-star, and an exasperated sideways look from his colleague.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 0911 hours EDT, Emergency Room, Bethesda National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (251311ZApr01)**

The sight of a tall, bald and grim-faced two-star admiral stalking into the ER was sufficient to send most of the young ensigns and lieutenants as well as the Petty Officer Corspmen scurrying in search of gainful employment anywhere else but in his immediate vicinity. However, two Commanders moved towards him, one in Summer Whites, wearing a relieved expression on her face and mill-rindes on her shoulder boards, the other in Peanut Butters and with the Navy Nurse Corps Oak-Leaf on the point of her collar, and displaying an expression of professional curiosity.

Meg Austin had been expecting her CO's arrival, courtesy of a call from Tiner to alert her that he was on his way, and she had sprung to her feet the second he had entered the the ER, and had a few yards start on Nurse Commander Bridget Halloran who had had to be alerted to the presence of a Flag Officer, and had then to extricate herself from behind the nurses' station at the far side of the ER.

"Good morning, sir," Meg halted and froze into a brace.

"Commander," Chegwidden grunted, and then "With me, and keep talking! Where's Singer?" he demanded as he forged towards the nurses' station.

"She's being seen by the doctor now, sir. Physically she's unharmed, but I think she's in shock..."

"In shock, hey? And just where did you do your medical training, Commander?" Chegwidden growled as Meg fell in two paces to his right flank rear.

"NROTC, Sir," Meg said with a smile, greatly daring, "Which is why I said I _think_ she is in shock."

"H'mph! Point taken, Commander! Yes, Commander?"

The Admiral's last words were directed at Commander Halloran, who had finally managed to lay a course to intercept him on his way across the ER.

"Good morning Sir, how may I help you?" Commander Halloran had already carried out a brief but thorough visual inspection of the Admiral as he stormed across the room, and had come to the conclusion that all he really needed was a good dose of ant-acids to relieve what looked like, from his expression, chronic indigestion, but, she told herself, it was always better to be safe than sorry, and listen to what the patient had to say.

Chegwidden halted in mid-career, and glared down at the stocky brunette, "I'm Admiral Chegwidden, I'm here to inquire about one of my officers, a Lieutenant Loren Singer, she came in about an hour ago, suspected to be in shock."

Commander Halloran allowed herself a half smile,' just goes to show how wrong I can be,' she silently said to herself. "Yes, Sir. If you'll come with me, I'll check her status for you."

She led the two JAG officers back to the nurses' station, where with a semi-apologetic smile, she slid back behind the desk and tapped a few keys on her computer. Less than a minute later she looked up, "Lieutenant Singer is being treated now, Sir. So if you'd like to take a seat, I'll get her attending physician to see you and explain what's happening, just as soon as we can."

"And how long is that likely to be?" Chegwidden questioned sourly.

Commander Halloran cast an experienced eye around the ER waiting area, "We don't seem to have any major trauma cases at the moment, Sir, so I'm sure that Commander Richards will be with you shortly."

Admiral Chegwidden regarded her steadily for a long moment. He recognised her type, he had met them on several occasions in Vietnam and again and again in the intervening years. Halloran was an example of the best breed of military nurses, a no-nonsense professional, dedicated to the well-being of her patients, and unafraid of authority if that authority impinged on her duty of care. Or as the Seal teams described them, as being like the issued toilet paper, universally known as John Wayne paper, because it was rough, tough and took crap from no one.

Chegwidden nodded, "Thank you, Commander. We'll do just that." He led Meg away in the direction of a sparsely populated row of the uncomfortable, hard, blue plastic waiting area chairs, and indicated that she should sit. Taking the seat next to her he eyes her in exasperated amusement, "Do you know what your trouble is, Commander?"

Meg eyed him cautiously, "No, Sir."

Chegwidden made a noise that might, if Meg had been feeling particularly charitable, have been thought of as a snort of amusement. "Your problem, Commander, is not your fault. It is Admiral Brovo's fault, and to a lesser extent my fault. He assigned you to work with Rabb, and I let that assignment stand when I took over from him. The result? You picked up too many of Rabb's bad habits, granted you haven't yet fired a weapon in the courtroom, but you do seem bound and determined to emulate him in so many other ways. I would have expected Rabb to find himself up to his neck in this business, but not you. So would you like to try and explain to me just how you ended up mixed up in shootings and burglaries?"

"Only in the aftermath, Sir, I wasn't there for the incident. And it started, as far as I was concerned, with a zero three hundred phone call from Lieutenant Singer…" Meg shook her head, almost as if she disbelieved herself as she explained to Chegwidden just how she had gotten involved, and how when she'd seen the state that Loren was in she couldn't do anything else but bring her to hospital.

Chegwidden heard her out in silence, and then when she'd finished he drew a deep breath before he delivered his verdict, "You did alright, Commander."

Meg pinkened with pleasure, "Thank you, Sir!"

While Meg had been speaking Chegwidden had been keeping his eye on happenings at the nurses' station, where for the last minute or so a vaguely familiar looking man in a lab coat over Peanut Butters was talking with the same Nurse Commander that Chegwidden had spoken with a few minutes ago, so it was no surprise when the man in a lab coat turned and walked across the floor towards them.

"Admiral Chegwidden, good morning, Sir, Lieutenant Commander Richards, Sir. I'm the physician attending to Lieutenant Singer."

Chegwidden nodded, "And how is she?"

"Whoever made a tentative diagnosis of shock was right on target, bringing her in here is about the best thing they could have done. There is no injury, so I suspect the shock has a psychological cause rather than physiological, some sort of traumatic experience?"

"Only if confronting a midnight burglar and shooting him counts as a traumatic experience." Chegwidden said dryly

Richards nodded, "That would do the trick, Sir. I've given the Lieutenant a sedative, that will not only calm her down, but will send her sleep for a few hours, when she wakes up she should be well over the worst of it. Warmth and rest is her best treatment right now. But just in case she makes a slower than normal recovery, I'm going to admit her overnight for observation."

"Can we see her?" Meg asked.

"Well, she's pretty much out of it right now, three parts asleep and one part not worrying about the world. We'll get her shifted up to a medical ward, and maybe it would be better if you came back to see her during the evening visiting hours, ma'am," Richardson answered.

"Quite right, too!" Chegwidden replied, "we've both got duties to attend to, Commander," he reminded Meg, but not unkindly.

Meg swallowed her disappointment, "Of course, Sir."

"There is just one thing more, however, Doctor," Chegwidden said, "I spoke to her fiancé earlier, and he asked that she be given a message to the effect that he's on his way back from Italy, and should be in either late tonight or tomorrow morning. I'd appreciate it of that message could be gotten to the Lieutenant."

Richards nodded, "I'll make sure she gets the message, Sir."

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1812 hours CEST, AMC Movement Control Checkpoint, Joint Air Facility, Naples, Italy (251512ZApr01)**

Harm let his sea-bag slide of his shoulder and bump into the deck by his feet, as he leaned on the MCCP counter while the young petty officer scrutinised his orders. It didn't take her very long to reach the end and read Admiral Chegwidden's signature block. Her smile as she looked back up at Harm was professionally friendly, and her hand reaching for the telephone, she said, "if you if you will wait just a minute or two please, Sir…" and then spoke into the phone, "Your passenger's here, ma'am, at MCCP." She listened carefully for a moment or two, before replying, "Aye, aye, ma'am!"

Returning her attention to Harm, she smiled again, "One of the crew will be here any moment, Sir, to walk you out to the aircraft."

Harm nodded, but his professional curiosity prompted him to ask, "What aircraft is it?"

The petty officer clerk let a slight frown cross her face, "it's a P-3 Orion, Sir."

Harm blinked in surprise, "A P-3... But that will take hours longer than a C-17 or a C-5... about the only thing slower would be a C-130!"

"Yes, Sir," the petty officer replied, "but our orders were to get you back state-side ASAP, and there are no transport flights out until tomorrow morning Sir. And even a P-3 will get you back to the states before the next transport flight takes off from here…"

"You Rabb?" A curious female voice asked from behind him.

Unused to being addressed in such terms, Harm turned on his heel, to find himself face-to-face with a brunette of approximately his own age, dressed in a flight suit, and carrying a helmet. Harm had to squint to make out the details on her faded wings patch on the left breast of her flight suit, but they appeared to be aviator's wings with the name, O'Neill below them.

The brunette held out a hand in greeting, "I'm Beth O'Neill, the pilot. I'm afraid my curiosity got the better of me, and I just had to come and see for myself just what sort of legal eagle was responsible for bringing my ETD forward, and having my flight-plan changed." She grinned at Harm, the skin at the corner of her green eyes crinkling as she did so, "You must have some kind of pull to get all that changed at short notice!"

"Not me," Harm denied, "you can blame my boss for that!"

O'Neill nodded, "Fair enough, but seeing that you're in an all fired hurry, shall we walk?"

"Lead on," Harm agreed stooping to grab hold of his sea-bag's shoulder strap as he prepared to follow O'Neill.

O'Neill had taken a second look at Harm, this time paying more attention to his salad bar, and the gold wings pinned above it. "You still flying?" she asked, obviously noting the anomaly between his wings and his mill-rindes.

"Only every chance I get!" he smiled in reply.

"Uh-huh..." O'Neill remarked, understanding all too well that if she was ever reassigned to other duties she too would take every opportunity to get back into the air. "What's your ride?" she asked as she led the way at an angle across the tarmac the waiting P-3.

"F-14s, Tomcats," Harm replied succinctly as he eyed with some disfavour the unlovely lines of the huge maritime patrol airplane.

O'Neill caught his disparaging look at her beloved Orion, and bristled slightly, "I grant you, she's no jet fighter, but in case you haven't noticed, there don't seem to be many around here. And she's got the range and the endurance to get you back home in one piece, quicker than anything else that is here!"

"No offence meant," Harm said desperately, he really didn't want to be at odds with his pilot for a transatlantic flight.

O'Neill bit back a chuckle, "No, you probably didn't mean any offence, just being your average cocky son of a bitch fast jet jockey – No offence meant!" she said with a grin to take the sting from her words.

Harm shot her a suspicious look, but there was something in the nature of her grin that made him respond in kind "And none taken here, either!"

"So…" O'Neill asked cautiously, not wanting to tread into possibly classified territory, "what's so special about you, that not only is our take-off time brought forward by two and a half hours, but also that rather than flying via Germany, or even Britain, we are now refuelling in-flight mid-Atlantic, and instead of putting down at Pax River before going on to Point Mugu, we are being diverted to Andrews?"

Harm raised his eyebrows in surprise at O'Neill's remarks, he had never been afforded that sort of priority before.

"I have absolutely no idea what's happening. I know that sounds implausible, at best, but really I don't know why you are being... messed with. Believe me, if it was just a classified deal I tell you that much, but I've never had those sort of arrangements made on my behalf before."

O'Neill stopped at the foot of the steps leading up into the belly of the Orion and gave Harm a searching look, "Okay, so be it, but I will say this, you've got all my curiosity sensors whirling at full blast!"

In response to O'Neill's gestured invitation, Harm climbed the steps up into what he expected would be the cavernous belly of the beast, only to be surprised at how limited space was, with bank after bank of sophisticated electronics systems lining the walls of the fuselage, with bolted to the floor swivel chairs at intervals at which were sat the NFO's which made up the crew of the P-3.

O'Neill raised her voice slightly to be heard over the electronic hum, "Okay everyone, our passenger's here, so let's get everything secured for take-off." And then turning to Harm she pointed aft. "There's a rack down aft, you look like you could do with some shut eye, and that's about the only place you can be during take-off. Once we're airborne, and if you can't sleep, pass the word up forward, and if it's safe, you can come up onto the flight deck and see how a real pilot works."

Once again Harm took her words in the spirit in which they were meant, as friendly jibes between pilots and different types of aircraft. But O'Neill was right, the thought of a couple of hours sleep, even on what was bound to be an uncomfortably short rack, held a great deal of merit.

Nodding his agreement he said, "I'll certainly take you up on that first offer, and once I've grabbed some shut-eye, I'll feel privileged to have look at the flight-deck!"

O'Neill stopped as she edged her way forward, and grinned back over her shoulder, "you will have plenty of time, with the in-flight refuel, I reckon we are going to be airborne for about fifteen hours before we get to Andrews!" Her grin then turned into a laugh as she saw Harm's thunderstruck expression.

**Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1022 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church VA (251422ZApr01)**

"Anything new, Tiner?" The Admiral demanded as he swept past his Yeoman's desk's on his way to his office door.

Tiner leaped to his feet, "yes, Sir. The SECNAV wants you to call him ASAP, Sir, and there's been two more shootings on the Beltway; a Gunnery Sergeant, from Eighth and I, and a Senior Chief from the Tarawa, who had just landed on leave and hadn't heard the warnings. Both dead, Sir."

"Damn! Nothing from NCIS about either last night's incident, or the Beltway shooter?"

"No, nothing, Sir, on either count."

The Admiral paused one hand on his door handle, "Very well, Tiner. Get me a coffee, please, and then get me a line to the SECNAV."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

The coffee made a swift appearance, and Tiner gave his chief seven minutes in which to drink it before he called the Pentagon, where after the usual battle with seemingly deliberate obstruction on the part of various operators, he finally reached the SECNAV's PA.

Tiner's timing was almost second perfect, the Admiral had put down his coffee mug only a few seconds before his phone rang.

"I have the SECNAV on line one, Sir," Tiner said.

" Very good, Tiner, put me through." Chegwidden waited until Secretary Nelson's voice grated in his ear," A J? What the hell, is going on down there? I've just had Tom Morrow, the NCIS Director, tell me that JAG seems intent on wiping out the rest of the Navy, starting with ONI! And then when I try to call you to find out what your people are playing at, I'm told by your Goddamned clerk that you are out of the building, and he doesn't know when you will be back! Just what sort of service are you running down there!"

The Admiral bit his tongue, his already frayed temper wouldn't stand much more needling from the civilian appointee who was temporarily the political head of the Navy. NCIS and JAG had butted heads often and violently in the past but that was when JAG was headed up by Admiral Brovo, and the NCIS director was Cyrus Wheeler. Recently, despite Rabb's understandable hostility towards individual agents, the jurisdictional squabbles which had marked the relationship between the two agencies were, for the most part, a thing of the past. Bearing these facts in mind, AJ Chegwidden doubted very much whether Tom Morrow had reported the shooting of a single ONI officer in such terms as Secretary Nelson had made out.

"At the moment, Mister Secretary, I know just about as much as you do, if as much. From what I do know my officer defended herself and the integrity of her home when she confronted an intruder in the small hours of the morning. An intruder, I might add, who opened fire on her. Fortunately, from her point of view, she was a better shot than he was. I don't have the full story as yet, because I was out of the office attempting to speak with my officer, who is now in Bethesda under sedation, being treated for shock."

"Shock!" Secretary Nelson exclaimed in disbelief, "What sort of Goddamned naval officer goes into shock because he shot someone?"

Chegwidden counted a silent ten, "The sort of officer who wears a skirt on duty, and has every right to the expectation of being allowed to sleep peacefully in her own bed, without other naval officers surreptitiously entering her home, dressed as if they were on special operations, and carrying a silenced weapon! Oh, and Mister Secretary you had no need to call me, I fully intended to call you, to ask you to demand an accounting from Admiral Scott! You may recall some days ago, Captain Harding, one of Scott's minions, made an attempt to browbeat Rabb into surrendering to him a file. Subsequent to which, you instructed the ONI to back off and forget about that file. Even after that, someone in the ONI, in flagrant despite of your instructions, tried to obtain a court order compelling Rabb to surrender the file. I can only assume that last night's break-in to the apartment he shares with his fiancée, considering the perpetrator has been identified as an ONI officer, had as its object the illegal removal of that file!"

Nelson heard out Chegwidden's tirade in silence until it seemed that the angry Admiral had finished. "Easy there, A J, I am your boss. A couple of points, Rabb is engaged to the officer whose apartment was broken into, and is sharing that apartment with her?"

"That is correct, Mister Secretary."

"Isn't that contrary to the UCMJ and Navy regulations?"

Chegwidden heaved a deep sigh, and then with infinite patience said, "Mister Secretary, we covered this last month when I informed you I would have to post either Rabb or Singer, they are engaged to be married. And in this day and age, it is unrealistic to expect people in their thirties not to be living together, especially in a town as expensive as DC."

There was a few seconds silence before the SECNAV replied, "I do remember you talking of the necessity to post one or the other of them, but I don't recall you saying they were sharing quarters. However, unless they are doing anything else to attract official attention – except of course for shooting other Navy officers – then I suppose I can always imitate my British Navy namesake, and pretend to see nothing," he finished placatingly.

"Exactly so, Mister Secretary. But we need to have a meeting, an urgent meeting, with Admiral Scott, and find out exactly who authorised this Lieutenant Turlington to break-in to anybody's house, let alone another officer's house. And Mister Secretary, we need to do this quickly. It seems that part of this scheme was to send me an urgent message purporting to be from the skipper Patrick Henry, asking specifically for Rabb's aviation experience to find out why his F-14s had started falling out of the sky…"

"This is the first I've heard of anybody losing any airplanes! Why am I only just hearing about this now?"

"Because, Mister Secretary it was a hoax message, which we didn't find out until Rabb arrived on the Patrick Henry. I am aware, Mister Secretary, that Rabb is not one of your favourite people, but he is a damned good investigator, and he is not a stupid man. Once he hears about the home invasion, he is more than capable of putting two and two together, coming up with the answer that the fake message was deliberately aimed at getting him out of town so that the home invasion would be less risky. Once he has made that connection, he is likely to go off at half-cock, we could then well be looking at another dead ONI officer."

"A J, we can't have that! It would be a disaster! We will have to stop him!"

Once again the Admiral's voice took on a note of strained patience, "That's just what I've been saying, Mister Secretary. By my reckoning we have about fourteen hours before Rabb lands at Andrews joint air facility. We need to have the person responsible for last night's fiasco safely in custody."

Nelson had been thinking furiously, "You say once Rabb makes the connection between the message and the break-in at his apartment… How will he do that?"

Chegwidden shook his head in silent disbelief, "Rabb already knows, by examining the Henry's electronics logs, that the signal did not originate from the Henry, although it was bounced off her, giving any reader the impression that that was the point of origin. All Rabb needs to join up the dots is access to a computer. Even if I could bar him from using all the computers at JAG, I'm pretty sure that he has at least one computer available to him at home, if not two."

"Can we not… impound them or confiscate them for… evidentiary purposes?" Nelson demanded.

"Not without a warrant, signed by military judge," Chegwidden said.

"But… You're the JAG, can't you order a judge to make out a warrant?"

"I could so order, Mister Secretary, and the judge quite rightly would refuse to do so, and there is nothing I could do about it. The rules of jurisprudence demand that I show evidence as to why personal belongings should be seized by the court, I have no such evidence. Somewhat nebulous fears as to what that equipment might be used for wouldn't cut any ice with any judge. Furthermore, I couldn't charge the judge with disobeying a direct order, because such an order would be unlawful. And Mister Secretary, might I respectfully point out that the time we are wasting arguing over the telephone would be far more profitably spent in arranging a meeting between yourself, NCIS director Morrow, Admiral Scott and myself! Preferably, before secure today!"

"Dammit, A J! I hate it when you're right! I'll get back to you as soon as the meeting is arranged, so clear your calendar for the rest of the day!"

The resounding click in Chegwidden's ear was sufficient to tell him that the Secretary of the Navy have rather forcefully broken the connection.

Chegwidden sat and stared at the telephone for long seconds, before he reached out and toggled the intercom call button, "Tiner, bring me that e-mail from the Patrick Henry, and then pass the word for Lieutenant Roberts!"

Within five minutes the Admiral was able to hand Bud the fake e-mail from the Patrick Henry, "This garbage purportedly came from the Patrick Henry. It didn't, and I want to know where it did originate. I understand that it is possible to trace e-mails, no matter how many times they have been routed through different computers, is that so?"

Bud looked dubiously at the time stamp on the message, "Yes, Sir, normally it is, but only while the connection is open. But as this came in to us, if I can get access to Tiner's terminal, then I might be able to find out where it originated."

"There is no 'might be able to' about it, Mister Roberts, make it happen!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!"


	60. Chapter 60

**60**

****Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1400 hours EDT, Secretary of the Navy's Offices, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA (251800ZApr01)** **

Admiral Chegwidden nodded his thanks to the pretty blonde Personnelman who showed him to the small conference room in the SecNav's office complex and held the door open for him. Stepping through the door he was gratified to see that Tom Morrow, the recently appointed Director of NCIS was already present, but he less pleased to see the SecNav's Legal Advisor, Commander Teddy Lindsey, in the room, and even less pleased to note that Admiral Scott, the head of the ONI, was not present.

Director Morrow turned as the door opened, nodding in relieved recognition as Chegwidden strode into the room. The NCIS director turned to greet the Navy's JAG, offering his hand as he did so.

"Afternoon, Tom," Chegwidden said pleasantly enough and accepting the offered hand.

"AJ," Tom Morrow replied, and then in the same breath continued, "You realise we are about to unleash a Shit-storm of biblical proportions, here?"

Chegwidden nodded grimly, "Can't be helped," he grunted, "this pantomime has gone on too long, so far it has resulted in the death of one officer – and it was very nearly the wrong officer! One of my officers! It has also resulted in a falsified message which had me sending another of my officers to the other side of the world almost, and from what we can tell with no other object making an illegal home invasion safer for the perpetrator. I don't care what sort of national security need to know bullshit the ONI might pull as an excuse for their actions, but if I have to take this all the way to the president before I can nail hides to the wall, then Goddammit, I will!"

"I trust that won't necessary, AJ," came a voice from behind them.

Both men spun around, AJ coming to attention, and even Tom Morrow, a civilian, stiffening his stance as both men recognised Admiral Stark, the Chief of Naval Operations.

"No, Sir!" Chegwidden snapped while Morrow remain silent.

"But it is a bad business, a very bad business. How is your officer doing, AJ?"

"She's in Bethesda, Sir, being treated for shock."

"Yes. The SecNav has given me a potted version of events, according to what he heard from you."

Chegwidden shook his head,"It goes further, and deeper than the home invasion, Sir. Just who, and what is involved and how they are involved is still not totally clear, but I should guess from what I already know that the story stretches back fourteen maybe fifteen or even more years."

Admiral Stark looked grave, very grave, "I hope you have evidence of that, AJ. That's a very serious allegation."

"Yes Sir, it is, but not only do I have evidence, I have eye witnesses in the shape of three of my officers, one of whom is a military judge, to two previous attempts at obtaining a file which we believe was the target of Lieutenant Turlington's burglary."

"Yes, Turlington… Was it really necessary for your officer to shoot him?"

Tom Morrow interrupted, "The evidence at the scene of crime strongly supports Lieutenant Singer's version of justified self-defence, Admiral; the intruder wore black fatigues, a black ski mask, a black special warfare utilities vest and a pair of night vision goggles. I'd say that was a pretty threatening appearance to present to a woman alone in her own home in the middle of the night, and that's not taking into account the bullet hole in the door frame where she was standing when she fired. Of course, my forensics lab is still checking the bullets recovered from the scene to match with the weapons that were used, but the number of bullet holes in Turlington and the woodwork match the number of empty cases found. Metro PD aren't pressing charges and if the intruder hadn't been a naval officer then NCIS wouldn't have been involved, and the case would now have been closed."

Admiral Stark nodded, "I can accept all that, Director Morrow, but I still want to know what the hell an ONI officer was doing burgling another officer's apartment!"

Chegwidden shook his head, "I'm here to find the same answer, Sir."

"Director?" The CNO asked.

"Not yet known, Admiral. But it will be."

Any further conversation was brought to a halt by the door being thrown open, and Secretary of the Navy Nelson's striding in to the room, his body language screaming displeasure and his face wearing a petulant scowl as he scanned the room, "Where the hell is Admiral Scott?" He demanded of the room at large.

Not receiving a reply the scowl became fiercer and he glared at Lindsey, "Get on the damned phone to Scott and you tell that son of a bitch that if he's not here within five minutes I _will_ send a squad of Marines to arrest him in his office, and transport him in cuffs and leg irons to the Navy Yard, and we will have that conference there, in the brig's interview room!"

Morrow, Chegwidden and Admiral Stark exchanged looks and then almost simultaneously winced. It was evident that the SecNav was having a total sense of humour failure, and that boded no good for any of them.

The exchange of looks between the three did not go unnoticed by Nelson, his scowl deepened even further, if that were possible and as Lindsey scurried from the room, he turned and snapped at them, "Sit down, gentlemen!" and stared at them hard-eyed until the little group broke up and with resigned expressions moved to the conference table. Where, having taken seats, each busied himself in opening his briefcase and extracting from its depths whatever it was they thought might be needed for the forthcoming showdown with the Director of ONI – should he ever appear.

But appear he did, and without the need for an escort of Marines. Vice-Admiral Andrew G Scott's face was flushed and beaded with perspiration and he looked extremely harassed when he walked into the room, and halted in dismay on seeing that the SECNAV was already present

"Mister Secretary, my apologies for being adrift, I got bogged down in the fallout from this unfortunate Turlington affair."

Secretary Nelson said nothing for long, long moments, and then, "Have you? Well, you're about to find the fallout has drifted this far. Sit down, Admiral."

Admiral Scott bristled slightly at the curt tone Secretary Nelson's voice but he eventually decided to stay silent as he drew a chair out from under the table and sat on it.

Nelson gave him time to sit and settle before he turned his hard eyed gaze on him again, "Now, Admiral Scott, perhaps you can tell us how it came to be that one of your officers, Lieutenant Turlington, one of your officers I repeat, ended up getting himself shot to death while burgling the apartment of another naval officer?!"

Scott shook his head helplessly, "That's one of the answers I been trying to discover, Mister Secretary."

Nelson looked incredulously down the table at him, "Are you trying to tell me, Admiral, that you don't know what is going on in your own office?"

"You must understand, Mister Secretary, that a great deal of our work is compartmentalised, and only those with a need to know are kept informed of every minor development."

Nelson leaped to his feet, "Do you have the brass balls to tell me that one of your officers being shot to death by another officer is a minor development?! How dare you, Sir!"

"Mister Secretary?" Admiral Stark intervened with a meaningful look.

"Very well, Admiral Stark," Nelson agreed as he retook his seat although it was evident to all the others in the room that he was still furiously angry. But so now was Admiral Scott, who drew himself direct in his chair, bristling with indignation.

"What the…" He began, only to be silenced by a cut out motion of Admiral Stark's hand. "Ranting and raving isn't going to help, Andy, and, with respect, Mister Secretary. Now, Andy, you just mentioned compartmentalisation, to whom did Lieutenant Turlington report, who was his immediate superior?"

"Captain Ben Harding, head of counter-intelligence."

"We've come across that name before, Mister Secretary, and in the not too distant past," Chegwidden said heavily.

"We have?" Secretary Nelson queried.

AJ opened the file he had laid on the table in front of him, and detached a sheet of paper which he handed to the Secretary, "Yes, Mister Secretary, this is my copy of the directive you signed on Tuesday sixteenth of this month, as a direct result of Captain Harding attempting to intimidate Commander Rabb into handing over a file which is the subject of a JAG investigation." He looked across at Admiral Scott, "in case you're ignorant of this directive too, Admiral, it directs that the Office of Naval Intelligence is to refrain from any and all attempts at removing that file from JAG' s custody." Chegwidden's voice was just this side of being insubordinate, but the undertone of mockery was plain for everyone to hear.

"Yes, I saw this directive, and I spoke to Captain Harding, he was he said unable to tell me what the file contained, except that it was a matter of national security, and need to know."

"Andy, you can't mean to tell us that you didn't press Harding to tell you what was going on?" The CNO asked.

"I don't know about you, Sir, but I trust my people!" Scott responded indignantly.

Chegwidden pulled out another leaf from the file, "Evidently so, Sir, you trusted them to the extent of ignoring the Secretary's directive, and detailing another of your officers, Lieutenant Commander Coleman, to obtain a court order, requiring Commander Rabb – who was acting JAG at the time – to surrender the same file to her, presumably for her to then hand it over to you!"

"Acting on information received from other sources, which confirmed Captain Harding's claim that the file contents could and probably would affect national security, I decided that the court order should be obtained."

"Let me get this straight, Admiral, in addition to apparently losing control of your department and despite my signature on the directive that forbade you to attempt to get your hands on this file, whatever it might be, you decided on the word of a junior officer and of another source, that you would disobey that directive?"

Admiral Scott paled, gulped, but when he looked back at Secretary Nelson, his face was set in lines of resolution. "Mister Secretary, when I took my oath of allegiance, my oath of service, I swore to defend this country from all enemies domestic and foreign. With respect, Sir, you are a civilian, I judged that my experience garnered over years of service put me in a better position to decide how to act in this case. Yes, in the face of your directive, and relying on the word of one of _my _officers and another government agency, I decided to authorise the seeking of a court order demanding that JAG hand over the file."

Secretary Nelson remained silent for a long minute before he spoke again, "Admiral Scott, no matter what the outcome of this affair might be, you have just ended your career. I will expect your letter of resignation on my desk by nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"And if I refuse?" Scott replied.

"Then you will face charges of dereliction of duty, conduct unbecoming an officer, and of disobedience to a regulation or order." Nelson replied uncompromisingly, and then with a nod in Chegwidden's direction added, "I'm sure Admiral Chegwidden can supply you with the numbers of the relevant articles of the UCMJ?"

"If requested, Mister Secretary, certainly. But Admiral Scott, you have just mentioned and I quote another government agency unquote, that is a well known pseudonym for the CIA, so are we to take it that this other government agency has its headquarters at Langley?"

Scott nodded, "The doesn't seem to be much point in denying it," he said heavily.

"Just one more question, Sir," Chegwidden continued," Were you aware when you authorised the seeking of the court order, of Captain Harding's previous attempt to obtain the file?"

Scott nodded again, "Yes, I was aware that he had visited JAG headquarters in an attempt to gain possession of the file, I did not know then, and I do not know now that he used intimidatory methods."

Admiral Stark shook his own head sadly, "Andy, is Harding in his office now?"

"Yes, he should be."

"Mister Secretary, with your concurrence, I would like to speak with Captain Harding immediately, as he appears to be the prime mover in all this, and find out just what the hell is going on!"

Nelson managed a wry grin, "Agreed, Commander Lindsey, my compliments to Captain Harding, he is report himself to me here forthwith. If there's any argument, obfuscation or obstruction on his part, then you may send a squad of Marines to bring him here, using any means necessary. Got it?"

Lindsey who had been sitting silently, taking notes, at the SECNAV's left hand stood and with a, "Understood, Mister Secretary," turned almost silently and all left the room.

****Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1921 hours CEST, Aboard P-3 Orion BN 593, Somewhere over the Western Mediterranean Sea (251821ZApr01)** **

Much to his surprise, Harm had slept soundly for just under four hours, before the discomfort of the too short by at least four inches rack forced him back into wakefulness. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and swinging his legs over the side of the rack he stood, remembering just in time to duck his head to prevent it coming into collision with a row of overhead gear stowage lockers. His movement attracted the attention of the nearest NFO, who turned with a smile on her face, "I won't say good morning, or good evening, because I don't know what time zone you're operating in Sir, but, hi, welcome to flight 593. Can I get you a coffee, Sir? It's only instant, but it's hot and wet."

Harm checked her flight suit patch before answering, "Thanks, Lieutenant, I could use one!"

The young woman stood, stretched her back and grinned, "Happy to do it Sir, gives me an excuse to move around for a few minutes. How do you take it?"

"Black's fine, thanks," Harm answered, returning her grin as if he was complicit in finding an excuse for her to move around.

The coffee, when it arrived, did prove to be instant, but it wasn't made from the bitter-tasting coffee powder that was the Navy's usual provision, someone or someones in this crew cared enough to provide a halfway decent supply of freeze-dried coffee granules.

Feeling almost back up to sub-human level after his rest and the coffee, Harm turned back to the NFO Lieutenant and asked, "your skipper said that if I was bored back here, to pass the word forward, and of it was convenient she'd let me know if I could go up onto the flight-deck. Could you pass the word, please?"

Once again he was met with a broad smile, "Sure thing, Commander, just wait one moment… Hey skipper, DiLucia here, I think our passenger's getting a touch of cabin fever, and would like to take advantage of your invitation to come up forward."

O'Neill's short laugh could be heard on the speaker at the Lieutenant's work station before she answered "_Awake already is he? Yeah sure, send him on up!"_

"Roger," DiLucia looked back at Harm, "Did you hear that, Sir?"

"I did, thank you, Lieutenant, and thanks for the coffee too!" Harm flashed a smile at the young woman and turned to make his way up to the flight-deck, squeezing past the other NFOs as he did so. Finally reaching the curtain closed the flight-deck off from the operations section of the big aircraft twitched it aside and called out, "Okay if I come up?"

Beth O'Neill swivelled her seat and grinned over her shoulder, "Sure, come on up. Mike," she added to the second pilot, "How about you fixing us all a coffee? Commander?"

Harm grinned, "Just had one, thanks," and in response to O'Neill's jerked thumb gesture sat down in the right-hand pilot's seat.

Looking ahead all Harm could see was ocean and sky, "Where are we?" he asked.

"Just passed Gibraltar, it's back down there, under our starboard wing, that puddle in front of us is the Atlantic, and somewhere up ahead is a KC-135 out of Rota… I hope."

Harm grimaced at the thought of failing to make the RV with the tanker airplane and Beth seeing the expression on his face chuckled, "Oh, we wouldn't have to ditch, not unless something else went wrong as well; we've got enough range to make it but I'd have to divert to Dover, and to stretch the fuel I'd have to kill number one engine, it's the only one that doesn't drive a generator of some sort, but that would slow us down , probably add another four hours to the flight." Beth thought for a moment or two, and then added, "And that probably wouldn't be a bad thing, I could put this bird down at Andrews any old time, but I don't know Dover that well, and I would prefer daylight."

Once again Beth glanced across at Harm and seeing the horrified expression on his face chuckled out loud," No, we would be fine, I understand even the Zoomies have got GCA these days, but I couldn't help pushing a button or two!"

Harm looked at her balefully, but once again the laughter in her voice and the smile in her eyes sparked off his own sense of humour. He shook his head in mock sorrow, "You know something, O'Neill? It wouldn't surprise me that if I was ever to read in the Navy Times that you had met a premature death at the hands of some poor guy driven beyond endurance!"

Beth laughed out loud, her amusement triggering a responding grin from the flight engineer in his seat behind Harm. "If that was the case, you'd never know just how surprised I would have been!" Beth told him.

Harm shook his head despairingly, and looked around the, what was to him, spacious flight-deck, "You seem to have plenty of elbow room up here."

Beth nodded, "That we do, I took a peek into a Tomcat once, how the hell did a guy your size ever squeeze into to such a tiny cockpit?"

"We don't, we don't climb into a Tomcat, we strap it on," Harm threw out the old F-14 pilots' quip, "and then," with a nod at Beth's hands which were resting only lightly on the yoke, "we are far too busy to worry about comfort or discomfort."

Beth took the hint, "Well, today is just bus driving, we're at twenty-five thousand feet at just about three hundred and twenty knots on a straight line course, so I can afford to be hands off and let George do the flying, as long as I'm here, or Mike's here to keep an eye on him. If this was a patrol, we'd be down wave hopping at about one eighty, and flying a pattern. When that's going on we have all three pilots up here on the flight-deck at the same time, and we all have our hands full!"

Harm raised his eyebrows and whistled, he sort of knew that Orions spent a long time in the air on each mission, but he had taken their work for granted, after all by the dictum of carrier pilots, maritime pilots weren't _really_ Naval Aviators, because they've never had to make a trap. Harm knew this to be a simple piece of snobbery, and he didn't take it seriously, but he knew that there were some younger fighter pilots who did take it seriously. He had defended more than one of them at their subsequent court martial for striking another officer when the arguments had gone beyond the verbal.

Even so, while appreciating the skills that P-3 pilots like Beth O'Neill, had to master, he still wouldn't change his choice of airplane.

****Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1447 hours EDT, Secretary of the Navy's Offices, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA (251847ZApr01)** **

"Captain Harding, reporting as ordered, Mister Secretary!" Harding and halted come to a stiff brace.

Admiral Stark exchanged a look Secretary Nelson before he spoke, "Stand easy, at ease. This is an informal investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death last night of Lieutenant Turlington, an officer under your command..."

"One moment, please Sir," A J Chegwidden interrupted the CNO, "Although no charges have been filed against Captain Harding – yet – I think he should be informed of his article thirty one rights. Otherwise we risk having any answers to any questions we might ask disallowed at a future possible court-martial."

Once again the CNO looked at the SECNAV, while Tom Morrow sat back with a faintly interested expression on his face, while Admiral Scott sat bleak faced and almost as white as his shirt.

Admiral stark looked across at the Navy's JAG, "Good thinking, AJ. I take it you know the formula?"

Chegwidden nodded, "That I do, Sir, that I do. Captain Harding, you are being investigated in connection with the circumstances leading to the fatal shooting of Lieutenant Turlington. You have the right to remain silent when questioned, if you give up that right anything you say may be used in evidence against you at any subsequent disciplinary proceedings. You have the right to consult an attorney before such questioning and to have your attorney present during such questioning. If you wish it, you may have a military attorney appointed to you at no cost, you may also retain a civilian attorney of your choice at your own expense. Do you understand these rights?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Do you wish to avail yourself of those rights at this time?"

"No, sir. For the moment I will waive those rights, but I reserve the right to invoke them later if I choose to do so."

"That too, is your right," Chegwidden agreed gravely, and then turned towards the SecNav. "Mister Secretary, it is the belief both of JAG and of NCIS that the death of Lieutenant Turlington is linked with the case of Captain Richardson. Captain Richardson was convicted fourteen years ago of espionage. He maintained his innocence from the moment he was arrested and he still maintains to this day that he is innocent of the charge. The key evidence in the prosecution's case were photographs showing Richardson and an Asian woman exchanging envelopes on several occasions, and a statement purporting to come from an employee of the Chinese embassy together with evidence purporting to show that Richardson had an offshore bank account. However when it came to the court date that employee had been returned to China as a matter of routine rotation, and the government of the island where the bank account was supposedly held upheld their banking community's policy of confidentiality, and so the details of the bank account were unavailable to the court. However, that was not the case, was it, Captain Harding?"

"I can't say with any degree of certainty Sir, whether that was the case or not," Harding replied.

"In view of Harding's record of service and that he was deployed at sea during that time, JAG is willing to accept that answer. Now, Mister Secretary, with your permission, NCIS can take up the story for a while."

Secretary Nelson grunted in agreement, "Go-ahead, Director Morrow."

Tom Morrow squared off the papers in front of him as he considered his best opening, "Mister Secretary, Admiral Stark, on March twenty-ninth this year NCIS Operations got a call from GW Hospital stating that they had an _in extremis_ patient, who needed to make a confession to a Navy cop." He snorted at the hospital's description of NCIS Agents.

"She told the agent that interviewed her that she knew she was dying, and that she wanted to make a statement to the effect that she was the missing witness in the Richardson case, that her name was Pak Ji-Min, and that she was not and has never been a member of the Chinese Embassy staff. She confessed to have been an illegal alien, a half-Korean half American, the illegitimate daughter of an American sailor. She had been identified as an illegal and had then been part-coerced and part-bribed by the ONI to provide evidence that would indicate that she had subverted Captain Richardson, and that the only documents she received from him were de-classified portions of the records of US Navy personnel who had served in Korea or in Korean waters in the two years before her birth, and the only envelopes she gave Richardson were the envelopes containing those same documents that she returned to him per his request."

"Exactly as Richardson had testified in his defence at the original trial," Chegwidden supplemented the NCIS Director's summary.

"Unfortunately, the only name she was able to give us in connection to the case was a Captain John Smith of Naval Intelligence..." Director Morrow paused, "This is a sworn and notarised copy of Miss Pak's death-bed statement," he finished speaking and slid a single sheet of paper across the table's surface towards Nelson, and then turned back to Chegwidden, "AJ?"

"Thank you, Tom. Mister Secretary, NCIS forwarded their report to JAG, and when it arrived on my desk I handed it to Commander Rabb with instructions to identify Captain John Smith with the aim of bringing him to justice if possible, and having Richardson's conviction overturned and having him reinstated in the Navy in his former rank, and his service credited the fourteen years he spent behind bars as an innocent man."

Secretary Nelson visibly winced, not only was fourteen years' back pay for a Captain going to knock a hole in his contingency fund, but once again Rabb's name had cropped up in a sensitive and difficult case. But Chegwidden hadn't finished.

"Rabb made a phone call to the ONI to make initial investigations into the real identity of Captain John Smith. He was warned off the case by Commander Carmichael of the ONI, who stated that Rabb was putting himself in physical danger in pursuing his case and urged him to forget he'd ever heard the names Richardson and Smith. The following Monday, April seventh, while I was on authorised absence from JAG, Captain Harding paid an unannounced visit to my office, where he attempted to intimidate Commander Rabb into handing over the Richardson case file. Fortunately Commander Rabb had the presence of mind to call for a witness to the exchange in the shape of Lieutenant-Colonel Mackenzie. I have here, Mister Secretary, statements to that effect signed by both Rabb and MacKenzie."

He passed Mac and Harm's statements to the SECNAV, and the assembled officers sat, or in Harding's case stood, in silence while he read them through. Finished reading, he looked up at Harding, his expression unreadable, "Do you admit to visiting JAG offices on April seventh, and demanding that Commander Rabb hand over to you the Richardson file?"

"Yes, Mister Secretary."

"And did Commander Rabb, in fact, hand the file to you?"

"No, Mister Secretary"

"But you had ordered him to, and he disobeyed that order, so why didn't you charge him disobeying a direct order?"

On this occasion Harding stayed silent.

"Was it because you knew your order not a lawful order?"

Again Harding stayed silent.

Secretary Nelson looked at the grim faces around the table before he looked back at Harding, "I think we have all agreed to take that as a yes," he said in a steely voice. He took a couple of deep breaths to study his temper before he turned back to A J Chegwidden, "Do you have any more questions, Admiral?"

"Yes, Mister Secretary, this is a long way from being finished yet. Captain Harding, you seem to place great importance on getting hold of the Richardson file; did Lieutenant Turlington's break-in to the apartment which Commander Rabb lives have the object of searching that apartment for the Richardson file?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Leaving aside, for the moment, the illegality of that act, what possessed you to think that file might be in the Commander's accommodation?"

"Because a search of his office had shown no sign of it, Sir."

"A what!" Chegwidden bellowed jumping to his feet and for the first time during the course of the meeting showing signs of emotion.

It took Tom Morrow's urgent but quiet voiced, "Sit down, AJ, losing your cool is not going help."

Chegwidden glared down at the NCIS man, but recognised his good common sense and sat down but still breathing heavily through his nose as he grappled with his temper.

"Now, Captain Harding, are you telling us that somehow, somebody from your organisation conducted an illegal search of one of my attorneys' office?"

"Yes, Sir," outwardly Harding remain impassive, mentally he was giving himself a savage kicking the having made that tell-tale slip of the tongue.

"Who carried out the search, and on whose orders?"

Having backed himself into a corner, Harding made the decision that honesty was not only the best, but was probably the only policy he had left open to him.

"Lieutenant Turlington carried out a search, Sir. And I ordered him to do it. I also ordered him to search Commander Rabb's apartment."

"But that only after you had sent a false email, purporting to originate from the Patrick Henry, requesting Rabb's presence to investigate F-14 mishaps, wasn't it? Oh, and don't bother denying it, one of my officers is a computer genius, and despite you going through six proxies, he managed to trace the origin of that false message to the computer on your desk."

Harding's shoulders slumped even further, "Yes, Sir the message was sent with the express intention of getting Rabb out of DC, and giving us at least one night to search his apartment."

"What the hell were you thinking, in allowing Turlington to undertake the burglary while he was armed?"

"He was only supposed to use his side arm to intimidate the Lieutenant with whom Rabb shares the apartment, Sir. We didn't expect her to be armed, we didn't expect her if she was armed to be able to fire on a live target."

"Why not?" Admiral Stark demanded gruffly, "hasn't it sunk in to ONI's collective head that women now undergo weapons training?"

"Line officers, yes, Sir. But she's just an attorney…" Harding ended miserably.

Admiral Scott shook his head as if he was waking from a bad dream, "All this… Burglaries, wild goose chases to the other end of the Earth, young Turlington's death, all for what?"

"So that no one would find out Captain Smith's real identity, Sir."

"And who is that? Who is Captain Smith?"

"Sir, with respect, I decline to answer that question."

"Captain Harding," Chegwidden said, "you must realise that in the light of what you told us here this afternoon, that you will be facing charges, and it is almost certain that you will be found guilty, and face a long spell of confinement. It seems that you are reluctant to name names due to fear of retribution. This is not the first case that I have encountered where the accused has been faced with a similar dilemma; in some cases the accused has made the decision to come clean and the perceived threat has then been neutralised. In other cases, particularly those involving members of the intelligence community, the accused has elected remain silent in the hope that his silence will guarantee his life. Unfortunately in many of these cases those still at liberty had decided that the best guarantee of the accused's silence is his death. Death in prison is easily, and very cheaply obtained. I'm sure your knowledge extends to the word 'shank' in the context of prison, and how often they have been employed to settle grudges, or even to commit murder for hire. The choice, Captain Harding is all yours."

Harding looked stricken, as if for the first time he realised the enormity of his actions, and the consequences thereof. It also seems that he was contemplating his own future and after standing in silence, his head bowed, for some few moments he looked up at Secretary Nelson. "Captain John Smith, was Captain Alan King, my CO at ONI when I was a Lieutenant. He is now Deputy Director Counter intelligence for the CIA."

A profound silence greeted his announcement, none of the men at the table, with the possible exception of Admiral Scott, were particularly surprised that the impetus for all Harding's skulduggery had come from Langley, although they were a bit taken aback by just how high up the CIA pecking order the guilty party was.

Secretary Nelson looked first at Tom Morrow, "Director Morrow please arrange for Captain Harding to be taken into custody and formally interviewed and the case file forwarded to JAG as soon as possible. Admiral Scott, as discussed earlier, I will see you at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Admiral Stark, please let me have a short list of names to take over at ONI, and please inform Admiral Thomas that he is to step up as Director of the Office of Naval Intelligence, _pro tem_. Admiral Chegwidden please speak to the judiciary, I want to see a judicial review of Captain Richardson's case, by the end of the month."

Chegwidden blanched, the SecNav had just given him an all but impossible task, but there was only one response he could make, and truth be known he also wanted to see Richardson out of confinement as quickly as possible, so, "Yes, Mister Secretary."

The SecNav stood, "thank you for your time this afternoon gentlemen, I'm only sorry that it was such a grim occasion."

All officers waited until the Nelson had left the room, quickly followed by Admiral Scott, who avoided making eye contact with any of the others.

Tom Morrow finished returning his papers to his briefcase and then looked at Captain Harding, not a trace of sympathy in his gaze, "With me please, Captain Harding."

Harding gave a defeated shrug, and wordlessly followed the NCIS director out of the room.

Chegwidden stooped to close his briefcase and then straightening up turned to the CNO, "By your leave, Sir?"

"One moment, AJ, did I understand Harding to say that Rabb was sharing accommodation with a female lieutenant, a lieutenant in the same chain of command?"

Chegwidden cursed viciously, but silently, "Yes Sir, you did, and not only was I aware of the situation, I even gave it my blessing. Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer are engaged to be married, the wedding date is set for the last Saturday of June, a little over two months away. Their conduct and bearing and deportment during duty hours has been faultless to a point and has had nothing other than a positive impact on unit morale or cohesion. I do not believe it is in the Navy's best interest to raise a charge of wrongful cohabitation, nor one of acting in a manner to the prejudice of good order and discipline. To do so would, in my opinion, deprive the Navy on one of its best attorneys, and of a rising star who has the potential to be as good, if not better than her partner."

"AJ, you are not trying to snow me, are you?" Admiral Stark demanded suspiciously, but with a hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth.

Chegwidden took note of the CNO's expression and then gazed pointedly at the Budweiser sitting above Admiral Stark's rack of medal ribbons, "I wouldn't dare, Stiffy," he replied.

Admiral 'Stiffy' Stark's face creased in a huge grin, "Dammit, AJ, nobody's had the balls to call me that for years!"

"Hooya!" Chegwidden grinned.

"Hooya, indeed!" Stark replied.

****Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1642 hours EDT, Room 312, Female Medical Ward, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (252042ZApr01)** **

"And why can't I go home?" Loren demanded with something dangerously akin to a pout.

"Because the doctor wants you to stay overnight for observation." The Nurse Lieutenant glared at her recalcitrant patient.

"But I'm fine, yes, I was a little upset and a lot tired, but I had a good sleep, I didn't need all these damned wires and tubes, the rest has done me a world of good and I'm fine now, and I want to go home."

"You were not a little upset and a lot tired this morning, you were in deep shock. You did not have a good sleep, you were sedated, the wires were to keep an eye on your blood pressure, which was dangerously low when you were admitted, and to keep an eye also on your pulse, and your respiration. The tubes were to pump plasma into you to bring your BP back up to a safe level so the doctor has decided you will stay here overnight and if your stats are okay in the morning, then, and only then, will you be allowed to go home. Now, is there anything about that explanation that you did not understand?"

"No, I understood it! But I still want to go home!" Loren replied petulantly.

Lieutenant Maureen 'Mo' O'Connor snorted in exasperation, and with a final 'don't you dare' glower at her mutinous patient turned on her heel, with something that came perilously close to a flounce, and left her to stew in her own ill-tempered and ungrateful juices.

****Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1927 hours AZOST, Aboard P-3 Orion BN 593, Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean (251927ZApr01)****

Harm, Beth and her second pilot, Lieutenant Mike Kiernan had engaged in a wide ranging conversation, during which time Harm had discovered that Mike was also an Annapolis graduate, although nine years behind him, while Beth had gone the ROTC route at the University of Texas at Austin, and had been slightly taken aback when Harm had grinned and said "Hook 'em!" And he then had to go on to explain that one of his fellow JAGs was also an NROTC graduate of that college, but had declined on the grounds of delicacy to hazard a guess at which years Meg had been at Austin.

Throughout the conversation however Beth and Mike's eyes had constantly swept over the massively complex instrument panel, reassuring themselves that all was well with their airplane, while Beth to Harm's surprise occasionally pulled back the right cuff of her flight suit and apparently checked the time on a second watch and in answer to his question replied, "On a flight like this I always wear a second, backup watch, set to Zulu time… Right now we are…" She checked the readout on the GPS dial, "somewhere in the same longitude as the Azores Islands, whose time zone is usually Zulu minus one, but because they use a summertime adjustment, they are now using Zulu time, like the East Coast moving from EST to EDT. But my watch," she raised her left hand "is still set to Central European Summertime, which is Zulu plus two, and I won't adjust the time, until we reach our final destination."

Her last words brought a beatific smile to Mike's face and a long crooned "Oh yeah!" From Ted Harwood at his flight engineer station to the starboard rear the flight-deck.

Harm grinned, he had a feeling he was being set up for something, but he thought, 'What the hell,' "and your final destination is? I thought it was Point Mugu."

Beth nodded, "That's where the Squadron is to be based, but three birds at a time are on forward deployment to Barbers Point at Pearl!"

"And you're one of the lucky crews?" Ham said, not without a touch of envy.

"Yep, six months in Honolulu..." Mike sighed ecstatically.

"It's not going to be all play, there's going to be plenty of work too," Beth reminded him.

"Just as long as I get one day's surfing, I shan't bitch about the work too much!" Mike promised with a grin.

"I should hope not!" Beth said, but the severity in her voice was belied by the amused gleam in her eyes, but the amusement swiftly died as she used one hand to signal a pause in the conversation while she used the other to press one of the ear-phones of her head set closer to her ear, "Roger, echo bearing two eight five degrees, heading one eight five degrees, range one eighty, speed four six five knots, Angels two eight," she repeated the message she had just received.

Beth finished speaking into her microphone and turned to Harm, "That looks like our gas station up ahead, would you mind changing seats with Mike?"

Although it sounded like an ordinary request between two officers of equal rank, Harm was in no doubt it was an order, no matter how politely phrased, from the Captain of the aircraft, and he immediately stood, making way for Mike to resume his normal seat while he took Mike's Place on the bulkhead mounted pull-down seat.

Beth and Mike were all seriousness now, as Beth toggled the comms switch to broadcast, "Hello Clamshell one one, this is Nimrod nine three, we have you on our scope at one eight zero miles, squawking now." Beth nodded to Mike who leaned forward and pressed the transponder button telling all and sundry where and what the aircraft was.

"_Clamshell one one, we see you. We have you at one zero five degrees, heading two seven nine degrees, range one seven five, speed three two zero, Angels two five._"

"Nimrod nine three, yeah that's us. How do you want to play this?"

"_Clamshell one one, maintain present course, speed and Angels, we will come to you_."

"Nimrod nine three, roger, out."

Beth toggled off the radio switch and craned her head around to look back over her shoulder, at Harm, "He's going to come to us, and if we both maintain current speed he'll be with us in just about fifteen minutes. The only thing is being Air Force, he's going to be fitted with that damned Iron Maiden drogue."

Harm grimaced, he too had had occasion in the past to refuel from an Air Force Tanker airplane, and in common with most navy pilots he hated the Air Force drogue conversion kit. The Air Force used a flying boom refuelling system while the Navy's preferred method was drogue and probe. That was dangerous enough with the soft canvas drogue used by the Navy, but for some Godless reason the Air Force had opted for a steel basket as a drogue. An off-centre engagement with, or disengagement from, the probe could cause the drogue to whiplash violently, almost inevitably causing damage to the fuel probe or the fuselage of the receiving aircraft.

Ted Harwood leaned back from his seat and passed Harm a pair of binoculars, "If you wouldn't mind, sir? It would give Mike a helping hand..."

Harm accepted the glasses, "Lieutenant, you take centre line to starboard, while I take centre-line to port?" he suggested to Mike.

"Suits me, sir!" Mike gratefully accepted Harm's help. Beth's attention would now be divided between her instrument panel and the instructions and advice coming through her headset from her NFO radar operator seated in the aft cabin, and two pairs of eyes stood a better chance of seeing the approaching Air Force jet than one.

"Another five minutes before we can hope to see him," Beth relayed to the two watchers, as she mentally translated the information coming from the radar plot.

But it was more than seven minutes, nearly eight before Harm called out, "Bogey, ten o'clock high!"

Mike's binoculars snapped round to the direction given by Harm and less than ten seconds later he confirmed Harm's sighting.

Once again Beth toggled the radio switch, "Hello Clamshell one one, this is Nimrod nine three, we have you visual in our ten o'clock about Angels two high."

"_Clamshell one one, Roger. We see you. Maintain your present course, speed and Angels; I intend to fly a downwind leg to your port side at these Angels, then turn onto the same heading as yourself and descend to your Angels at ten miles lead distance, and then throttle back to three hundred knots ASI."_

"Nimrod nine three, roger."

The next fifteen minutes saw a rise of tension on the flight deck as Beth and Mike waited for the KC-135 to take station ahead of them. Ten miles might sound like a long distance, but in terms of large airplanes flying at speeds in excess of three hundred knots it seemed to all concerned to be very little distance at all.

Beth had donned her helmet and fastened her mask across her face, as had Mike, before she disengaged George, the auto-pilot, and with her eyes fixed on the tanker and one hand covering the throttle bar, she slowly closed in on the KC-135, using minute movements of the controls to bring the Orion's fuel probe into line with the dreaded Iron Maiden drogue at the end of the tanker's fuel transfer boom that had now been extended from its ventral housing in the tanker's fuselage.

Slowly, and reducing speed all the time to match the tanker's three hundred knots, Beth nudged the Orion nearer and nearer as she fought to keep probe and drogue in line, until with a sigh of relief the probe slid home barely touching the funnel-shaped sides of the drogue as it did so.

"We are taking on fuel!" Mike confirmed as he watched the fuel flow gauge while Beth kept her eyes firmly fixed on the drogue as her hands and feet made minute adjustments to ensure that the probe stayed in line, the last thing she needed was to try and explain to an irate squadron commander how she had managed to snap the fuel inlet valve off the end of the probe, leaving it jammed in the Air Force tanker's drogue, her task made more difficult by the lowering sun over the western horizon, shining into the cockpit of both aircraft.

To Beth and Harm, it seemed an age before Mike gave a cautionary word, "Coming up full tanks… On my mark… Five, four, three, two, one, mark!"

"Clamshell one one, this is Nimrod nine three, we have full load, preparing to disengage."

"_Clamshell one one, roger."_

"Nimrod nine three, am disengaging... now!" and even as she spoke, Beth was nudging the the throttles back, reducing speed to allow the probe to slide out of the drogue, even as the crew of the KC-135 started to retract the fuel boom.

Beth waited until the boom had disappeared back into the belly of the tanker before she gave the all-clear, "Nimrod nine three, all clear, with full tanks, thank you!"

"_Clamshell one one, always a pleasure to help the Navy! Clear skies to you_!"

"Nimrod nine three, and to you. Look me up sometime in the O club, and I'll spring for a cold one for you!"

"I might just hold you to that!" the KC-135 pilot retorted as he hauled his airplane around in a tight bank to starboard, to come onto a heading that would take him back to Rota.

"Whew! Thank God that's over! I didn't think it was possible to hold my breath for that long," Beth joked as she unclipped her mask and pulled her helmet off.

"Neither did I!" Harm grinned.

Beth nudged the throttles forward again until the P-3's ASI showed that once again bulky airplane had reached its cruising speed of three hundred and twenty knots and re-engaged the auto-pilot before she looked back over her shoulder at him, "What were you holding your breath for?" She asked curiously, "I was the driver; all you had to do was sit there."

"Yeah, and hope there wasn't any last-second turbulence that might send that drogue through the canopy, you and Mike are fine, strapped in, with helmets and oxygen. All I could have done is sit tight, hang on for grim death and try to hold my breath until we got down to below ten thousand!"

Beth turned round almost enough to face him and scrutinised his expression carefully, and then correctly assuming that he wasn't being too serious, she grinned and said, "You could have gone back to the aft cabin, you'd have been safer there."

"What? And have you rechristen me as Chickenhawk? No thanks, that sort of nickname would follow me all the way around the fleet, and the next thing you know some guys in some squadron somewhere would think it funny to have it as my new callsign!"

Beth gurgled with laughter, "Yeah I could just see that! What is your callsign anyway?"

"It used to be 'Pappy', I was the oldest pilot in the squadron, by about ten years, but then they rechristened me and gave me my dad's old callsign, 'Hammer'."

"Hammer?" Ted interrupted, "Hammer, from the PH, Tailhook Hammer?"

Harm felt the tips of his ears grow red, "Um… Yeah," he said uncomfortably.

Beth turned again in her seat, "In that case, it's not only a pleasure to have you on board, it's a privilege!"

****Wednesday, April 25, 2001, 1903 hours EDT, Room 312, Female Medical Ward, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (252303ZApr01)** **

Loren was moodily flicking through the TV channels, hoping against hope to find something worth watching, but after about ten minutes of fruitless searching she was about ready to throw the remote, very hard, at the nearest wall.

Fortunately for her page eleven and her bank balance, a knock on the room's door frame distracted her from her intention. Turning her head to see who her visitor was, her sulky expression transformed in under a second into a welcoming smile.

"Meg! Thank God!"

Meg strolled into the room, dressed in her favourite combination of faded jeans and a plaid shirt, her burlap tote bag hanging over one shoulder, and a warm answering smile on her own face. "Hey, Loren how are you feeling?"

Loren gave a brief, bitter laugh, "Wrong question. But the answer is I feel fine, but the nursing Nazis won't let me go home until the doctor gives me the okay tomorrow!"

"Well, you can't blame them, you _were_ in a pretty bad way this morning." A thought occurred to Meg, "how much of this morning do you remember?"

Loren grimaced, "All of it, unfortunately, and last night… But this morning I have never felt so embarrassed, I literally couldn't stop crying, and I couldn't stop my hands from shaking so badly I couldn't even do up the buttons on my blouse." Loren paused and looked almost shyly at Meg, "What I can't remember is whether or not I thanked you properly, not just for coming over in the middle of the night to be my attorney, but most especially for coming back this morning… I honestly don't know what I would have, what I could have, done if you hadn't come back to help me. It's something that I don't think I can ever repay you for."

"Oh, hush up. Landsakes, I was only being a friend."

"Yeah, you were… But you still don't get it, do you? Until pretty recently, I was the wicked witch of Washington, the ice Queen, the pitbull, I didn't have any friends. So, I'm still trying to get my head around the concept means in… real terms?"

"Yeah, I'd heard the names, and I can't figure out what the senior attorneys were doing to allow contemptuous words to be tossed around the bullpen. Never mind that right now, are you hungry?"

Loren giggled, "You betcha ass! The food here is poison, pure poison, and such small portions!"

Meg's mouth dropped open, "Do… Do you realise… What you just said?" She said, fighting back a giggle of her own.

Loren's forehead creased in in a frown of concentration as she thought back over her last words, and then in the mirror image reaction to Meg, her own mouth dropped open for a few seconds and then she too giggled, "I can't believe I just said that, I cannot believe I just complained because the portions of poison weren't big enough!"

Meg nodded, her eyes dancing with amusement, "Yeah, it did sound kinda dumb!"

Loren nodded, her laughter still evident on her face, "Oh God, I swear I will hear my voice saying those words until the day they put me to bed with a shovel!" Then a thought occurred to her, "Hey, I've made up my mind that I was going to be moody, sulky, uncooperative and all the rest of it, but you've teased me into smiles and laughter within five minutes! Is this one of your sneaky Texan shyster tricks?"

"Loren, you are so busted; these days I don't think you could be miserable if you tried…"

"Wanna bet?" Loren interrupted.

"… There's just so much happiness inside you, you can't help yourself. So no, it is not a Texas shyster trick!" Meg grinned, totally ignoring at Loren's interruption, as she delved into the depths of her tote bag.

"And anyway, to get back one of the causes of your unhappiness, try this…" She offered a brown paper bag to Loren, cautiously opened it and peered inside.

"Is that…"

"Yeah, a Philly cheese steak, it's probably stone cold, but…" Again Meg was forced to break off what she was about to say as her chuckle broke out anew. Loren hadn't waited to hear Meg's apology for the sandwich being cold, but with a look of sheer ecstasy on her face, she had bitten off a healthy chunk, and now, her eyes closed in pleasure she was savouring the taste, cold or not, as she chewed.

"And when you've finished that, I have a can of diet Pepsi in here for you, too!"

Loren's eyes opened wide at that bit of news, "Meg Austin, someday you're gonna make some guy one hell of a wife, in fact if I wasn't already engaged, I'd propose to you myself!"

Meg batted her eyelashes and assuming a Scarlet O'Hara type accent, replied, "Why, Miss Loren, I really don' know what to say, I surely don' mean to cause you no hurt, but my heart is already spoken for…"

Loren gave a shout of laughter, spraying crumbs everywhere, "That is a worse Gone With the Wind attempt than even my worst try, especially for a Texas gal! My accent is better than that, and I'm from Ohio!"

Meg shook her head, "It wasn't that bad!" She laughingly denied.

Loren gently shook her head, "when you were partners with Harm, back in the day, he ever cook dinner for you?"

"Uh… yeah, why…?"

"And did any of those dinners consist of his famous meatless meatloaf?"

"Yeah, once, and once only… "

"And how was it?"

Meg shuddered in memory of one of the worst culinary experiences she'd ever undergone, "it was God-awful!" She exclaimed.

"And I'll bet that Harm defended it, and said it wasn't that bad."

Meg nodded, "Yeah, he did."

"In that case, counsellor, having proved my point, I rest my case." Loren said in smug triumph.

Meg stared at her in astonishment for a few seconds, before she burst out into a fresh laugh, "And you accused me of being a shyster! I only hope that I never have to be a witness you're examining!"

Meg's protest started Loren laughing again, a laugh in which Meg freely joined in, attracting the attention of Nurse Lieutenant O'Connor, who, with a smile of approval on her own face, stood in the doorway, "That's much better attitude, Lieutenant," she smiled rather patronisingly, Loren thought, as Lieutenant O'Connor turned to Meg, "If you can make this patient smile, you're welcome here at any time dear."

It was too good a chance for Loren to mess "Lieutenant, I'd like you to meet my visitor, Commander Megan Austin, JAG Corps."

The look of shock and horror on the nurse's face was all the payback that Loren needed.

****Thursday, April 26, 2001, 0233 hours EDT, Andrews Joint Base Navy Facility, MD (260633ZApr01)** **

Harm climbed down from the belly of the Orion and slung the strap of his sea-bag over his shoulder, and waited, shivering for a few moments against the night-chill and the light drizzle in his peanut butters, for Beth O'Neill to join him on the tarmac.

Beth managed to deplane with much more grace, acquired through experience, than Harm had managed the same feat and once her feet were safely on the ground Harm turned to her and said, "Beth, thank for the ride, it was an experience. That's the first time I've ever been up in a P-3..."

"Well, it's not quite an F-14, and it's not quite as fast," Beth said with her easy smile, "but we got you here all in one piece, and at least you had someone to talk to, to help pass the time."

"Yeah, well, I get that with a Rio, too," Harm joked in response, "but, I really am grateful, without you, and your guys and gals, I'd still be sitting on the tarmac at Naples, or given the time difference maybe just boarding now. So… Next time you're in the DC area, and you're not flying, give me a call at JAG HQ, and I'll have a cold one lined up for you!"

Beth smiled, as they moved away from the immediate area of the steps to allow the rest of her crew, yawning, stretching and shivering, to deplane now that they had secured their stations, "I might just do that, but without wishing to seem ungracious, I hope it's a long time yet. I'll let you into a little secret, I'm looking forward, and just as much as Mike, to those golden sands, and that blue, blue water!"

Harm chuckled, "Looking around at the weather here, can't say as I blame you. If I didn't think the JAG would write me up as UA, I might just be tempted to stow away on board again!"

"I thought you were in a hurry to get home?"

Harm nodded, his grin fading, "Yeah, you got that right. So I'm gonna head over to the MCCP, and find out if anyone has done anything about organising ground transport for me." Harm offered the Orion pilot his hand, "Beth, thanks again for everything, as I say, if you get back in DC at all look me up, and until then, I'll see you on the flight line maybe."

Beth took his hand in her surprisingly firm grip, "Take it easy, Hammer, or is it Pappy, or Chickenhawk?"

Harm gave a stern look, although Beth didn't seem at all fazed, "if I ever hear Chickenhawk in connection with my name, I shall know exactly for whom to come looking!"

Beth just chuckled, and with an answering grin of his own, Harm flipped her a casual salute, and turned towards the one building that still showed signs of life.

The Yeoman Petty Officer Second Class manning the MCCP desk had obviously been briefed to expect Harm, quickly checking his name off against the P-3's crew list, he indicated the rows of chairs that filled half the hall, "You have a driver waiting for you, Sir."

Harm raised his eyebrows in surprise, he had fully expected to have to either provide his own transport, or nag, complain or even browbeat somebody at Andrews to provide him with transport into DC, instead he recognised PN3 Hawkins as she crossed the concrete flooring towards him.

She halted in front of him in the at attention position, "Good morning Sir, I have a car waiting outside." But she then spoiled the effect by having to bring a hand up to cover her mouth as she was seized by an unexpected yawn.

Harm's brow knitted in concern, "Are you okay to drive Hawkins?"

Liz Hawkins drew herself up to her full height, "With respect, Sir, I am not half as tired as you look."

Harm gave the young woman another searching look, "If I look more tired than you do, then I must look to be in bad shape."

For a moment, Hawkins nearly succumbed to temptation, but managed to resist the urge, and merely replied, "Yes, Sir."

Harm gave a half shrug and a half smile, "Lead on then Hawkins," he said, refusing her attempt to take his sea-bag, and following her out into the night air.

it was the work of only a few seconds to stow the bag in the Navy's Crown Victoria's trunk, and with a sigh of relief Harm settled himself into the front passenger seat.

Hawkins slid in behind the wheel, and then as she offered him a sealed, white envelope somewhat nervously said, "Sir, Admiral Chegwidden said I was to give you this the second we were alone…"

Harm bit down a burst of irritation, all he wanted to do at the moment was to get home with the minimum of delay, but… "Did the Admiral say whether or not it was urgent?" He asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Yes, Sir. He wanted you to read it as soon as you could…"

Harm reached up and switched on the overhead light, tore open the envelope and saw to his surprise that the two sheets of paper it contained were covered with the Admiral's distinctive, sprawling handwriting."

Hawkins had heard the scuttlebutt circulating around JAG during the day, and had noted Lieutenant Singer's absence from duty, and by dint of some shrewd questioning she had inveigled Tiner into disclosing more that he was really willing to say. So as Harm's expression became bleaker the more of the note he read she wasn't really surprised.

Neither was she surprised when once he had finished reading he turned to her said, "Change of plan, Personnelman Three, not going into DC, take me to Bethesda!"

Liz Hawkins gulped silently once before replying, "Aye, aye, sir!"


	61. Chapter 61

**61**

**Thursday, April 26, 2001, 0607 hours EDT, Room 312, Female Medical Ward, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (261007ZApr01)**

It had taken Harm twenty minutes of hard arguing and finally a promise to be as quiet as a mouse before the Nurse Ratched clone at the Nurses' Station would allow him into Loren's room, where, true to his word he took up position in one of the hard, uncomfortable hospital chairs by the bedside, where he could see by the light filtering in from the corridor Loren was sleeping peacefully.

It was, he thought, a pretty fair guess that she was dreaming, and that whatever she was dreaming it wasn't about last night, not if the soft smile curving her lips was any sort of reliable guide. Satisfied that she was resting comfortably he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, just for a minute, he told himself.

Loren's eyes slowly, almost reluctantly opened, despite her vociferous protestations she had slept extraordinarily well last night and woke up feeling relaxed and fully rested… And totally happy, as she realised when her eyes fell the sleeping figure in the chair at her bedside.

Turning onto her side she raised herself on one elbow. Due to his irritating habit of being the first to wake on any nine days out of ten Loren very rarely had the opportunity to watch Harm while he slept, so she was determined to take full advantage of this opportunity. It was strange, the faces of most people when they slept became… softer… unfocussed… less intense, but not her Harm. Even in sleep, slumped awkwardly in a hard plastic chair there was an air of anticipation about him as if he was ready to spring into action the second he woke up. That thought forced a giggle through her lips, if there was one thing that Harm was not, it was ready to spring into instant action on waking, not without at least a pint of coffee inside him.

Ironically it was Loren's giggle that broke the spell, as quiet and as brief as it had been, it was long-lasting and loud enough to reach Harm's ears. With an inarticulate grunt, his eyes opened and then as he blinked sleep from them and Loren's face swam into view, he smiled. That smile was all it took for Loren to forget all her previous ill-temper and frustration at being confined to hospital, her breath caught in her throat, her heart started pounding as if it wanted to break free of her chest and it seemed that her stomach turned into molten lava. And the effect was only intensified by the expression in his blue eyes and his lazily drawled, "Hey, good morning to you, sleeping beauty."

"I like that!" Loren retorted indignantly, but with a smile on her face, "You were the one who was asleep when I woke up!"

"True," Harm said judiciously, "but that was only because I fell asleep while I was waiting for you to wake up."

Loren looked at him more closely; now that he was awake she could see the lines of fatigue etched on his face. "How long since you slept in a proper bed?" she demanded."

"Um… That would be…" Harm's forehead wrinkled in concentration, "that would be... that would be the last night we spent together," he said in triumph at having remembered that far back.

Loren shook her head, she didn't know what the Admiral, or Harm had in mind, but she made up her mind on the spot that he was going nowhere near Falls Church until he'd had at least six hours solid sleep. But she would have to approach that very carefully…

Instead she said playfully, "Well, that's your fault. You just called me sleeping beauty, and how did her prince wake her from her sleep?"

"Ah, that would have been with a kiss," Harm grinned in sudden embarrassment, and then as a second thought occurred to him he rallied, "but I couldn't do that, I had to sign an undertaking in blood not to disturb you, before Nurse Ratched would allow me in."

Loren looked at him with grave suspicion, unsure whether he was just taking a slight liberty with the truth, or was that an excuse he'd just completely made up on the spot, but, "You wouldn't be disturbing me now, and you still haven't kissed me. Not even an ordinary, everyday, good morning type of kiss…" she complained.

Harm silently slipped off the chair and onto the side of the bed were reaching out he tilted Loren's face towards his and leaning in captured her lips in a long, sweet kiss, that left her with smouldering eyes and swollen lips which just about managed a "Wow," when he finally broke the kiss.

Bringing a hand up to cup the side of her face he gently traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb, and said gently, "The thing is, your kisses are never, 'ordinary' or 'everyday'…"

Loren leaned in to the support of his hand, "There are times when I want to hate you, then you turn around and say something incredibly sweet the way you just have." she mock-grumbled.

"I know, it's not very fair of me is it?" Harm teased gently.

Loren looked up and smiled, "I will get my revenge," she warned him.

"Yeah, promises, promises," Harm grinned.

"And on the subject of promises," Loren hitched herself a little further up in the bed, bringing her mouth up to Harm's ear and whatever she whispered, set the tips of those ears flaming crimson. Immensely satisfied with her action and Harm's reaction, Loren laid back against the pillows and the smile on her face looked, to Harm, like that of a cat who had just dined off prime Canary.

Although Harm was somewhat relieved to find Loren in such good spirits, he was also slightly concerned that her cheerfulness was either a front, or more worryingly that she was in complete denial over the incident. But for the moment he had no idea how to tactfully broach the subject of the break-in and subsequent events, and reluctantly decided just to go with the flow. This at the moment involved Nurse Lieutenant Connie Esposito, a short, bubbly, cheerful woman in her mid-twenties, a total contrast to the nurse who had had the overnight duty.

Her bright, "Good morning, Lieutenant Singer…" And with a sly glance at Harm, continued with a grin, "how was your night?"

It struck Loren this was the first friendly face she'd seen in the hospital, and the nurse's good humour infected hers, "Not too bad, but it would have been better if I'd known_ he_ was here!"

"I know what you mean!" Connie declared, "men are just so impossible, when they're not here you wish they were, when they are here you wish they were somewhere else – anywhere else!"

"Oh, I don't know…" Loren pretended to disagree, "this one does have certain uses."

"Hey!" Ham protested, "I am here, and I can hear what you are saying!"

"This is exactly what I mean," Connie continued, and then turned to Harm, "I don't know what magic you used to get past Nurse Larczeni last night, but I'm about to run Lieutenant Singer's stats, and you are going to be very much in the way. Besides, there's a vending machine at the end of the hall, and you look like you could benefit from a shot of caffeine… Sir." she dimpled, paying last-second respect to military etiquette.

"Are you okay with that, Loren, I could…" Harm started to say, only to be interrupted.

"Yes, I'll be fine, you go on and get yourself a coffee, and while you're there, you can bring me back one as well!"

**Thursday, April 26, 2001, 0730 hours EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's house, McLean, VA (261130ZApr01)**

The Admiral paused while he checked his appearance in the full-length mirror that he had installed beside the door of the express purpose of checking his turnout before he subjected himself to public view. Nodding with satisfaction, as he did ninety-nine mornings out of a hundred, he reached for his cover with one hand while he dipped his hand in his pocket for his keys with the other.

But before he either produce the keys or clap his cover on his head an expression of displeasure crossed his face as the phone rang.

"Chegwidden," he rasped.

"_Sir, this is Rabb, I'm still at Bethesda, waiting to find out if Loren… uh… I mean Lieutenant Singer is to be released this morning._"

Unseen by Harm the Admiral's eyebrows rose towards his long-vanished hairline, "Is the Lieutenant suffering from any complications? I thought it was a given that she would be released this morning."

"_I still believe that to be the case, Sir but it seems that we have to wait for doctors' rounds, and they don't seem to be as keen on an early start as some of us, Sir._"

Chegwidden bit back a snort of laughter as he remembered Harm's propensity for unpunctuality "Very well, Rabb, but what's keeping you?"

Harm thought frantically for a few moments, desperately searching for an excuse that would keep him with Loren, and then inspiration struck. "_Sir, I'm in no fit state to be seen on duty, just yet. I came straight to the hospital from Andrews, and I need to shower, shave and change, and Sir… I'd really like to be with Loren when she gets home, given that was where the incident took place…_"

Chegwidden allowed himself a wry grin, but did the best to keep his amusement out of his voice, "So, we shouldn't expect to see either you or Lieutenant Singer today?"

"_If that could be arranged, Sir, we would both be very grateful_." Harm held his breath in anticipation of the Admiral's reply.

"Very well, Mister Rabb, make it so! But I will expect to see you both at zero eight hundred tomorrow."

"_Aye, aye, Sir. And Sir, thank you_!"

"Just don't make a habit of it Mister Rabb!"

"_No, sir… and sir… Thanks for everything else too, the car last night, and the note letting me know what was going on…_"

"No thanks required, Rabb, just looking after our own. Now, you look after Lieutenant Singer. That is all."

"_Aye, aye, Sir_!"

**Thursday, April 26, 2001, 0847 hours EDT, Room 312, Female Medical Ward, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (261247ZApr01)**

Once again Harm found himself bundled into the hall while a coterie of lab-coated doctors and nurses swarmed the room. And only the reflection that this was a necessary step in getting Loren home allowed him to accept it with any degree of equanimity.

Loren's check-up seemed to the impatient attorney to take forever and a day, but at last the door opened and the attending physician with his comet-like tail of lesser doctors and nurses flowed down the hall to the next room.

Harm stuck his head around the door frame and was heartened to see Loren already out of bed, and retrieving her uniform, crumpled as it was, from the storage bag provided by the hospital.

Hearing the door open behind her Loren gave a gasp of alarm and hastily snatched up her blouse to hold it up in front of her even before she turned her head to identify her unannounced visitor, and even seeing Harm's face she still glowered, "Damn it, Harm! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, wasn't meaning to sneak up on anyone," a slightly aggrievedly surprised Harm defended himself, "I just wanted to know what the doctor said?"

Loren forced a smile as she shrugged into her blouse, her hands perfectly steady as she fastened the buttons, "Physically, I'm fine, and I can get out of here, but he recommended that I see a counsellor – given the reason I ended up here…"

"That might not be a bad idea," Harm said thoughtfully, but Loren's face assumed her pinched, closed-off expression.

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be great, wouldn't it? And have the whole of JAG Ops whispering behind their hands that they always knew I was crazy!"

Harm shook his head, "I don't think that would be the reaction. You're not giving yourself enough credit for how much you've changed, and you're not giving the rest of JAG enough credit for seeing how much you've changed. I will be very surprised if you don't get a lot of support, and from what you've told me, especially from Meg, Carolyn and even Mac, although I admit Harriet might be a tougher proposition."

Loren gave a snort of contemptuous laughter as she slipped her feet into her shoes, "As far as Miss Goody Two-Shoes Sims is concerned, I shouldn't be surprised if she doesn't end up accusing me of murder!"

Harm perched on the end of the bed as Loren pottered about, making sure that she hadn't forgotten anything, "I wish you two could bury the hatchet – and not in each other's head!" he added warningly as he saw Loren's expression change.

Loren plumped onto the bed next to Harm, her expression thoughtful, "Look, I have no great liking for Harriet Sims and she has made it plain, in the past, she despises me. But, if she drops her attitude towards me then I'm prepared to let what's in the past stay in the past. But as things stand, I can't promise that she won't at some stage in the future provoke me. Bear in mind too, that I have considerable seniority over her, and if I wanted to I could make life pretty damn uncomfortable for her, and one of the main reasons I haven't is that Bud Roberts is your friend, and their son is your godson. No matter what I might think of his mother he doesn't deserve punishment, and with Mac about to go away for six months, he is gonna need you more than ever!"

As Harm had listened so his expression had become as equally thoughtful as Loren's, and when she had finished he waited a few seconds to make sure before he asked, "So you want me to arrange some sort of Paris peace conference for the two of you?"

Loren looked up in patent incredulity, "Do you really think that would help?"

"Do you think it would hurt?" Harm replied.

"No… Probably not, probably just won't achieve anything…" Loren sighed despondently.

"Well, we can but try," Harm observed before he asked, "and what's keeping us here now?"

Loren managed a half smile, "just waiting for the nurse to come back with the signed release papers."

**Thursday, April 26, 2001, 0943 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (261343ZApr01)**

"Eighteen bucks. Eighteen bucks just to get from Bethesda to here!" Harm exploded as he kicked his sea-bag halfway across the lounge, while Loren, hard put to stop from giggling, closed the door behind them.

"Well, if you had your driver bring you straight here last night instead of climbing into your shiny armour and galloping madly direct to Bethesda, then it wouldn't have cost you eighteen dollars. And the look on that poor cabbie's face, when you gave him a twenty you could at least have told him to keep the change!"

Harm snorted, "There was no way in hell that he was getting to keep that change. I was expecting to pay about sixteen dollars, including a tip. What was he thinking? He must have realised," Harm indicated his and Loren's uniforms, "that we are not tourists!"

"Oh I don't know… you kinda look like one…"

"I what?" Harm retorted, bristling.

"Yeah, a tourist… like the kind who just got off a long, long overnight flight from somewhere. One who could use a shower and a mug of hot chocolate and about eight hours of solid sleep…" Loren suggested with a twinkle in her eye.

"Oh. That kind of tourist," Harm said, defeated, "OK, I'll admit that I could use a shower… and a shave… but I've got things to do after that… so a coffee, and not chocolate and definitely no bed… uh… no sleep!" he hastily amended his last sentence once he saw the gleam in Loren's eye."

'Yeah? Well, we'll see about that!' Loren said to herself, but then out loud, "OK, but why don't you go grab a shower while I get some eggs and toast going?"

Harm's fingers were already busy at his shirt buttons, but he paused as he turned towards the bathroom, "OK, but coffee, right? No hot chocolate!"

"Coffee, aye," Loren replied with a grin, "Now go on! Git on in thar!"

Loren smiled as Harm disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, and then turned to the kitchen worktop to start brewing the coffee and sliced bread for toasting, but as she worked she felt the silence settle on the apartment like a heavy, smothering blanket and to her irritation found her eyes flicking between the task in hand and the apartment door.

Biting her lip in frustration she stopped herself calling out to Harm for reassurance, and continued to slice the bread, but felt an absurd surge of relief as the coffee machine started its end of cycle gurgling. Shaking her head in what she was quick to stigmatise as her stupidity, she crossed into the lounge for a moment or two to the entertainment centre which she switched on, not worrying about the station to which the radio was tuned, but feeling slightly comforted by the sound.

Harm didn't share the same feeling, as he exited the bathroom some ten minutes later, while he vigorously towel-dried his hair, and dressed only in a second towel wrapped around his hips. "What is this?" He queried with a frown.

"Oh, I just fancied a bit of background noise, turn it off it bothers you," Loren said carelessly over her shoulder, "And go and put some pants on!" she added with a grin.

Harm returned her smile, "Well, that's a refreshing reversal change of mind!" he said as he ducked into the bedroom.

Harm wasn't gone for more than a couple of minutes and reappeared in a pair of tan chinos and a Skinny Dragon's Patrol Squadron t-shirt, a gift from Beth and her crew, but when he returned to the lounge area and looked across he found Loren standing with a plate of half-buttered slices of toast in front of her, but half turned and looking at the door to the apartment with what Harm could only describe as a 'wary' expression on her face.

Harm crossed to the kitchen island and hopped up onto one of the stools, "Something wrong, something bothering you, sweetheart?" He asked in a carefully neutral voice.

Loren turned towards him her brows knitted in a frown. "I know I secured that door properly before I went to bed. I snapped the dead bolt on it, and I hooked the chain into place. I can see, even from here, that the chain has been cut, but that still leaves the question, how the hell did he get through the door?"

Harm nodded and slid off the stool and then walked towards the door, opening it, and then carefully examining the outside of the main lock. "If you look very carefully," he beckoned Loren to join him, "you can see some very, very small scratches on the lock plate. I guess that he either had a passkey for this sort of lock, or more probably he used lock picks. Once he turned the deadbolt, he opened the door to the limit of the chain and then a pair of side cutters would do the trick."

Loren wrinkled her nose, "you're not doing real big on the reassurance stakes here, you know? If I'd thought it was nearly so easy to break-in here… and with the lobby door security..."

Harm looked at her and thought carefully before he answered, "We can still upgrade the locks, get a heavy duty chain fitted, fit deadbolts top and bottom, but the type that can only be operated from inside. It will cost a few bucks, but if it restores your peace of mind, then let's go and do it today. But remember, you've lived here for a while now, and even during the reign of the Georgetown rapist you must have felt pretty secure, otherwise you'd have tightened up on security back then."

Loren turned and walked back towards the kitchen island, and sat down before she answered, "Way back in the day, before you moved in, I used to keep my side arm in my nightstand drawer, with a full magazine, a round chambered, and the safety on. I was quite confident in my ability, and my willingness to use it." She gave a self-deprecating shrug, "And that was exactly what I thought and I did the night before last, but now, I don't want to shoot anyone ever again."

Harm nodded thoughtfully, he'd also used his side arm in self-defence, and thought he fully appreciated Loren's position. "That's fair enough, I don't like shooting people, and I don't like the thought of you having to shoot people. So, let me get a couple of hour's rest, then we'll get some lunch and then we'll head down to the hardware store. Even knowing that you've got a weapon, and you know how to use it, I'd still feel better, especially while I'm away, to know that you had decent security. Which, you must admit we thought we had."

Loren nodded in agreement, "With the lobby entry system, and the locks on the door, it should have been safe enough. But," she ended sadly, "it wasn't. So, while we're out, we also need to stop in at the precinct house, and find out when they're prepared to release my weapon."

"I didn't think you wanted it back," Harm observed.

"Damn straight I do, there's no point in having a drawbridge unless you can defend it." Loren said defiantly. "I may not like the idea of maybe having to shoot someone again, but if it's in defence of me or mine, then I will shoot."

**Thursday, April 26, 2001, 1909 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (262309ZApr01)**

The locksmith finished tightening the last of the screws on the third deadbolt he had just fitted to the apartment door.

"That's it, Mister Rabb," he said in a satisfied tone. "All three installed, and none visible from the outside. That should slow down any but the most determined robber. But… have you thought about securing the windows? You're not up so high as to make a climb-in impossible."

Harm looked across from where he was sanding down the wood filler he had packed into the hole in the bedroom door frame left by Turlington's bullet. "Thought about it," he admitted, "but with the fire escape leading up to the end window, there didn't seem much point. Wouldn't do much good locking windows when all a burglar would have to do was climb up the fire escape and kick the glass in to gain access…"

"Besides, the outside of the building is covered by CCTV," Loren interjected.

"Mebbe," the locksmith allowed, as he squatted to repack his tool-kit, "and I take your point about the fire escape and the CCTV… but had you thought of installing audio-alarms? The sound of an alarm going off is enough, most times, to deter even the most determined criminal. Especially if mounted high on an outside wall, where just the sight of it can be a deterrent?"

"And I take it that you know just the man for the job?" Harm said pointedly, but with a grin.

"Sure do… and yeah… that would be me. But… it's still good advice!" The locksmith paused. "Look I know it's not a cheap fix, but…" he stood and his hand went to the breast pocket of his overalls, "…this is my card; think it over… and if you can get back to me say by close of day on Monday… I'm pretty sure we can work out something of a discount… in the meantime, think about it, hey?"

Harm exchanged a look with Loren and then took the offered card, "OK, we'll think about it over the weekend… but we're not promising anything," Harm said as he signed the check for the work just carried out.

"Didn't 'spect you would," the locksmith agreed giving the check a cursory glance as he put it in his pocket, and bent to pick up his tool-kit, "But I reckon I'll be hearing from you on Monday…"

Harm and Loren let the workman out of the apartment, and as soon as he had gotten through the door, Loren stepped forward and snapped all three new deadbolts into place and hooked the new, heavier duty, chain into position. "Just making sure everything works all right," she said somewhat defensively as she caught Harm's eye.

"And does it?" He asked.

"Seems to be OK," Loren nodded her agreement, "Now… what do you fancy for dinner?

"Something quick?" Harm suggested blandly, although he noted how quick she had been to change the subject.

"Give me twenty minutes… I've got a quiche to put in the oven, and a handful of potatoes I can set to boil if you shred the leaves?" Loren suggested, "And we've still got a couple of pints of pickled cherry ice cream…" she finished with a suggestive gleam in her eye.

"I hear you, I hear you," Harm chuckled as he moved towards the fridge to get the bag of mixed salad leaves and the cherry tomatoes.

**Friday, April 27, 2001, 0906 hours EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (271306ZApr01)**

"Be seated!" Admiral Chegwidden grunted as he cast his eyes over the faces of his assembled officers.

Once the clatter of chair legs on the polished wooden floor had ceased, the Admiral indicated the officer who had entered with him, "Ladies and gentlemen, I take this opportunity to introduce you to, and officially welcome Lieutenant Commander Michael Heywood to our merry little band, from the SJA's Office at NAVFOREUR, Naples. Together with Lieutenant Commander Morrison he will go a long way towards filling our gapped billets.

"This brings me to the next point on my agenda. As you are all aware, Colonel Mackenzie departs after secure today on embarkation leave prior to taking up a post as FJA to 2 MEU aboard the _Guadalcanal. _Commander Sturgis steps up to take her place as Chief of Staff. I've heard no complaints from either of you, so can I assume that the handover has gone well?"

Mac and Sturgis exchanged a look, and while remaining outwardly expressionless, Harm suppressed an inner grin; he knew that there had been some friction between the other two officers on the handover. Not that there had been anything fundamentally wrong, it was just that Mac and Sturgis had two different sets of priorities. Mac was first and foremost an investigator and a litigator, while Sturgis was less flexible even than the by-the-book Marine and thrived on administrative minutiae.

"The departure of the Colonel and the anticipated departure of Lieutenant Singer on PCS…" Harm saw most of the heads around the table turn to look at Loren who blushed at becoming the focus of attention,"…has necessitated that the internal organisation of this headquarters be revised. Accordingly I intend to split the attorneys into four teams, each headed by an O-5, as follows: Team A; Commander Austin, Lieutenant Commander Heywood, Lieutenant Fairchild. Team B; Commander Rabb, Lieutenant Commander Morrison, Lieutenant Barlow. Team C; Commander Imes, Lieutenant Roberts, Team D; Commander Mattoni, Lieutenant Warren."

Chegwidden paused to make sure that everyone understood what their new assignments were to be before he continued, "I am making every effort to have each team brought up to a strength of four attorneys, and I have just received orders for an O-4 and two O-3s to rotate in and take their places in the teams; I am waiting for detailers to come up with a further four suitable O-3s. I have also requested the USMC JAG Division to send us a Corps O-4; by and large having a Marine attorney on board has proved beneficial. Lieutenant Singer, I haven't entirely abandoned you, until your orders arrive and you PCS you will act as a member of Commander Imes' team – I understand she has already asked you to sit second chair on the forthcoming Quantico courts martial. This brings me to my next point." He paused and breathed heavily.

"These teams are not exclusive… while under normal circumstances they will function as a team, senior attorneys may request an attorney from another team to sit second chair in those cases where it is needed, or where a particular skill set would be advantageous, but as a matter of courtesy, they are to make the approach through the team leaders."

"On the role of the team leaders: As regards to mentoring… all team leaders will be required to further their juniors' understanding of the law and assist in career development, that includes mentoring their O-4s to step up and take charge of the team as and when required, furthermore while all attorneys will continue to attend Staff Call, all future cases will be allocated to teams, and it is the team leader's decision as to which attorney within his or her team actually handles the case. Commander Turner, as Chief of Staff will maintain a discreet overview as to who handles what case. Are there any questions? No? Good! Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer, report to me in my office at the end of this staff call! Now, next topic… "

"The Beltway shooter has not claimed any further victims in the last twenty-four hours. NCIS do not, however, believe he or they have abandoned his or their plans, but are re-thinking them in light of the wholesale abandonment of the Beltway… we are all only too well aware of how that is going!"

The admiral's elliptical reference to the chaos that was the morning and evening peak hours brought reluctant and rueful gins to the faces of his auditors. Chegwidden allowed them a few seconds before he rapped his knuckles sharply on the table top, "OK… the orders to stay off the Beltway remain in effect, the last forty-eight hours have shown them to be effective, let's keep it that way. Now, today's cases… Commander Imes… your team will investigate and prosecute the case of EOD2 Merriman, charged with DOD. A World War Two vintage German sea mine he declared safe after he had claimed to have 'disarmed' it proved him a liar less than five seconds later by exploding and blowing the stern off of the stern trawler 'Pendleton' out of Portsmouth. No doubt the LSO downstairs will in time be handling a tort for the loss of the vessel. Fortunately there were only a very few minor injuries and no fatalities, but Merriman's skipper has decided that he screwed the pooch."

Once Chegwidden paused, "Commander Austin, your team had drawn the defence straw on this case. Commander Mattoni, in recognition of the reduced size of your team… two simple UAs and one resisting apprehension. I don't see the need for these to go any further than an article thirty-two. Commander Imes, you have your hands full with the upcoming Quantico courts-martial, but what's the progress on the hazing cases?"

"We go to trial next week, sir. Judge Helfman sits in court three commencing zero nine hundred Tuesday, Lieutenant Fairchild has the defence."

"Why Tuesday? Why not Monday?" Chegwidden demanded.

"Sir, I'm defending Seaman Apprentice Watson on Monday – shoplifting charge." Liz Fairchild said somewhat nervously.

"Unh!" The admiral grunted, "and who's acting for the Navy?"

"That would be me, sir," Andrew Barlow claimed.

"What's the hold up with this case?" Chegwidden demanded. "I thought it was supposed to be over and done with this week!"

"The BX cashier who is a witness was unavailable to testify this week," Barlow admitted uncomfortably.

"Why not?" Chegwidden demanded.

"Uh… her husband returned from deployment – nine months in country – and bundled her away on vacation, sir…" Barlow admitted uncomfortably.

"Get hold of his CO, and have him charged with obstructing justice!" Chegwidden demanded.

Barlow shook his head, "No can do, sir. He's an independent military contractor, former army special forces, sir."

"Damn!" Chegwidden fixed both Lieutenants with a beady-eyed stare, "Alright do what you can to get this situation cleared up ASAP, and then report to your team leaders!" He glared around the table, "Commander Imes, come and see me once I've finished with Commander Rabb!"

Carolyn blinked as she quickly searched her conscience but came up blank, "Aye, aye, Sir!"

Chegwidden stood abruptly, his "That will be all, people, dismissed!" almost lost in the clatter as his officers stood too.

**Friday, April 27, 2001, 0946 hours EDT, Admiral Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (271346ZApr01)**

"Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer, reporting as ordered, sir!"

"Take a seat, you two," Chegwidden grunted, putting on and then taking off his reading glasses. "I want to talk to you about the incidents of the last couple of days."

Loren said nothing, but Harm taking a quick sideways look at her notice how white her knuckle were as she clenched her hands in her lap.

"Sir?" was all he said, however.

"As I think you guessed, and guessed correctly, the break-in at your apartment was indeed connected to the Richardson case, as was the false e-mail sending you out to the Adriatic, which, again as you guessed, was meant as a ruse to get you out of the way Commander, making it safer for the pretend-burglar to search your apartment…"

"There was nothing pretend about him, sir!" Loren protested hotly, "He was there, and there was no 'pretence' about the shot he fired at me!"

"Indeed not, Lieutenant, and I didn't mean 'pretend' in that context! But yes, I take your point. But it was thought apparently that with the Commander out of the way, if you were disturbed you would be a weak, meek and easy target…"

"A victim, you mean?" Loren challenged as she sat straighter in her chair, her eyes fixed on her CO's face.

"In their eyes, yes," Chegwidden granted her, "But not in mine. But because the man you shot was a Naval officer, you won't hear this from anyone else, Loren, but you did damned well! You didn't freeze, you didn't panic, you took charge of a situation that would have left most women and a lot of men frightened and confused, and you fought back and won. You acted like the Naval officer you are." He paused to give his next words added weight, "You did not give up the ship!"

It was the unexpected use of her first name even more than the unexpected praise that made Loren's mouth open and close soundlessly, she wasn't even sure that the Admiral knew it.

"So I take it that ONI was the prime mover in this?" Harm challenged his CO in a flat voice.

"This is where it gets complicated…" the Admiral sighed, "Yes, Turlington was an officer in the ONI, and yes, he was acting under orders. But the prime mover was a former ONI officer, who now is highly placed in another government agency. His part has been reported to State, and it is expected by SecNav that he will shortly be retiring. Unfortunately even the felony perjury which secured Captain Richardson's conviction is long outside of the statute of limitations. Captain Harding will face charges… exactly which ones I don't yet know, that will depend on the results of the NCIS investigation…" he held up a hand to prevent Harm's plainly read intended interruption, "No, Commander, you may not prosecute. You are far too closely involved and will probably be called as a prosecution witness! An officer of your experience should know that!"

"Yes, sir, I do. But I wasn't going to ask that; I was going to ask if Harding's orders were sanctioned further up the food chain."

"Not sanctioned, no, but higher authority was kept in the dark and fobbed off with 'compartmentalisation' and 'need to know'. It has not gone unnoticed, and you can expect to hear in the very near future that Admiral Scott has retired, and that a new Commander of ONI has been appointed. So, it might be in your best interests…" Chegwidden indicated both of his officers, "If you reconsidered your next billet options…"

"Yes, sir, we'll certain…" Harm started only to be interrupted by Loren.

"Thank you, sir, but no. ONI may have frightened me in my personal life, but they are not going to hamper my professional life. With all due respect to your opinions and your advice sir, I stick by my choice!"

Both men looked surprised, but even as Harm felt a glow of pride in Loren, Chegwidden's face split in his rare grin of pleasure, "Do you, Goddammit?!" he exclaimed, "Well done you!"

"Yessir!" Loren replied, but blushing all the same.

"Good, good…" Chegwidden allowed himself a brief chuckle, "Dismissed, Lieutenant; Commander stay a moment longer please!"

Harm stood and waited until Loren had closed the JAG's office door before he turned back to face the Admiral, "Sir?" he asked, as in obedience to Chegwidden's hand signal he retook his chair.

Chegwidden leaned forward, his forearms on his desk as he looked searchingly at the younger officer, "She's showing plenty of spirit, and I must say I'm a bit surprised." He paused and eyed his junior officer shrewdly, "But you're not surprised, at all are you?"

"Not surprised, sir. The more I learn about Loren Singer, the more I find to lo… to admire, sir. She had a pretty rough childhood, and she got to where she is by the dint of her own efforts. It doesn't excuse her past actions sir, but her background goes some way towards explaining them, she's never had anyone she could rely on before, and that made her tend towards self-reliance, it's just that being who she is she carried that attitude to extremes. Look it from her point of view, if no-one cared about her, why should she care about anyone else?"

"I see the justice in your argument, Rabb, but you've got to admit, that by closing herself off so tightly, she didn't make many friends."

"That's true enough, but again from her perspective, her attempts at making friends in the past only backfired on her when those friends either let her down or betrayed her." Harm shrugged, "It was a vicious circle, the less friendly she was, the less people attempted to make her a friend, which only justified her opinions of other people. It wasn't an easy thing breaking through that armour. It was only when she realised that she was lonely as well as being alone that I managed to prise open a chink in her armour, and was very pleasantly surprised by the person I found inside it."

Chegwidden nodded, "She's done well these last couple of months, Colonel MacKenzie gave her a glowing report after the LeJeune investigation, and I was very impressed with her work leading up to the Coulter trial and during the trial itself, and Commander Imes hasn't said anything officially, but she has specifically asked for Lieutenant Singer to sit second chair throughout the MCCDC courts-martial" Chegwidden paused for a moment, "I also note that she's beginning to interact more with the other officers at least on a casual basis. I just hope that this incident doesn't lead to a reinforcing of her armour…" He paused again, "She seemed feisty enough when we just spoke, but how much of that was a front? She was badly shaken when it happened, badly enough that Commander Austin took her straight to Bethesda, where she was treated for shock. So… how's she doing? Really doing, no bullshit, please, Rabb?"

Harm took a moment or two to consider before he answered, "Most of the time, Sir she's fine. I mean that... really, fine. Especially here in the office where there are people around and there's lots of bustle. I kept an eye on her and her reactions before staff call and she seemed to be her normal, well her new normal, self. But there were a couple of instances last night at home, where I was in another room and she did something she didn't normally do, she turned the radio on. We don't normally listen to the radio apart from the weather and traffic reports in the morning before we leave for duty, and although even with extra security fitted to the door, I noticed a couple of times during the evening her eyes drifting towards it. Then when we secured for the night she asked me three times had I secured the door properly. So I reckon there is a little anxiety there, but we're considering beefing up security even more by installing an alarm system, and hopefully as things go back to normal, she will readjust."

"And what about you, Rabb, how do you feel about it all?"

"I'm sorry Loren – Lieutenant Singer – killed Turlington, for two reasons. First, she'll have to live with that the rest of her life, and secondly I would have liked the opportunity to explain to him the error of his ways."

"Explain the error of his ways?" Chegwidden asked the heavy dose of irony.

"Frankly, Sir, I'd liked to have had the chance to kick the crap out of him, and out of Harding!" Harm said grimly.

"I know exactly where you're coming from, I still remember Gayle Osbourne and Laura Delaney and sometimes I wish we had either left him standing on a real mine, or I had pulled the trigger myself, but I also realise that although the act of revenge might have been sweet, I would have had difficulty in living with it afterwards; it would have betrayed everything I know and love about the law."

"But it would have been justified, sir," Harm objected.

"As would you taking revenge against Turlingon and Harding, but in neither case would it have been just. It would have been revenge. You do see the difference, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do, sir," Harm said resignedly, knowing his chief was absolutely correct.

"Good! And don't forget, your testimony about being despatched to the other side of the world to get you out of the way will go a long way in proving premeditation on the part of the ONI. As will the testimony that Turlington also burgled your office."

Harm bolted upright almost on the very edge of his seat as Chegwidden casually relayed that hitherto unknown piece of information, "The hell he did!" he exclaimed in outrage.

"Ah… you didn't know that… Well, according to Harding, he sent Turlington to retrieve the Richardson file from your office the night before he sent the hoax e-mail…" Both men looked at each other and then almost as if their heads were being controlled by the same wires, they slowly turned to look at the portrait of Admiral Arleigh Burke that concealed the office wall safe.

Harm slowly shook his head, and stood, "By your leave sir…it didn't seem that anything had been removed from my office… but I wasn't looking for that, so…"

"Yes, go on, Mister Rabb. And Rabb…"

"Sir?"

"If anything is missing, then let me know ASAP!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm froze into a brace for two seconds and then turned to leave the office.

**Friday, April 27, 2001, 1011 hours EDT, Commander Ime's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (271411ZApr01)**

Carolyn Imes was pleased to see that Loren had spent barely two minutes in her office before responding to the post-it note that the older woman had stuck to the Lieutenant's PC monitor's frame before crossing the bull pen and tapping on Carolyn's door-frame.

"Come on in Loren! I was beginning to think that you were never going to get out of the Admiral's den!"

Loren gave a quick grin, "it did seem like a third degree, but I think he was just checking to make sure I was okay."

Carolyn shot her a quick, evaluating look, "And are you? Okay, I mean?"

Loren shrugged, "Yeah, I'm fine, I was a bit shaken, but it was him or me, and even knowing now what I didn't know then, I would still, I think, have reacted in the same way. Am I sorry he's dead? Of course, but I'd rather have it this way round than the other!"

For a second Carolyn wondered should she point out that Loren was being perhaps a little too emphatic, but decided for the moment to hold her peace, and merely smiled, saying, "Good, so if you're okay, take a seat and let's look at the NCIS file on Colonel Walters, MCCDC…"

Loren pulled a chair around so that she was next to Carolyn and the two blonde heads both bowed as they read the statements made, under caution, by the former CO of the MCCDC Quantico…

It was nearly 15 minutes later that Carolyn looked up from the final page in the file, "All done?" she queried.

"All done," Loren agreed, and frowned, "what do you make of it?"

Carolyn shook her head, "I'm the one who's supposed to ask you that!" she replied.

Loren's lips curled in a sneer, "Do you really want my honest opinion?"

Carolyn nodded, "I wouldn't have asked if I wouldn't want to know."

"I don't think I've ever seen quite so much weaselling by a senior officer. He admits, and at the same time denies everything, and places the blame on his subordinates."

"Example?" Carolyn asked.

Loren flicked back a couple of pages, "Here, listen while I read out loud, 'I was always dubious about the integration of women into the Corps, and my observations as a platoon leader, and as a company Commander showed that my reservations were well founded. Women were neither fit enough, nor strong enough, to bear an equal load with male Marines. While women were confined to clerical and kitchen duties this wasn't a problem. But even as mechanics, I have seen women turn to their male comrades for assistance even in such mundane tasks as loosening wheel nuts, where the male's upper body strength has prevailed where a weaker woman has failed. On assuming command, I was determined that the women under my command should bear a load equal to that of my male Marines. I laid this down as policy, and although gratified by the results, I assumed that my company commanders and staff NCOs would adhere to the directives and orders laid down by the CMC'."

Loren had put down the file, "and that sort of crap goes on for about five pages." she said flatly.

"Basically he gave the misogynists under his command_ carte blanche _to abuse female Marines physically, intellectually, and emotionally, all in the name of toughening them up. I'll bet he's a real dinosaur, who also sees code reds, blood striping and pinning as some sort of rite of passage!" Carolyn fumed

"All tied in with your hazing courts martial?" Loren inquired.

"The same mind-set, certainly," Carolyn agreed.

"Well, this new CMC has certainly got his work cut out… he's bucking against two hundred plus years of Marine Corps 'tradition'," Loren made her feelings evident as she crooked the fingers of both hands to represent quotation marks.

"Maybe, maybe not…" Carolyn half-disagreed, "If the courts hand down hefty sentences to show that they are solidly behind the regulations…"

"If they can convict. Don't forget that the panels are made up if the accused's peers, and the higher ranking the accused the longer they will have served and had time to absorb these fun little hobbies, and then the more likely it is for them and the panel to share that same mind-set." Loren objected.

"That's going to be fun." Carolyn remarked dryly, "Challenging each and every panellist on _voir dire_. I can see the Admiral really loving us stretching out each trial by a couple of days."

"Yeah, let's think about that for a moment…"

Carolyn looked grim, "We can think about it all we like, but the fact remains if the CMC wants to hammer the message home than the courts have got to convince panels to convict. If the panels are stuffed with people of a like mind to the accused then getting convictions is not going to be easy."

"Wait up a second," Loren objected, "are we looking at this from the wrong angle?"

"How do you mean?"

"We're not in the business of speculating as to what lay behind the accused's actions, and especially in cases like these all we have to prove is that the accused disobeyed a regulation or order which he knew or which he might reasonably expected to know. Why he disobeyed the order is immaterial; either he did or he didn't obey it. So… Our strategy must be to show that there was such an order, that the order was lawful and that the accused disobeyed the order. We don't go into the realms of philosophy; neither do we discuss what the most fitting role is for women in the USMC."

Carolyn looked at Loren and shook her head bemusedly, "You are right, of course. Sometimes we attorneys have a habit of making simple things complicated! Now, first point, does the order exist?"

**Friday, April 27, 2001, 1207 hours EDT, Commissary JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (271607ZApr01)**

The word had gone round the bull pen, and nobody knew who had started it, that there was to be an informal and impromptu pre-departure gathering for Mac in the commissary. Loren and Carolyn had been informed by Personnelman Second Class Anji Woods, and cautioned by her to try and make their departure from the bull pen as low-key as they could. Accordingly they slipped out of the office with the minimum of fuss and making their way quietly to the commissary had seated themselves and watched in some amusement as the rest of the Ops staff filtered in by one, twos and threes, until they were joined by Sue MacKenzie.

"You don't mind of I join you, do you?" she asked Loren, "it's just that yours is about the only face I know… except Harriet Sims… and I don't see her… or Harm…"

"No, take a pew," Loren offered, and introduced the visitor to Carolyn, and all three then sat back to wait and see what was to happen, while Sue explained that Harriet Sims had called down to the CP and requested that Captain MacKenzie be tactfully guided to the commissary on her arrival, but, according to her Marine Corporal escort, without being told what was going on.

"So…" she finished plaintively, "What is going on?"

But before either Loren or Carolyn had a chance to try and explain what they thought was happening the door to the commissary reopened once more and as it did so Mac's voice could be distinctly heard, "Harm, I don't really have time for lunch… I'm expecting Sue at almost any minute now and then I need to report out to the Admiral before… Oh my…"

Mac's last words were provoked by the sight of the crowded commissary, it seemed no-one from Ops, with the exception of the Admiral and his Yeoman was missing… except Harriet Sims, but her seeming absence was explained as Harm led a barely resisting Mac towards the empty table in the centre of the room as Harriet emerged from behind the hotplate, bearing a tray on which was loaded a mound of fries surrounding a specially made eight-inch diameter burger which oozed melted cheese from between the enormous meat pattie and the upper half of the roll, the whole impaled by a sparkler.

Mac's draw dropped nearly to her chest as Harriet grinned, "We reckoned Beltway Burgers are gonna be in short supply where you're headed, and especially after those long weeks when you were restricted to a liquid diet, it didn't hardly seems fair, so…" Harriet's grin broadened and her eyes danced wickedly, "Enjoy!"

Mac was painfully aware of the blood mounting to her cheeks, and was certain that her ears were glowing crimson, as she gazed in awe at the food-laden tray that was placed on the table as Harm pulled back in her chair for her. "You… You're not expecting me to eat all of that, are you?" she asked optimistically as she cast a pleading look up at Harriet.

"Well, ma'am, you always said that you'd never met a burger you didn't like!" The blonde Lieutenant grinned.

"Like? Oh, I like, I just don't think I can manage it all in one sitting!" Mac protested.

"Don't you worry about that, ma'am," Harriett advised her kindly, "We've even arranged for a doggy bag!"

With a resigned shake of her head, Mac pulled the burned-out sparkler from the bun and lifted the top before liberally squeezing ketchup over the pattie. Then with a wry look she tucked a paper napkin into her collar, put the top half of the bun back on the pattie, lifted it with both hands and, to the accompaniment of a spontaneous cheer, took her first bite.

**Friday, April 27, 2001, 1827 hours EDT, Key Bridge, Arlington, VA (27222711ZApr01)**

Loren leaned back in her seat and glumly surveyed what was fast becoming a regular part of the journey from Falls Church to Georgetown, the seemingly unmoving tailback of cars, trucks and buses nose to tail across Key Bridge and disappearing into Georgetown.

"The sooner NCIS and the real police nail this Goddamn sniper, the sooner we can get back to normal, and go back to the good old days of half an hour from Georgetown to Falls Church!" she grumbled.

Harm shot her a half-amused look as he too leaned back in his seat his hand resting only lightly on the steering wheel, "You still got your shoes on?"

"What if I have?" Loren snapped

"Because you always get irritable when your feet start to hurt," Harm said reasonably, "So, if you were to kick them off at least one source of your…"

"Don't you dare say 'bad temper'," Loren warned him in a tone that could only realistically be called bad-tempered.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Harm said airily, a response that drew a decidedly unfriendly look from Loren, who nevertheless surreptitiously toed her shoes off and felt immediate relief. Not that she was about to admit that to Harm.

Not that Harm needed telling anyway, a sly sideways and downwards glance followed her almost inaudible sigh of relief, and a grin twitched the corners of his lips.

"What's so funny?" Loren demanded peevishly.

"I was just remembering Mac's face, when Harriett brought that mega-burger out to her."

Despite herself Loren couldn't resist a grin at the memory either, "Yeah, where on earth did she get that thing anyway?"

"Apparently it took a hefty bribe, plus the supply of the raw materials, but Harriett persuaded the commissary cooks to make it up from scratch." Harm shook his head and chuckled, just as a gap of no more than two car lengths opened up in front of him. Releasing the emergency brake he allowed the Lexus to roll forward, "I didn't think I'd ever seen Mac beaten by a burger."

"Give credit where it's due," Loren pointed out, "she did make one hell of a dent in it, as well as considerably reducing that mountain of fries!"

"Well, yeah, but Sue did help finish it!" Harm said in rebuttal.

This time Loren actually giggled, "Yeah, to see them both at that table, both in uniform with the napkin shoved into their collars both, of them practically inhaling that monster, who could ever doubt that they were relatives. Cousins? They looked more like sisters!"

"Sisters? It was like a mirror image!" Harm laughed, and was a little surprised when Loren didn't join in. Looking to his right he saw that she had a speculative look in her eye as she stared at him."

"You did that deliberately!" Loren accused him.

"Did what?" Harm defended himself.

"You deliberately set out to tease me out of a bad mood! And don't bother to deny it!" Loren challenged him.

"Of course I did," Harm admitted, "after all, when you're in a bad mood, we don't get ice cream for dessert!"

"You are hopeless! Still, it's been said that way to a man's heart is through his stomach!"

**Friday, April 27, 2001, 2033 hours EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, Georgetown, Washington DC (280033ZApr01)**

Harm leaned back against the couch squabs, with Loren curled up on his lap, her arms around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder as she apparently dozed, content just to be held by him. Not that Harm was complaining. He liked holding Loren, but she normally curled up on the couch and snuggled under his arm, rather than sat on his lap. And he hadn't missed her surreptitious locking of all three deadbolts on the door while she thought he wasn't watching, neither had he missed that she had turned on the television the second he had left the lounge to change in shower, nor during the course of the meal and he missed the way she kept throwing glances at the door, as if to reassure itself that the locks were engaged and that the security chain had been hooked into place.

He frowned as at the same time he used his thumb to smooth Loren's forehead, eliciting from her a sleepy murmur of pleasure and a slight wriggle as she tried to burrow even closer into him.

It didn't take a genius, Harm told himself, to realise that for the moment Loren no longer felt secure in the apartment that had been her home ever since she arrived in Washington. Harm felt no particular attachment to the apartment, for him its biggest attraction was Loren. As he had said right at the beginning of their relationship, their living here was at best a temporarily arrangement, and eventually they would have had to start looking somewhere else, especially if there were, as he sincerely hoped, to be children.

In the interim Loren's peace of mind weighed heavily in the scales. They would have to investigate for how much longer Loren's lease was set, and what the early get-out penalties might be, as well as doing some number crunching to find out what the two of them could afford in the property market. But that could wait until next week, tomorrow he would take Loren shopping - he had a surprise planned for her, and then on Sunday she would have her scheduled check-ride with Mike.


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: ** My grateful acknowledgement to Vidz for his help in this chapter and for his permission to use his "Let's Ride" as inspiration for Harm and Loren's shopping trip! Thanks, mate! My own biking days are long gone, and I am sadly out of date with modern protective gear, which is so much more high-tech than I ever remember it being, so although I have had help and advice, all mistakes of fact aer mine (although some apparent mistakes, aren't mistakes, they are artistic licence!) :-)

**62**

**Saturday, April 28, 2001, 0642hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (281042ZApr01)**

By the time Harm, dressed only in a pair of faded jeans and barefoot, returned from the bathroom Loren had rolled over on to her tummy, her head turned to one side, and had somehow disarranged the comforter so that it had slipped down her body so that it just covered her legs, leaving her back and butt uncovered except for the T-shirt and boxers she wore to sleep in, and although Harm was grossly tempted to wake her with a playful swat on that so enticingly revealed butt, a second's thought convinced him that might not be the best idea he'd ever had. Instead he sank down onto the side of the bed and propping himself up on one elbow, he carefully smoothed Loren's hair out of the way and planted a gentle kiss on the soft skin behind her ear.

Loren moaned softly, a sound that went straight from Harm's ear to his groin, and after a slight gasp he repeated his caress. Loren's eyes fluttered open , "M'mm..." she murmured sleepily, "I'll give you exactly ten years to stop that..."

Harm smiled, "Good morning, sweetheart..."

Loren propped herself on her elbows and turned her head to look at him with drowsy eyes, "Hey, yourself," she replied, and squirmed a little closer to Harm, raising her head at the same time, "Kiss?" she asked.

Harm bent his head to hers, leaning in to bestow a soft kiss, but was taken by surprise when after a second he felt Loren's tongue probe his lips as she deepened the kiss. And then somehow or other during the course of their kiss, one of his hands found its way under the hem of her T-shirt at just about the same time one of Loren's hands found the fastening on his jeans while her other hand snagged the waistband of her boxers...

Thanks to their slow, thorough, sweet and gentle love-making session in the bedroom it was nearly an hour and a half later that a freshly showered Harm and Loren, both still in their bath-robes, finally sat down to breakfast and with sharpened appetites made short work of the eggs toast, mushrooms, and in Loren's case bacon, that Harm had loaded on their plates, and it was with a satisfied smile that Harm used the last corner of his toast to trap the last few fragments of egg against his fork, and then, having chewed and swallowed and washed the last mouthful down with a gulp of coffee, he looked across at Loren, "Have you got any winter-weight pantihose left from last year, those thick woolly looking ones?"

Loren looked up, a puzzled frown on her face, "Yes... I think so... why? I thought you hated them, called them 'passion killers', if I remember right."

"Well, they're not the most glamorous items in your wardrobe," Harm claimed, "but it might be an idea to bring a pair with you when we go shopping today."

Loren continued to looked at him, her frown changed from puzzled to suspicious, "Shopping? What are you up to? You hate going shopping with me..."

Harm nodded, "Well, under normal circumstances that's true enough. But today is special. I can't tell you what and where just yet, because I want it to be a surprise – a pleasant surprise I hope, because I'm also hoping to make good on a long overdue promise."

"Now you have got me intrigued," Loren said leaning an elbow on the table and supporting her chin with that hand, as the frown disappeared and a look of guarded interest replaced it.

"Good, so hurry up and get dressed, something light with long sleeves that you can scramble into and out of quickly in a changing cubicle and don't forget the pantihose – you will, if all goes well, need them!"

**Saturday, April 28, 2001, 0912hrs EDT, Mike's Bikes 'n' Gear, Jefferson Davis Highway, Alexandria, VA Washington DC (281312ZApr01)**

"This is it!" Harm declared as he brought the Lexus to a halt.

Loren looked out the side window and then, in some disbelief, at Harm, "It's... a... a motorcycle store!" she almost stuttered.

"Yep! I promised you back in January, that we'd go riding..."

"But... I haven't got a class M license," Loren protested, looking more, if possible, bewildered than before.

"No, and I haven't brought you here to buy a motor cycle, so don't worry about that – yet!" Harm grinned, "But even if you're just going to be sitting up behind me, you're going to have to have the right gear."

"Well I've still got my old leather jacket and jeans, and a pair of boots..." Loren said defensively.

"Yeah, I've seen that jacket," Harm snorted. "It's a good, warm jacket to wear on an Autumn night, but I strongly suspect it's made of sheep's leather, it has no shoulders or elbow protection, no spine protection, and would give you about ten seconds worth of protection from road rash if you were ever to fall off!"

"I don't intend to fall off!" Loren protested.

"Nobody does," Harm agreed, "but it happens."

Loren looked at him speculatively, and with a grudging and silent acknowledgement that he was speaking the truth, "But is my old leather really so bad? When I was dating that guy in college that was all we wore: leather jacket and jeans."

Harm nodded, he'd heard much the same before from other people, "That may be so," he countered, "But your college boyfriend obviously didn't care for you as much as I do, and I am not prepared to take you on the back of my bike if there's any avoidable risk. Loren, I love you far too much to be able to even think about you being hurt, especially if it was because I didn't do my best to make sure you are properly protected. And for riding, that means full leathers with hardened protection, helmet, boots and gloves!"

"It's going to be too hot in all that stuff!" Loren realised she was fighting a rearguard action, but she wasn't quite prepared to run up the white flag just yet.

"The old style gear might have been, but now the good quality stuff has zipper-closed mesh vents to let cool air in while you're riding, and if it's still too hot, then it's too hot to ride in safety. And if it ain't safe, then I don't ride and neither do you!"

"But it's all so damned ugly, they just don't make good looking stuff for women to wear!" Loren had retreated to the last ditch and was making her final stand.

"Loren! That might have been true back in the day, but these days manufacturers are a bit more wise to the spending power of the female of the species. And I know you're not that shallow! Would you really place a higher priority on appearance than safety?

Loren sighed and her shoulders slumped, "No... of course not, after all that risk assessment and risk avoidance training we've had to go through. But, Harm, why now?"

"Two reasons: firstly, good quality gear isn't cheap, and I've been ring fencing a bit each month, and with this month's contribution, helped out by Meg's rent, I reckon I've got just about enough to get you properly kitted out. Secondly, we're coming up to the summer, and motorcycling in the DC area is definitely a summer thing! You do not want to be on two wheels during a Washington winter!"

Remembering last winter and the unprecedented number of snow days that the District powers that be had decreed, Loren shivered and nodded.

"So... have we finished argu... uh... discussing the matter, and can we get on with the job in hand, or would you just like to sit here all day?" Harm asked with an entirely assumed air of innocence.

Loren glared at him, but was resolved not to snap at the bait he had just dangled in front of her, "What's the rush?" she asked casually.

"Well, if we're going to ride down to Charlottesville tomorrow, I need to get over to Union Station and de-winterise the bike," Harm said just as nonchalantly.

"Tomorrow?" Loren squeaked and then cleared her throat, "Tomorrow?" she asked again, but this time in her normal voice and in a far more composed manner

"Yeah, sure, you've got a check ride with Mike, remember? Or did you cancel it?"

"No... no I didn't... but with all that's been going on, I'd forgotten about it." Loren admitted, her eyes troubled.

"Not a problem... and Loren..."

"Yes?"

"It'll do you good to pick up the reins of a normal life again."

"Yeah... yeah, I guess it will."

"Good! Now, get your shapely little derrière out of my car, and into that store and into some nice, snug fitting leathers!"

"Oh! I might have known!" Loren chuckled, "You just want me to buy this stuff so you can drool some more!"

"Ah, you might think that, I couldn't possibly comment!" Harm retorted as his grin widened.

Loren gave him a last lingeringly suspicious look before she sighed, unclipped her seat belt and opening the Lexus' door, slid to the tarmac, where seconds later she was joined by Harm.

Opening the store door Loren was faced with rack upon rack of motorcycle clothing and shelf upon shelf of accessories, and it was to the shelves that Harm, to her surprise, first led her. The smell of new leather was thick in the air and triggered some sort of primal instinct as she breathed deeply, setting up a frisson of anticipation as Harm led her towards the far end of the store.

"Just about the most important piece of gear is a helmet, one that offers the best protection and one that fits properly, but before we find one that fits and that you like... ah! Here we are!" He stopped in front of a row of plastic trays on one particular shelf and picked up a folded length of black material.

"What is it?" Loren asked, beguiled despite herself.

"A balaclava," Harm answered briefly, and then as he saw the question forming on Loren's lips, he added quickly, "It's not strictly necessary, but it is desirable. It will prevent you from having to wash the helmet lining on a regular basis, and it means that when you take off your helmet and this, your hair won't look like you've just been pulled through a hedge backwards!"

Seeing the questioning expression on her face turn to one of thoughtfulness, Harm hid his grin even while he was congratulating himself on the success of his appeal to Loren's vanity.

"OK?" he asked.

Loren examined the scrap of cloth and her eyebrows rose, "Harm, it's silk!" she said in surprise.

"Damn straight, it is!" Harm exclaimed, "Much better. Yes, it's more expensive than the nylon or cotton versions, but it will be easier to wash and cooler to wear – remember you're the one worried about getting too hot..." but then his voice dropped to a throaty whisper as he lowered his mouth to her ear, "Mind you, I kinda like you getting all hot, so as far as I'm concerned, the hotter the better!"

Loren's breath caught in her throat and she blushed furiously. With the constraints placed upon them by Navy Regulations, the UCMJ and the Admiral, they were compelled to maintain strict decorum at any time they were in uniform and in public, which was most of the time, and Loren just wasn't used to, or prepared for, Harm being so uninhibited outside the apartment.

"Oh!" she gasped after a few seconds when the power of speech returned to her paralysed vocal cords. "I am definitely going to get payback for that!"

"Yeah, bring it on." Harm scoffed, "But in the meantime..." he applied gentle pressure to the small of Loren's back with a large hand, and ignoring her mutinous pout he guided her further along the aisle to where ranks of helmets, most still in their boxes, but with a wide selection sitting loose on the shelves. The price tag on one specimen caught Loren's eye and she gasped out loud, "Harm! That helmet! The price!"

Harm looked at the helmet at which a horror-struck Loren was staring, "Yeah," he dryly, "Probably the biggest name in helmet manufacture, and that looks like their top of the range model..."

"Bu... but it's nearly thirteen hundred dollars..." Loren said, unable to tear her eyes from the offending item, "and it... it's hideous!"

"Not the most tasteful of decorations, I agree," Harm grinned, "But fortunately there's a helmet here which matches all the specs of that one and in recent reviews has topped it out for comfort and... yep, here they are."

Loren finally tore her gaze away from the most expensive helmet in the store and looked to where Harem was holding a similar appearing item in his hand. "Put the balaclava on, and then try this for size."

"Do I really need a full helmet?" Loren asked plaintively, "Aren't they uncomfortable and cut down on what you can see?"

"There are open face and half-face helmets, sure," Harm agreed as he indicated further along the shelf, "But you're far better off with a full-face helmet. Open helmets are okay – just about – for tootling around town at twenty five miles an hour, although even at that speed if a flying bug hits your face, you'll know all about it, but worse than that are stone chips, or bits of gravel thrown up by car and truck wheels. And once you get on the open road and start moving at higher speeds, then you'll definitely need face and especially eye protection just to be able to keep your eyes open, and goggles can get damned uncomfortable after a very short time."

Loren stared at him for a few seconds and then started to pull the silk balaclava over her head but then stopped what she was doing and asked, "Can't I just try the helmet?"

"Well you could," Harm admitted, "but these helmets that have been taken out of the box are for anyone to try on for size, and who knows how many people have tried on any given helmet, or what scalp or hair conditions they might have."

Loren made a moue of disgust, "Good point, counsellor," she said as she pulled the balaclava over her head, "I just hope they don't think I'm getting ready to rob the store!" she added with a glance at the two or three store-clerks in sight.

Harm grinned and waited until Loren had the garment in place and then handed her the helmet, "Put it on... it should be snug enough that it doesn't move, but not painfully tight. It's supposed to be the same size as your cover, but different manufacturers of different types of headgear..."

Loren pulled the helmet on over her head and asked, "What now?"

"Shake your head from side to side, and tell me if you can feel the helmet move," Harm instructed her, all humour now vanished from his expression.

Loren did as she was told for a couple of seconds and then stopped, "I can feel it slide on my cheeks," she complained, "Not much, but..."

"But any is too much," Harm agreed, "Take it off..." he took the next smaller-sized helmet from the shelf, "and try this one."

Harm waited until Loren had exchanged helmets and then vigorously shook her head, "No, this one's not moving at all, and it's kind of weird... It was tight going on, but now it's in place, it feels... right..."

"Comfortable?" Harm asked.

"Yeah, but more than that... just right, somehow or other."

Harm nodded, "OK, now we need to check for vertical movement, so hold your head still; while I try to move the helmet up and down." He took the chin-guard in one hand and the bottom edge at the back of the helmet in his other and tried to wiggle it up and down in a teeter-totter motion, "Any movement?" he asked after a few seconds.

"No, it's rock solid."

"Good... then it's the right size... take it off and then let's find one in a colour you like..."

The helmet replaced on the shelf, it took Loren less than thirty seconds to find one in the same size and in her favourite light blue, "This one!" she said decidedly, but then a frown creased her forehead, "But how much is it? I don't want you spending a thousand bucks on a helmet, even if it comes with all the bells and whistles and makes the coffee!"

"Nowhere near it," Harm grinned and moved to reveal the price tag, chuckling as Loren's eyes grew round.

"That can't be right! Ninety bucks!"

"Yep, it is right... maybe with the other helmet a lot of you would be paying for is the name, and after all some of the world's top professional race riders are sponsored by that company. But this helmet has matching specs and is less than a twelfth of the cost."

"Incredible... and it's just as safe as that other one?" Loren breathed, still hardly daring to believe the price.

"Just as safe, and by repute, more comfortable," Harm confirmed.

"Okay... now we've decided on the helmet, what next?" Loren asked as Harm laid the boxed helmet carefully in the shopping cart.

"Boots and gloves," Harm said decidedly, "let's get the extremities sorted out before we start looking at leathers."

"Do I really need special boots, or gloves? I've got those western boots you like seeing me wear with my jeans," Loren said with a roguish glint in her eye.

"And very sexy they are too," Harm agreed, "And they are good quality and would offer you some protection against road rash in a slide, but if your leg gets caught under the bike they won't protect your feet and ankles as proper cycling boots would do, and the high heels on them could be a problem if they get hooked up on the foot pegs."

"What about the gloves? If we're going to restrict our riding to the warm months, why would I even need gloves?"

"Well firstly, if you fall off, it's instinct to put your hands out to save yourself, and apart from gravel rash, I'm told that a broken scaphoid bone hurts like hell – and can take up to twelve weeks to heal, or even require surgery to pin it back together! And because even in the summer we get rain, and a blast of air, say at sixty miles an hour over wet skin, would pretty soon start to feel uncomfortably cold, and then if your hands go numb, it's generally not a good thing when you might need to hold on to something, or someone. Secondly, that rain will sting like hell at those sorts of speeds, and so, yes, proper protective gloves and boots are totally necessary!"

Loren looked up at Harm, "You really take all this very seriously don't you?"

"Damn straight I do," he replied emphatically, "Remember, prepare for the worst..."

"And cut down on nasty surprises!" Loren finished the mantra for him.

"Exactly... Now... boots..." Harm stopped in another aisle and looked at the rows of boots, literally well over a hundred pairs, the shelf was even fronted with stools of the kind found in shoe shops, so that customers could sit and try the boots on at leisure.

"We can forget those," Harm said moving past shelves laden with low boots that looked to Loren as if they might just come up over the ankles.

"Why? They look practical enough? They're motor cycling boots aren't they? but they're low enough so that it looks like I'd be able to walk in them if needed be... which is more than can be said for those..." Loren commented as she looked at the shelf of calf-length boots that Harm had stopped in front of.

"H'mm?" he asked, and then realising what Loren had said, cast a look of contempt back at the ankle boots. "No, you need a pair of boots that come up to mid-calf at least, offer good ankle support, with hard points over the ankle bones that will protect your ankles and prevent your feet from being torn off if you get them trapped beneath the bike in a slide!"

"You're exaggerating!" Loren objected, and then less certainly, "Aren't you?"

"No, unfortunately I'm not. When we get home, get on the 'net and look up 'The Road Rash Queen' to see what can happen when you ride without the proper gear. Look, Loren, motor cycling is fun, but in its own way, it's an adventure sport as much as scuba or sky-diving or even flying. It has got risks, and while we can never totally eliminate them, we can take steps to reduce them! We wouldn't think of taking Sarah up without a pre-flight check, and so we shouldn't even think of getting astride a cycle unless we're properly equipped."

Loren nodded thoughtfully, "Okay... when you put it like that, I guess it makes sense... so... how do we go about choosing a pair of boots?"

"Well, we got a break on the price of the helmet, but generally speaking you get what you pay for, so as at the moment we're about two hundred bucks under budget, so lets look at... You know, traditionally boots are made totally from leather, but there's been so much innovation in textiles these days... let's look at these. British made, full leather upper with breathable lining... ankle shields, shin plate, adjustable buckles with Velcro fastening..." he turned the boot upside down, "H'mm... good anti slip heel and sole, gas and oil resistant too, two hundred and seventy five dollars... still well within budget... what say, want to try them on?"

"Not that pair," Loren shook her head, "but if that pair are the right size..." she grinned and pointed at pair of boots that were mostly black but had pale blue leather inserts running up the outside of the foot and leg.

"I'm beginning to detect a pattern here!" Harm grinned, but secretly relieved that Loren's interest, even if sparked through her fashion sense, had begun to express itself.

"Just want to make sure I look good, when I'm kitted out – well, as good as I can look in all this stuff," Loren chuckled at her afterthought.

Harm slipped an arm around her waist, "Sweetheart, you would look good in a burlap sack!"

"Ah, but you're prejudiced," Loren grinned, "And I'm not!"

"No... if anything, you're inclined to be hypercritical of yourself!" Harm replied.

Loren shook her head, "Just realistic!" she denied his charge. "So, let's try these boots!"

"Okay, but don't forget that you'll be wearing socks with them and not pantihose," Harm cautioned her.

Loren nodded and sitting on one of the stools, toes of her moccasins and reached for the boots that Harm was holding. She slid her foot into the boot easily enough and wiggled her toes, "It feels okay on the foot, but..." she pulled the buckles as tight as she could, "They're awful loose around the leg... that can't be good, can it?"

"No, it's not, but don't forget you'll be wearing socks, and the bottoms of the pants legs will need room in there too."

"Oh, yes, of course!" Loren looked a little embarrassed at having forgotten that particular aspect of fitting the boot, "But doesn't that mean I'll have to try them on together?"

"It does. But you think these might be the ones?"

Loren nodded, "If the pant legs fill up the boots around the calves, then yeah, they're a good fit on the foot."

"OK, let's get you a pair of gloves, and then the suit and we're all done!"

Walking along the aisle and checking out the display of gloves on the opposite side to the boots, Harm gave most of the items on display a cursory glance and walked quickly on until he found exactly what he had in mind for Loren, "Here we are, multi-top women's racer gloves. They're not blue, but they have what I want for you, and that is protection, protection, protection. Hard carbon shells over the knuckles, and they look like... yes, they are, kevlar wrist splints and palm and a locking strap on the wrist. You won't find anything better than these in CONUS, and you can't get them outside CONUS. So, if they're comfortable... small, right? So if they're comfortable then these are the ones I'd say!"

Loren tugged the gloves on and her face took on a dubious expression, "They fit okay, but they feel so inflexible and heavy..."

"That's because they're new, once they've been broken in you won't notice how heavy they feel now, and they will become more flexible."

"How do you know that?" Loren challenged him.

"Because they're the same make and model – but for men – that I wear when I'm riding!" Harm said.

Loren looked thoughtful, "Yeah, about that... You're insisting I get all this... armour, but how come I haven't seen anything like this in your closet?"

"That's because it's all securely locked up in the garage at the old apartment. The helmet and boots are in an old foot locker on the shelf, and the suit is hanging in a garment bag on a nail in the wall!" Harm grinned. "What, you think I want that stuff cluttering up the apartment, and worse, coming into contact with my whites?"

"I thought Meg was using the garage for her Mustang?" Lorn asked.

"She is, I let her have the spare key to the padlock, but there's room for her car, my bike, and my gear. But that reminds me, I'll have to call her to let her know that I'll be over there later on..." Harm replied, tossing the gloves into the trolley with a sigh of relief that Loren hadn't seen the two hundred dollar price tag.

"Okay... that's head, hands and hooves," he grinned, just the body to take car of now. So... this way if you please, ma'am?"

Loren shot him an amused but questioning glance, "Hooves?" she queried.

Harm shrugged, "It just sort of went with the hands and head bit..." he grinned self-consciously.

Loren shook her head, "One of these days, you might just grow up," she chided him softly.

"Oh, I hope not!" Harm shot back at her, "If I do grow up, think of all the fun we could miss out on!"

"I think I'll change my name to Wendy!" Loren fired off at him.

"Wendy? Why Wendy?" Harm queried a puzzled expression on his face.

"You're a smart boy," Loren reached up and patted him lovingly on the cheek, "You'll work it out."

By this time they had emerged from the maze of shelves and stood contemplating four long rows of clothing racks that looked to be almost groaning under the weight of the motorcycling clothing.

Loren stopped open-mouthed, "There's so much of it... how do you even know where to start?"

"Well, two thirds of it, at a rough guess is men's clothing, so we can count that out. And about a half of the rest is textile, and for preference, I'd rather have you in leather... and no, that was not a Freudian slip!" Harm denied as he saw Loren's grin begin to spread across her face.

"So that just leaves us with this aisle here..." Harm had been visually examining the racks as he spoke, and nudging Loren with his elbow he indicated the racks they wanted with a nod of his head.

Loren wandered along the row Harm had indicated, her eyes lighting up as she saw a flash of light blue, "Harm...?"

"Of course," he smiled and lifted the suit down, "Is this what you were looking at?"

Loren nodded, her eyes gleaming, "Yes, it's exactly the right colour! But... is it okay?" she added slightly anxiously.

Harm looked at the suit, it was basically black but with a pale blue plastron front and back of the jacket and blue stripes running the length of the arms and the legs.

"The right colour it might be, but let's look at it seriously...Okay... waterproof leather... shoulder and elbow pads are SRS armor... that's good, spine pad, definitely good, mesh lining, detachable for easy washing... that's always a plus, good low collar. Good stitching and two zippered side pockets, handy. And these are cooling vents, zippered closed right now. Now the pants, SRS on hips and knees again. Zippers to waistline on jacket and pants, that keeps the two parts united and protects your lower back and kidneys from cold and damp, and prevents the jacket from riding up and leaving your body unprotected in a slide... so overall, yeah, I'd say it meets safety requirements." He drew a thumb over the leather and whistled softly, "And this is damn' good quality leather too. Feel just how smooth it is!"

Loren stretched out a hand and stroked the jacket which although of stout leather had been treated so that the surface felt as smooth as silk, her face wreathed in a smile of pure sensual pleasure as she anticipated how the suit would feel once she had it on.

"The only thing we need to be sure about now, is the fit," Harm said and nodded in the direction of a sign that displayed the legend 'Fitting Rooms', "Have you got those pantihose?"

"In the car," Loren said, "but why would I need them?"

"Because leather sticks to bare skin, and although it will be easy enough getting into those pants, it could be a very different story getting you out of them!"

"And that of course is of prime importance!" Loren replied with a decidedly naughty grin. "Alright, give me the keys, and I'll go and get the damn' things!"

While Loren headed for the Lexus, Harm pushed the trolley towards the fitting rooms, where, as he'd expected, he found a row of chairs, none of which were occupied at the moment. He grinned, reflecting how different this whole experience would have been at a mainstream women's clothing store in any of the DC, Alexandria or even Falls Church shopping malls, where he would no doubt be fuming and fretting over how long it was taking Loren to choose just one dress or skirt, or blouse and also be keeping company with at least one other equally disgruntled member of the male species as he too waited dutifully for his other half to finish her raid on the clothing racks.

Thankfully he had had to direct the raid on the racks so hadn't really noticed the passage of time, and even now he had to wait no more than three minutes before Lore returned, the hated pantihose (well he hated them) wadded in her fist. "So what should I try on?" she demanded.

"Um... just the leathers and the boots, just to make sure that with the pants on, the boots are a good fit to the legs" Harm told her.

Loren nodded and lifted the jacket and pants out of the cart, grunting a little in surprise at the weight of them, "Harm, these are so heavy..."

"Yep, but like I said, once you've worn 'em a couple of times, you won't even notice the difference.

Loren looked at him doubtfully and carried the leathers to the fitting rooms while Harm followed the boots in his hand. "I'll leave you to it," he smiled, as he turned to head back to the chair.

Navy training had obviously worked on Loren as she emerged from the fitting room in just over ten minutes, clad from neck to toe in her new leathers and boots and looking a little flushed and to Harm's eyes devastatingly beautiful, sexy and desirable. The jacket and pants fitted snugly and rather discreetly hinted at the figure beneath them.

"How does it feel?" he asked

"Pretty damn' good," Loren answered, "It's snug but not tight, although I don't think I want to try to touch my toes!"

"No, probably not a good idea," Harm answered, glaring at one of the younger sales clerks who obviously had reached the same opinion as to Loren's appearance as Harm had.

"No... " Loren's smile threatened to slip, "But have you seen the price of these? Isn't there something just as safe, but a bit cheaper?"

Harm smiled and shook his head, "Having tried these on, would you be as happy in anything else? C'mon over here," he guided her to stand in front of a full length mirror. "Now, apart from the safety aspect, which I've gone over pretty thoroughly, can you honestly tell me that you don't think you look good in these, good enough to eat, even?"

"No... they do look good on me," Loren admitted after an appreciative look at her reflection, her vanity just slightly tickled.

"And more than that," Harm said appealing to the bargain hunter that lay coiled in Loren's bosom, ready to strike at the first opportunity, "They came from the discount rack, the jacket was down from four hundred and thirty-five to two hundred and sixty and the pants from three hundred and ten to one fifty three, so I worked it out that because these are last year's model, if we buy these we'll be saving more than three hundred dollars just on the leathers, and even with the gloves costing more than I'd reckoned, with the helmet coming in at two hundred under budget, the boots were practically free, so all in all I've saved three hundred plus dollars that I was expecting to spend."

"Saved three hundred plus dollars, hey?" Loren said her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Yeah, and with not spending money on room hire at the Boars Head this weekend, we've actually saved even more!" Harm added triumphantly.

Loren chuckled, "Okay, Mister McScrooge, you've convinced me!"

"Good!" Harm grinned and then looked at his watch, "Crap! I didn't realise how quickly time had flown by! Let's get you and your new wardrobe home, and then I've got to call Meg!"

**Saturday, April 28, 2001, 1907hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (282307ZApr01)**

Harm frowned when although his key turned in the lock he couldn't open the door, checking that he'd used the right key – of course he had – he tried it again, but with no better luck. Standing perfectly still, the better to listen, he could hear either the radio or the TV in the apartment's living room and realised what was going on.

On their return from the shopping trip, he and Loren had carried her plunder up to the apartment and then Loren had given him a ride in the Miata across to the old loft apartment, where Meg, in accordance with the arrangements made during the phone call he had made en route, and had backed her Mustang out into the alley, allowing him access to the Indian and his tool kit, Loren had then gone on home where she claimed she had 'stuff' to do. But now, with hindsight, allowing her to do that seemed like a mistake.

Harm rapped on the door and waited. And waited. After he had judged a couple of minutes had gone past, after all she might have been in the bathroom, he dug his hand into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, opened it and pressed Speed Dial #1.

"_Hey, Harm, where are you_?"

"I'm at the door, sweetheart, do you want to unlock it and let me in?"

"_Oh... I'm sorry... why didn't you knock_?"

"Uh... I did..."

"_Uh... well, never mind..._"

Harm heard the inside deadbolts unlocked and the rattling as the door chain was unhooked before Loren pulled the door open to allow him in. As she did so her eyes went wide, "Wow! Just look at you!" she breathed as she took in for the first time the sight of Harm in his snug all black leathers, and carrying a black full-face helmet in his hand.

Harm slipped the duffel bag containing his jeans, sneakers and T-shirt off his shoulder and turned to look properly at Loren, beneath her grin of appreciation he thought he saw a pinched look about her face, not the acerbic pinched look that she had worm before he had gotten to know her, but an anxious, stressed look.

Harm silently groaned. This was no good at all. His hands went to the zip on his jacket, "I'll just change out of this gear,and then I'll make a start on dinner," he promised her, pausing to turn off the TV on his way to the bedroom.

"I've already started it," Loren said as she followed him into the bedroom and sat on the end of the bed where she could watch him strip out of his leathers, "Tuna and pasta bake."

"Sounds good," Harm said, grunting as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off, "We got anything to go with it?"

"Well, you could shred some salad if you want, I've got some garlic bread ready to join the casserole when it's about done, and there's a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the fridge."

"Okay... how long have we got?"

Loren glanced at her watch, "About thirty-five minutes, it hasn't been in the oven long, that's probably why you couldn't tell I'd started cooking."

"Could be," Harm admitted as he stood to grab a clean pair of jeans and a sweat shirt from his side of the closet, "Thirty-five minutes, eh? That's good, because, sweetheart, we need to talk!"

"We do?" Loren asked, with just a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"Yeah we do... " Harm wriggled around until his back was supported by the headboard, and he raised an arm in invitation, "C'mon, come and sit up here with me..."

With a faint but troubled smile Loren came and sat half curled up against Harm's side, his hand dropping casually into her upper arm and idly stroking it softly.

"This isn't doing you any good, honey, you've never been one to have the TV on, just blaring away, or even the radio just in the background. Nor is it like you to lock and bolt me out of the apartment. So come on, speak up and shame the devil, you've been freaking out when you're on your own here, haven't you? And even when I am here, you keep shooting anxious looks at the door, so do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Loren tried to sit up straight and squirm free, but found to her surprise that Harms arm had suddenly become a barrier to an easy escape.

"Let me go!" she demanded furiously, "There's nothing wrong with me!"

"No, there's not. Northing wrong with you at all, it's just that you're acting a bit out of character, and it's got me concerned," Harm said, "Loren, you are everything to me, that's why I was so particular about getting you the right safety gear today, and I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you, and most of all I want you to be happy and safe. I'd be climbing the walls every time the Admiral sent me on an investigation if I thought you were here freaking out all the time I was away... so please, sweetheart, tell me what's going on with you?"

Loren had been straining against Harm's arm all the while he had been speaking, but now she suddenly stopped squirming, and collapsed back against his side, but if Harm thought she had surrendered, he had another thought coming, "I am perfectly alright, and I'm quite happy, it's just that since you moved in, I've gotten used to hearing you being here, moving around, talking on the phone, talking to me, or even just sitting at table writing, or on the computer, and now when you're out the place seems too quiet!" Loren snapped.

"Okay, let's say I accept all that, but I'm still not buying that that's all of it. When I got back just now you looked... relieved to see me, and you'd triple locked the door, and put the chain on. Those aren't things that you do just because the place is too quiet, now are they...?" Harm suggested,

Loren sat ominously still and silent, "Why won't you believe me?" she asked plaintively at last.

"Because, my darling, amongst other things, I said that I wanted you to be safe and happy. You told me that you were happy, but you didn't say anything about being safe."

"That was just a slip of the tongue!" Loren said defensively.

"No, I don't think it is. Loren, you told me a long time ago that you weren't a liar, and I can tell you're not, because you're not very good at it. Your body language is all wrong, you won't look me in the eye, and you've gone all defensive on me, and tensed up almost like a quarterback buttoning up before he takes a hit that he knows is coming from a linebacker."

Loren sighed and finally relaxed again within the circle of his arm, "I am trying, Harm, I'm trying to get back to looking at this place the way I felt about it before... before... before... the... the..."

"Home invasion." Harm supplied

"Yeah, alright, home invasion," Loren sighed again, "But I can't shake off the feeling that the place isn't secure any more. I know we spent a couple of hundred getting those extra locks fitted, but that Turlingham guy got in so easy, and then like the locksmith said, the windows are so vulnerable... I wish we could just... no, that's silly!"

Harm nodded, "I thought it was something like that. And no, if you were about to say that you wish we could move, then it's not silly. I wasn't here, although I should have been, and so I don't feel as outraged as you do, but even I feel that the place isn't homelike any more. Look we always said that me moving in here with you was only going to be temporary and that we'd need a place of our own in the future. Okay, well maybe we weren't thinking of the future being quite so soon, but how about if we start looking for a place of our own, a house, not an apartment, out of the city, somewhere we can breathe, and where our children can breathe too... you do still want kids, don't you?"

"Of course I do! And nice try at trying to divert me! Yeah the idea has its good points, but we haven't even discussed what sort of place we want, or where we want it, or... or... or anything!"

"Gives us plenty of room for discussion and negotiation then, doesn't it?" Harm grinned, "and something to talk about in the evenings other than work or the office scuttlebutt!"

"I do not talk about the office scuttlebutt!"Loren denied hotly, slipping free of Harm's now casually draped arm and sitting up twisted to show him an indignant face, "and besides which we have almost quite enough to talk about with the wedding plans!"

"That we do, that we do!" Harm agreed, "So what say, when we get back from Charlottesville tomorrow, we get around to writing out all the other invitations, and then on Monday we can post those that need posting and hand deliver the one to the office!"

"Including the Roberts?" Loren asked.

"Yep, even including the Roberts!" Harm chuckled.

"And on that note," Loren's ears pricked as she heard a 'ping' coming from the kitchen area, "That, I think, is the five minute warning on the timer, so if you want salad with your pasta, you'd better get a-shredding!"

**Sunday, April 29, 2001, 0617hrs EDT, Parking Garage, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (291017ZApr01)**

"I still don't see why we have to get up so damned early!" Loren complained as, even dressed in her new 'too hot' leathers, she shivered slightly in the early morning dampness.

Harm grinned as he held her helmet for her while she zipped up the vent flaps on her jacket, "Because even when getting dressed in uniform it only takes you about ten minutes – and that includes pinning up your hair, this morning it took you nearly that long to get your pants and boots on," he observed casually.

"Humph, is always going to be such a struggle?"

"No, once you've broken them in and they've gotten a bit more supple, they'll be as easy to get into – and out of – as your PJs," Harm grinned as he offered her the helmet.

Loren tugged the helmet onto her head and settled it firmly in position, while Harm checked that it was secure and that she had managed to thread the throat strap properly through the double D rings.

"Okay, looks like you're all set, just wait until I get this fired up, and then when I give the word climb up behind me and remember what I said about holding on, and keeping alignment with me!" Harm instructed her and then fastened his own helmet on his head.

Loren nodded, "Yeah I remember!" she said without thinking, not realising that with the double muffling effect of the two helmets, over her mouth and Harm's ears that he would be unlikely to hear a normal conversational level of speech, but in this case it didn't matter, he'd seen the nod of her head.

Harm straddled the bike, turned on the gas tap, turned the key in the ignition and prodded the kick-start, the engine caught first time and the bellow of the V-Twin filled the garage, Harm throttled back to idling revs, and looked at Loren, nodding over his shoulder at the pillion seat.

Somewhat nervously, tentatively and even clumsily, after all, it had been years since she'd been on the back of a motor cycle, Loren threw her leg over the cycle and lowered her self onto the seat, fumbling with her feet for the pegs, and holding firmly onto Harm. Her head not quite pressed against his spine.

Beneath his helmet Harm grinned at how tight Loren was holding on, but he had been expecting that and he was also anticipating that as she became re-accustomed to riding, so her confidence would grow and she would relax her grip, but for the moment he was content to let her grip as tightly as she wanted. Pulling in the clutch, Harm nudged the gears into first and letting the clutch out, rolled slowly to the garage exit, where braking to check for oncoming traffic he signalled a left turn and rode on out into the Washington early Sunday morning.

The first part of the journey led them on the familiar route across Key Bridge and down onto the I-66 - The Custiss Memorial Parkway – and without the usual Monday to Friday commuter traffic, helped too by the early hour, they passed Falls Church a scant twenty minutes after leaving Canal Street, during even which short time, Harm had felt Loren's grip loosen evidence that she was beginning to relax behind him, and settled down to enjoy the first ride of the year.

**Sunday, April 29, 2001, 0711hrs EDT, "Aces High" Roadside Diner, James Madison Highway (US-29(S)) Remington, VA (291017ZApr01)**

"Is there something wrong?" Loren asked, with just a shade of worry in her voice.

Harm unbuckled his helmet and pulled it and his balaclava off his head, killed the engine and turned to look back over his shoulder," You tell me," he suggested, "I could feel you squirming on the seat behind me…"

By now, Loren had got her own helmet off, revealing a slightly pink face whether from embarrassment, the heat of the helmet, or the effort needed to remove it, Harm at first could tell, but her answer made everything clear.

"Um... Yeah, well, I could do with a bathroom break."

"I figured as much," Harm nodded towards the diner," let's grab a coffee and a bagel, and you can visit the ladies' room."

Loren looked doubtfully at the long, low building, she had reservations as to the state of the facilities, but the discomfort she was feeling didn't really leave her much of a choice, so making a silent resolution to make the best of whatever was on offer and without complaint, she dismounted from the bike and waited for Harm to haul it up onto its stand.

By the time she'd returned from the bathroom Harm had been served by a very young waitress who was, in Loren's opinion, quite frankly leering at him as she rested her elbows on the counter. For a moment Loren felt a flash of irritation, then the humour of the situation struck her.

"Seems as if you've acquired yet another admirer," she said wryly as she slid into the booth on the opposite side of the table from Harm, at the same time looking pointedly at the teenage waitress and shaking her head sadly, "it's the same everywhere we go, you waltz in and the eyes of every female in the place lock on to you. Me, I barely get a glance from the men!"

Harm looked up from his coffee and gave Loren a brief, but intense look, the words would definitely on the petulant side, but there had been something about the timbre of her voice… And yes, there it was the slightest of lifts to the corners of her mouth and equally slight crinkling of the soft skin at the outside of her eyes. "Well…" He said expansively, "there's a couple of reasons for that, first of course, I am devastatingly handsome and second, it's not that you're not beautiful, is just the men know that if they were to ogle you the way the girls ogle me that there'd be big trouble."

Loren exploded into laughter, and when she got her breath back, she looked him straight in the eye and dismissed his flight of hyperbole with one word, "Bullshit!"

Harm, relieved that he hadn't misread the situation and Loren's mood, smiled across the table, "If you say so, dear."

Loren shook her head," Don't push it Mister Easy Rider Man," she grinned in a mock scold.

Harm clapped his hands to his chest as if mortally wounded, "Ouch! Did you really have to come up with that tag?"

Loren put down her cream cheese bagel and looked levelly across the table at Harm, and appeared to give the matter some serious thought and then finally said, "Yeah, I did." Then she picked up her bagel took another bite from it, smiled smugly and then took a gulp of her coffee.

"Double ouch!" Harm drained the last of his coffee from his cup and leaned back against the back of the bench seat, his eyes losing their gleam of humour as he asked, "Seriously now, how are you holding up with the ride?"

Loren put down her cup, "I'm loving it, I had forgotten over the years how much I enjoyed being on the back of a cycle. I'll admit I felt a bit stiff, and a little bit nervous right at the beginning, but you did as you said and you took it easy, and I just concentrated on keeping my body in line with yours and after about half an hour, I was able to relax a bit, sit back and just enjoy the ride."

Harm grinned, pleased that he hadn't misjudged Loren and her potential for enjoying the sensation of being back on a motorcycle,and even more pleased that she was enjoying reliving at least one of her youthful experiences, when so much in her past had left her with only bad memories. "So... if you've finished, shall we ride?"

Loren's smile lit up her face, "We shall!" she agreed enthusiastically.

Harm disturbed the waitress' day dreams by paying the check, and five minutes later saw he and Loren roll smoothly out of the parking lot and back onto the highway leaving Tessa Mae to wonder why there weren't any guys like him living in Remington... and wishing that there were.

**Sunday, April 29, 2001, 0841hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (291017ZApr01)**

Pop Walkchowski's broke off his conversation with red-headed woman and his head turned when he heard the unfamiliar engine note as Ham pulled around the side of the hangar and braked to halt. The old man's face creased in a frown as Loren dismounted, hopping awkwardly on one foot for a second or two as she almost lost her balance, then when Harm dismounted and pulled off his helmet the old man's face cleared, and turning back towards the jeans and leather jacket-clad woman, who appeared to be in her early thirties, he said, "'Scuse me, Miz Johnson, there's a feller here I'd like you to meet." He raised his voice, "'Mander Rabb!"

Harm checked that Loren had managed to take off her helmet, and that she had enjoyed the ride, but the question died outspoken on his lips as with glowing face and shining eyes, she shook her hair free and said simply, "Wow!"

Harm grinned, as he had felt Loren relax further on the seat behind him he had cautiously opened the throttle more and more until the Indian was purring down the highway at a steady sixty-five miles per hour, well within the old machine's capabilities and a comparatively straight highway like the US-29 posed no manoeuvring problems for the slightly less than agile veteran motorcycle, but now his attention called for by Pop he turned towards the two people standing in front of the hangar doors.

"''Mander, good morning. This here's Miz Johnson. She's the owner of the Ag-Cat you saw last time you was down here... Miz Loren, good to see you again!"

Harm met Mrs Johnson's frankly curious gaze as he stripped off his gloves and then held out a hand in greeting, "Mrs? Johnson? Hello, I'm Harmon Rabb, Harm."

"Alison Johnson... did I hear Pop call you 'Commander'?"

"You did, Commander Harmon Rabb, Navy."

"Ah... that explains the livery on your Stearman... nice bird, and in good condition!"

"Thanks." Harm smiled, "Pop and his boys keep her in pretty good trim, and I come down and tinker with her whenever I can find time, but recently that hasn't has been as much as I'd like to, but... Loren!" he called, "Come and meet Mrs Johnson, my fiancée, Loren Singer. Loren, Alison Johnson, she owns that crop duster we saw down here. So we've already got something in common – a biplane!"

Loren looked around, "Where is it?"

"Over at the fuel point, my husband's fuelling her up, he's got a job on first thing in the morning, so we're getting set today."

Loren nodded, "Well, we've got a bit to be doing today too, so if you'll excuse us?" and without waiting for an acknowledgement she turned and walked back to the Indian, to retrieve her flying helmet and jacket from the one of the side panniers, leaving Harm wondering what had just happened and Mrs Johnson grinning broadly, "I don't think your fiancée likes me," she commented lightly.

"Uh..." Harm had gotten the same feeling, but he wasn't about to admit it, so he was left floundering for a moment or two, knocked off balance even further by Mrs Johnson's forthrightness, "Um...she can be a little prickly around strangers at first..." was the best he could come up with.

"Well, if you've got prickles to contend with, or ruffled feathers to soothe, I'll leave you to it!" Alison Johnson grinned, "See you on the flight line sometime!"

"Uh... yeah," Harm managed rocked even further by this summary dismissal, and followed Loren into the darkness of the hangar.

She, however had gone straight to the designated ladies room, leaving Harm to make his lone way to Pop's office, where in a triumph of optimism over experience he hoped to find, at this hour of the day, some drinkable coffee. He was disappointed, the carafe already contained a quantity of poisonously purple brew, but he wasn't alone in his disappointment, "I shouldn't, not if I was you!" he was warned.

Harm nearly dislocated his spine he turned so fast, not believing that he hadn't see the office was already occupied.. But occupied it was, a girl, of maybe ten or eleven years sat on one of Pop's deliberately uncomfortable wooden chairs, an open aviation magazine on her knees and a frankly inquisitive stare on her face.

Harm relaxed as he looked down at her, "No, I've no intention of sampling that brew," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the coffee, "Leastways, not unless I've been flying and gotten cold, then the warmth beats out the taste – just!"

"You fly?" the girl asked suspiciously, looking askance at his motorcycling leathers and helmet.

"Sure do, got my own plane too."

"Oh yeah?" she asked and Harm blinked, he'd never encountered quite so much scepticism packed into two such short words before.

"Yeah, she's the vintage Stearman out in the hangar..."

The girl's face changed completely and an eager grin replaced the bored, cynical expression she was wearing, "Really? Could you show me around her? and... and...maybe take me up some time?"

Harm laughed, the youngster's enthusiasm, brash as it was, was somehow striking a sympathetic chord within him. "Whoa, there, just hang on, I don't take people I don't know up for rides in my plane!"

"Oh..." her face fell, for a moment and then perked up, "Would it make a difference if you knew who I was?"

"It might," Ham agreed.

She stood and crossed the room to stand in front of him, "Hi, I'm Mattie Johnson." she said gravely and extended her hand.

"Hi, I'm Harmon Rabb," he returned just as gravely.

"Wow! Really? I bet you got picked on lots at school!"

Harm nodded, "I did... Now, you said your name was Johnson, right? Well, I think I just met your mom outside." He looked at Mattie's mass of red curls and added, "In fact, I'm sure I did!"

"Yeah, prob'ly, she's waiting for my dad to prep one of the Ag Cats for the morning."

"Yep, that's what... Oh, Loren, come and meet Mattie!" he offered as the office door open and a slightly pink-faced Loren staggered in under the weight of the leathers, boots and helmet that she'd managed – just – to carry from the ladies room back to the office.

Harm saw her predicament and relieved her of the boots and helmet which were threatening to slip out of her grasp, "Here, let me! Why didn't you call for me to come and help you?"

"Wasn't sure you'd be here!" Loren snapped, "You could still have been too busy with your new girlfriend!"

Fortunately Harm tumbled to whom Loren was referring in time to cut her off before she could say anything derogatory about Alison Johnson in front of that woman's daughter, "Uh... well, she's a new friend, I hope, but I'm not sure that she could be my girlfriend. I think I'm a little too old for you, aren't I Mattie?"

"Ugh! Way too old!" Mattie grinned, and then turned to Loren, "But you're his girlfriend aren't you?I can tell. I'm Mattie Johnson!"

Loren blinked and then as she made the connection between the young girl's red hair and the woman she'd met briefly outside the hangar, she realised what Harm had just done for her, and she felt the colour mount to her cheeks again, "Uh, hi, I'm Loren Singer, pleased to meet you." she said with as genuine a smile as she could muster up.

Mattie looked at her, her heads cocked to one side as she evaluated this blonde woman who seemed to have been giving off hostile vibes, but then she grinned and said, "Yeah, cool. Backatcha!"

Harm breathed a silent sigh of relief as the potentially embarrassing moment passed, "I'll leave you two ladies to get acquainted, while I go find somewhere to get out of this gear and into my jeans before Mike arrives."

Loren nodded, hung her leathers on the hangar behind the door, and carefully placed her helmet on top of one of the file cabinets and sat down on one the collapsible chairs, looking for something to read, to occupy her hands and mind. Not that she was given the chance.

Mattie had seen her flying helmet sticking out of her flight jacket pocket. "Are you a pilot?" she asked with the open curiosity of the young.

"No, but I am learning to fly," Loren said a little defensively.

"Cool! Is he teaching you?"

"Yeah, he is..." Loren's eyes drifted towards the office door.

"Cool! Do you think he'd teach me too?"

"Well not for a couple of years, yet. But why don't you ask him yourself, when he comes back?"

"Yeah, I will!" Mattie said determinedly.


	63. Chapter 63

**63**

****Sunday, April 29, 2001, 0850hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (291250ZApr01)** **

It took Harm only a few minutes to strip out of his leathers and pull on his jeans and with his motorcycling gear draped over a strong forearm he returned to the office, not without some misgivings as to how Loren and the young redhead, Mattie, were getting along. He needn't have worried as he approached the door he could hear clearly Loren's voice, "...so, now the ASI is showing seventy knots, you can feel the airplane wanting to lift off, so just nudge the stick back a little... yes, that's it, not too much... and you're up and away, into the wild blue yonder!"

Harm smiled, there was no edge to Loren's voice, rather it sounded amused with maybe just a hint of a tease, but if so there was no sign of the youngster having heard it as she replied, "That's it? We're up? We're flying? It's that simple? Wow! Cool!"

"Yeah," Loren's voice was definitely showing amusement, "Taking off _is_ that simple, but controlling the airplane in flight is a bit trickier, and the landings are even trickier than that!"

"Uh-huh, I guess that's why you have to have lots of practice?" Mattie Johnson asked.

"Dead right!" Loren agreed emphatically.

Harm silently turned the door handle and pushed it open just a crack and couldn't prevent the grin that spread across his face when he saw that Loren had dragged both office chairs out into the middle of the room, one behind the other and was sat in the rear chair, while Mattie in the front chair, held Pop's battered old umbrella by the handle, while its ferrule rested on the floor.

"Um..." he cleared his throat, making both Loren and Mattie jump, "Does Pop know that you've turned his office into a flight simulator?" he teased Loren.

Loren silently screamed abuse at her mother as she blushed furiously but recovered enough to admit in a strangled voice, "No... he hasn't been back inside yet..."

Harm nodded, "Ah... so what sparked this off?"

"It was my fault!" Mattie piped up. "I asked Loren if she thought you'd teach me to fly, but she explained that I'd have to wait until I'm seventeen to get a licence – that majorly sucks, you know?"

"Yeah... I know..." Harm grinned as he perched on the edge of Pop's desk, "When I was your age, I thought it was so unfair, and I couldn't wait until I was old enough. But... although you can't get FAA licensed until you're seventeen, there's no reason you can't have lessons before that, so you can qualify as soon as you reach that magical number..."

"Harm..." Loren's quiet warning was drowned by the youngster's happy squeal.

"That's so cool! Will you teach me?"

"Uh... I don't know, I mean, I have my hands full teaching Loren... and...and... I would need to speak to your mom and dad... your dad's a pilot, right? Why doesn't he teach you?"

"All our airplanes are single seat birds," Mattie said disconsolately, "and... and... he... he's pretty busy, you know?"

Harm exchanged a rueful glance with Loren, "I'll tell you what," he said to the disappointed girl, "I'll talk with your mom and dad, and if they're OK with the idea, and once Loren's qualified, and when you can see out over the edge of the cockpit, then we can talk about it again."

"In other words, 'no-way'!" Mattie gritted out.

"No, I will talk to your parents, and we will talk again. I promise."

"And Harm always keeps his promises!" Loren added encouragingly.

Mattie looked up, with renewed hope dawning on her face, "Really? Wow! That's so cool! That you're going to speak with my mom and dad, I mean, not that you always keep your promises, although that's darn cool too! When are you going to speak with my mom and dad?"

"OK, but remember. Nothing's going to happen for a few weeks at least, until Loren's got enough solo hours to qualify and then only if you're tall enough to see out of the cockpit!"

"I am tall enough!" Mattie objected.

"Okay, then I'll speak with your parents."

"Today?" Mattie saw the hesitation in Harm's face, "Please?" she begged.

"Okay," Harm conceded with a sigh and a rueful look at Loren, "If I can get chance, I'll speak with them today!

"Oh man, that is so cool!" Mattie yelped and leaped to her feet, and pausing only to add, "Thanks, Harm! Really huge thanks!" she dashed out of the door.

"Why do I think she's just about to steal your thunder and tell her mom and dad that you're going to teach her to fly?" Loren asked in an amused tone of voice.

Harm just shook his head in perplexity, "Uh... what just happened here?" he asked.

"You just let your latest conquest wrap you around her little finger!" Loren chuckled, "And you loved every second of it!" She crossed the few feet of floor that lay between them and standing on tip toe, she stretched up to kiss him lightly on the lips.

Harm put his hands on her hips to steady her as she stretched, but didn't bother to release her as she dropped back onto her heels, "Marking your territory?" he grinned.

"Not really," Loren smiled, "just offering a bit of moral support so that you can face her mom and dad, when they come raging in here demanding your head on a platter!"

"Yeah... any minute now!" Harm agreed, then his head whipped around as the office door opened, and he slid to his feet ready to face a pair of angry parents.

"What will be any minute now?" Mike grinned as he stood in the doorway.

"Oh... Hi, Mike," Loren smiled, "Nothing much, except Harm's about to get a severe butt-kicking. He's been flirting with a _very_ young girl, and I reckon her mom and dad are going to come looking for him with blood in their eye!"

"Loren! It was no such thing!" Harm howled in protest.

"In fairness, no, it wasn't – well, not really – it's that Harm let her talk him into promising to teach her to fly, but he's still got to get her parents to sign-off on the idea."

Mike winced. "If that's the case, let's get out from under ground zero, before the bomb lands! Are you ready to go?"

"Sure am!"

"Good... now, tell me what you've done since you last check-ride... Catch you later, Harm!" Mike threw back over his shoulder as he held the door for Loren to precede him, and so missed the glare she sent at him for being so... patronising.

Harm shook his head wearily. He hadn't really intended to speak with the Johnsons quite so soon, but he was willing to bet that if he didn't, Mattie wouldn't be able to continue to be patient, so he might as well take the bull by the horns. Besides, it wasn't as if he was intending to take her up today, so mentally girding his loins he strode out of the office, through the hangar and onto the apron, where looking around, he not only saw Mike climbing into the rear cockpit of the Stearman, but also Alison Johnson standing next to the Ag Cat which now stood silently just to one side of the hangar entrance, talking to someone – her husband presumably – in the cockpit. Squaring his shoulders, Harm walked across the apron.

"Mrs Johnson?" he said tentatively.

Alison Johnson turned to face him, a slight smile on her lips, "Commander... Rabb...What can I do for you?"

"Um... well... I've... uh... come to make an apology and ask you..." he looked up at the cockpit of the Ag Cat, "and your husband? A question or two."

"Of course! And my manners! Commander Rabb, this is my husband, Tom. Tom, this is Commander Harmon Rabb... he's the owner of the Stearman."

Harm looked up the cockpit, we saw the smaller, middle-aged man thinning sandy hair watery pale blue eyes. "Mister Johnson," he acknowledged him.

"'Morning, Commander, and that's Tom," he returned Harm's greeting.

"In that case, it's Harm," he told Tom Johnson and reminded Alison.

Alison Johnson smiled,"If that's so, then you have got to call me Alison!"

"Um... Yeah, I'll try to do that. But I really need to have a word with you both?"

"Now?" Tom Johnson replied in a rasping voice.

Harm cast a second, more penetrating look, at Mattie's father. The rasping note in the other man's voice together with his watery eyes set off a warning klaxon in his mental array. "Yeah... I got a confession to make..." Harm said uncertainly.

Tom Johnson climbed out of the cockpit and slid down the wing off the trailing edge, and as his feet hit the asphalt, Harm, could see that he was slightly under average height. Not only was he thin and short, but he was also unshaven, and to Harm's shocked surprise he was certain that he could smell alcohol on the other man's breath. Still, he wasn't flying, and although Harm strongly disapproved of anyone going anywhere near an airplane while they were under the influence of alcohol, or even when suffering from a hangover, so far Tom Johnson hadn't done anything illegal.

"So, what do you want to talk with us about?" Alison Johnson had seen the expression on Harm's face and stepped in to draw his attention away from her husband.

"It's a little bit embarrassing..." Harm actually looked down and shuffled his feet, causing Alison Johnson to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from laughing out loud. All of a sudden the tall and undeniably handsome naval officer looked – and acted – as if he were about six years old.

"Go on," she said encouragingly, "it can't be all that bad!"

"Well, I hope not... and I'm not totally sure how it happened, but I met your daughter in Pop's office, and somehow she seems to have inveigled me into promising to teach her how to fly..."

"She's too young!" Tom Johnson interrupted, "But as for how it happened, Matilda is a very manipulative and persuasive little lady! Much like her mom!" he added with a sly glance at his wife.

"Oh... I know she's much too young to get her licence... but there's nothing to say that she can't be taught the basics. But, as I told her, that would only happen once Loren has qualified, Mattie's tall enough to see out of the cockpit, and most importantly with your permission!"

"Well, it was bound to happen..." Alison said ruminatively, "After all, both Tom and I are pilots, we run an aviation business, and everything at home is centred on 'planes and flying... but she is much too young still, although I wouldn't pin my hopes on her forgetting or changing her mind. Not only is she as stubborn as a mule, but she has a memory like an elephant's for those things she wants to remember."

Harm nodded, "That's understandable... so... you'd be okay with it? I mean me teaching her if push does come to shove? You wouldn't want to teach her yourselves?"

Tom Johnson grinned at that, "No, I wouldn't! Firstly we don't have any suitable airplanes in which to teach her, secondly, I don't like the idea of anyone teaching a family member to fly – or even to drive a car." He grinned mirthlessly, "That whole thing can add unnecessary tension to a family!"

Harm nodded, "I've heard that said, before," although he was sure he'd picked up on a fair bit of already existing tension between Alison and Tom. It was nothing he could put a finger on, but there just seemed to be a certain coolness between the couple. He took a breath, "Look, I'll level with you, Loren has got another twenty hours to log with Mike, that's the guy that's up with her now, her CFI. The hours she flies with me don't get credited, and we see Mike once a month for about four hours... so it's going to be late fall before Loren qualifies, and then I'll be looking to put the Stearman into care and pres for the winter. So, I won't even consider taking Mattie for lessons until maybe April next year... and then it's going to be the same for Mattie, the hours with me won't be credited to her."

Alison Johnson winced, "That's all very reasonable, but it's going to sound like forever to Mattie..."

"Can't be helped," Harm shrugged. "She's an engaging little lady, but my priority must be with Loren."

"That's fair enough," Tom Johnson said, as his wife nodded her agreement, "And thanks for discussing it with us. I guess we'll just have to make Mattie see that she need to be patient for once."

"Yeah, come to think of it, it might be beneficial. It's about time she understood that the things you want don't always fall into your lap there and then just because you want them to... Besides it'll give her time to grow maybe an inch or two!" Alison added thoughtfully.

"Just what are your flight credentials?" Tom Johnson asked. It hadn't previously crossed his mind that Harm wasn't a qualified CFI.

"Naval aviator, qualified on F-Fourteens, graduated Top Gun." Harm answered.

"And that can be verified?" Tom asked.

"Sure can," Harm assured the couple.

"Well, don't take offence, but I guess we will have you checked out before we give a final go-ahead!" Tom said.

"I wouldn't have it any other way!" Harm agreed easily, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm about to be wanted..." he nodded away to the north where a tiny dot could be seen approaching the field.

"You can tell that's yours at this distance?" Tom asked, impressed despite himself.

"See and hear it," Harm confirmed, "Alison, Tom," he nodded in farewell and turned back towards the hangar.

"Well, nothing wrong with his eyesight, anyhow!" Tom Johnson said as he watched the tall figure of Harm stride back towards the hangar.

"Wouldn't have expected anything else from a fighter pilot," Alison agreed with unconscious irony.

"But he's not a qualified instructor..." Tom pointed out.

"No... but you are, so if it turns out that he is ready to teach Mattie, I'm sure he won't object to taking a check ride with you," Alison said.

"Mebbe, mebbe," Tom replied, willing for the moment to let the subject drop.

Harm had made it back halfway across the apron when the slamming of a car door came to his ears swiftly followed by a girlish, "Hey, Harm! Wait up!"

"Hi, Mattie, I wondered where you'd got to."

"I was in the car," she indicated a battered Ford pick-up with a 'Grace Aviation' decal on the door, "looking for the next issue of Flight, the article I was reading in the office is in two parts. I hate it when they do that!"

"You and me both," Harm agreed. I rather they put fewer articles issue as long as they kept them in one issue. It's a real bind if you miss an issue and miss the second half of something you were wanting to read."

"Yeah tell me about it," Mattie agreed, she bit her bottom lip and darting a quick glance up at Harm she asked, "Speak with my mom and dad, about me learning to fly?"

Harm nodded, "I think I made a pretty good start, but it's not been decided yet. And it won't be until next spring. Like I said," he added hastily as Mattie started to pout, "I'm not taking on any new students until Loren is licensed. That is gonna take a few months, and then it will be winter, too cold to fly in an open cockpit unless you absolutely have to. Besides, it will give you a chance to grow an inch or two!"

"I'm not that short!" Mattie protested.

"Of course you're not – squirt," Harm pretended to agree with the youngster.

Mattie's eyes flew to Harm's face, prepared to take issue with him, and seeing the smile in his eyes the girl sighed and shrugged her shoulders, "Why does everyone keep telling me I'm too short for my age?"

Harm looked more carefully at her, "it's nothing to do with your age Mattie, it's just that airplanes were built with adults in mind, and you need to be able to see over the side, and youngsters are definitely at a disadvantage when it comes to that."

Mattie heaved another sigh, "So I guess I need to be a bit patient, huh?"

Harm grinned again to take the sting out of his words, "You most certainly do, especially if you want to stay enough on my good side for me to start teaching you next year. Capisce?"

"Yeah I got it, I'm young, not stupid!" Mattie glared.

"I never doubted it!" Harm replied, and then looking across to where the Stearman was now turning off the taxiway, he added," I gotta go now, I owe Loren a kiss."

Mattie screwed up her face in an expression of disgust, "Aren't you too old for that? Even my mom and dad don't kiss much any more, thank God."

'That explains a lot,' Harm thought as his eyes flicked back towards the Ag Cat, and moving off to one side he waited until the Stearman came for a halt in front of the hangar doors a Loren killed the engine. Even then he waited for Mike to climb out of the rear cockpit before stepping forward to steady Loren as she slid off the lower port plain, and keeping his hands on her hips he waited till she tilted her smiling face up to him before he kissed her very gently, but very thoroughly. And as he did so he was almost certain he could hear a youthful "Ewww!" in the background.

But ignoring Mattie's contribution, he smiled down at Loren as they broke the kiss, "A good flight, sweetheart?"

"Well, I enjoyed it, but as to whether it was any good or not, you'll have to ask Mike!"

Harm nodded, and slipped his arm around Loren's waist, feeling her arm return the embrace as pips bumping together they walked into the cool dark of the hangar, meeting Pop almost on the threshold."

"Lunchtime, Pop?" Loren smiled.

"You betcha," Pop replied with what could only be described as an evil grin, "Roast chicken, mashed potato, gravy and fixings." He paused to add effect to his next sentence, "Sandwiches are in the brown bag on the table, and the coffee is not long brewed. See y'all at fourteen hundred hours!"

"Do you think he does that on purpose?" Harm mused.

Loren looked up in surprise, "Of course he does!" and added emphasis to her words by dropping her hand from his waist and swatting his conveniently handy butt.

"Gonna get you for that!" Harm threatened.

"Yeah, bring it on, Mister Lawyer Man!" Loren replied, totally unimpressed by his words.

Harm chuckled at Loren's defiance, so with matching grins they walked across the hangar floor to Pop's office, where they found that Mike had already made a start on the sandwiches and coffee while writing up his logbook.

Loren drew another pair of chairs up to the desk while Harm poured two mugs of coffee. The bite of a sandwich and a cautious sip of coffee later, Harm looked across at Mike, "How's she doing?"

Mike dropped a quick wink on Loren's blindside, "Another fifty, maybe sixty hours, and she keeps up at the present rate of progress, and maybe she'll be ready to go solo."

"That good, hey?" Harm replied in mock admiration.

Loren whose stunned and gaze had been fixed on Mike, turned to face Harm to protest but then saw the gleam of amusement in his eye. "I feared as much," she said mournfully, "but I'm not a bad student, so I suppose we can only put my lack of progress down to my having a lousy instructor!"

Harm and Mike now looked as nearly as stunned as Loren had, and with a wicked, self-satisfied smile, she took another bite of her sandwich, chewed slowly and methodically and swallowed before she dressed them both, "Did you boys want to play any more? No? No, I thought not."

Mike chuckled, "She got us! You sure got your hands full with this one!" he said to Harm.

Harm shook his head ruefully, "You only just now figured that out?" He reached out to cover one of Loren's hands with his own and smiled, "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Mike noted the way that Harm and Loren lost themselves in each other's eyes, and with a smile murmured, "No, I don't suppose you do."

Then, swallowing a mouthful of coffee, he grimaced and said, "Pass me your logbook, Loren and I'll update it with this morning's details."

The three sat in silence for a couple of minutes it took for Mike to finish his endorsements to Loren's logbook and then as he passed it back to her he said, "we've got one more aspect of flight school to take into consideration, and that's your radio work." He shoved his chair back and stood then reaching for a briefcase on top of one of the filing cabinets he opened it and pulled out a buff-covered book, "This is the FAA radio Communications Handbook for PPL, you need to know this almost word perfect to pass the test. Now, despite what I said to Harm earlier, realistically, you need to log about another twenty hours with me before I hand you over to an examiner, that's five days at four hours a day. So, what I suggest is that we up our check rides to every two weeks, both days of the weekend, and four or five hours in the air each day. In the meantime you also need to get about twenty hours solo."

Harm nodded, "That's doable," he observed, "or at least I think it is; Loren?"

Loren considered the proposition, "it's doable," she agreed, "provided that neither of us get sent out of town on investigations, or worse, TAD to some godforsaken spot, or on board somewhere."

Mike nodded, "Yeah I know how that goes, but, it's time to look at the Vistula after we've crossed the Rhine, so let's assume that all else is equal, and I'll book your qualification check flight for six weeks from yesterday. In the meantime, I've signed you off as ready for solos, so your solos from now on can be credited towards the qualification."

He looked shrewdly at the other two, "I know it means you don't get to fly today, Harm, but this afternoon would be a good time for Loren to clock up a couple of hours."

Harm nodded, "There is no urgency today, so you could make it a cross-country flight, sweetheart," he suggested.

"It's hardly fair to you though," Loren objected.

Harm shrugged, "But I got to pilot the bike..."

Loren gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment or two, "If you're sure you don't mind?".

"No, you go ahead with Mike and plot the course, I'll see to the refuelling."

By the time Harm had refuelled at the Stearman Mike and Loren had settled her route and had checked with the tower for weather conditions including cloud cover, wind speed and direction, and as Harm opened the door to the office, Mike was just finished his briefing, "Okay, stay at Angels four, and allow for an eleven knot wind from the north-west, and you route will be from here to Harrisonburg, then onto Moorefield, Hagerstown and then direct back here. That's three hundred eighteen miles and at cruising speed your ETA back here is three hours thirty minutes. Remember, that's an estimated time, so don't panic if you aren't wheels down by then, I'm pretty sure that even if you aren't on the deck, you'll be in sight of the field."

Loren finished making her notes, and smiled confidently at Mike, "Got it all. Hey, sweetheart," she looked up as Harem opened the door, "I'm all set, how's the bird?"

"Ready and waiting for your pre-flight!" Harm grinned, but behind his smile there was just a tinge of concern. After all Loren hadn't made that many solo flights, and this was by about a hundred miles further than she'd ever flown before. But he wasn't about to undermine the confidence by voicing those concerns. Instead, his grin spread even further, "So, what are you waiting for?"

"My pre-flight check?" Loren smiled, standing and moving towards him, and then reaching a hand to cup his cheek.

Harm needed no second invitation, and planted a long, tender kiss on her lips, murmuring, "you be careful up there, straighten up and fly right!"

Loren stepped back, and the smile still in place as she snapped off a parody of a salute, "Aye, aye, Sir!" before grabbing her flying helmet and brushing past Harm, blew him another kiss before leaving the office.

Harm and Mike followed her out of the office and across the hangar, but stopped at the hangar door to watch as Loren carried out a meticulous pre-flight walk round the Stearman. Satisfied, at last, that all was in order Loren stepped lightly up onto the lower plane, and pausing to make sure that Harm was drooling over her six, she stepped over the coaming and settled herself into the seat.

The two men continued to watch in silence as Loren stabbed the self-starter button and the engine coughed into life. A short pause followed while Loren spoke to the tower and then in the series of graceful S turns weaved her way across the apron on to the taxiway and along towards the runway threshold. It was a measure of her growing confidence that she no longer felt apprehensive about taxing the old biplane but whether it was just a growing confidence or the lack of apprehension that made her take off run and take off itself smoothest she'd ever done even she wasn't certain.

Mike watched the little yellow biplane climbed into the sky, and as it reduced in size to a dot he turned to Harm, "You've done a damn good job, teaching Loren; have you ever thought of going for a CFI qualification?"

Harm looked in some surprise in his old friend, "No, it's not something I've ever wanted to do."

Mike wasn't surprised, Harm had always been pretty upfront about his wants in life, and in the years that he had known him Mike had never once heard Harm mentioned the desire to become an instructor, not even for the Navy. Nevertheless, he squinted at Harm," You've done damned well teaching Loren, but if you had been a CFI, she'd be in a position to take her PPL flight today, so in many ways you've both wasted a lot of time."

Harm frowned, "I don't see that. The time Loren and I spend together can never be described as wasted, besides which, as you know damn well, when you fly with someone you get to know them pretty damn quickly."

"Agreed on all points, Harm, and I certainly didn't mean to imply you had wasted time that way, but she's got well over forty hours in her log book, as well as about six hours solo already, and none of that counts towards her PPL, that's what I mean by wasted time, or if you prefer, lost time. And now that you're considering giving flying lessons to the Johnson kid, again while she's under-age and you're not a CFI, none of those hours will count towards her licence, but if you are FAA rated and once she's seventeen then the hours will count. Besides, even if you don't take it up full-time, it could still turn out to be a way of getting hold of some extra income."

"It's pretty expensive and time-consuming process, though, isn't it? Harm objected, "particularly if I'm not going to take it up full-time?"

Mike looked at him for a few, long, seconds, he knew what he wanted to say, but he was going to have to pick his words carefully. "Harm," he began, "How old are you now?"

"Rising thirty-eight, why?"

"So... once the F-Fourteen is finally phased out, do you think the Navy will consider it worth their dime to cross-train a forty-something, occasional flier on a new type of bird?"

"No... I guess not..." Harm agreed slowly, even reluctantly.

"So when that day comes to pass, the only flying you'll have left is the Stearman. Now, I know that's a great way to relax, she's such a simple and forgiving bird to fly... but will that be enough for you after flying fast jets?"

Harm shrugged, "We'll have to wait and see, won't we? But, even if it's not, it'll have to be enough won't it?" he said almost aggressively.

Mike nodded, "Well, that's one way of looking at it, but I'm willing to bet you'll be looking for something to provide some sort of challenge in your life, and studying for and passing the CFI qualification might just be enough to make that challenge." He paused, "And then once you've passed, there'd be the challenge of getting your pupils through their PPLs..."

"You mean staying alive, through a succession of talentless, no-aptitude novices at the stick?" Harm grinned mirthlessly.

"Well... there is that," Mike agreed. "But, listen... why don't I send you the relevant information and you can mull it over. There's no urgency, the F-Fourteen will be around for a couple of years yet, so you'll still have that challenge for a while..."

Harem nodded, again reluctantly, "Okay, send me the stuff... but I'm not making any commitments, not at this stage. I'll look it over, but..."

"That's all I ask," Mike agreed, and then with a swift change of topic he said, "Now, Loren and her flying... more importantly her endorsements... That's the up-engined model of the PT-Seventeen you've got, so she'll need the more powerful engine endorsement, and of course, it's a tail-dragger, so there's that endorsement, but am I right in thinking that she'll only be going for the VFR rating?"

"At first, yes." Harm agreed, "But we've no plans to stop her training at that stage. Instrument ratings and over water ratings should follow, and maybe, at a later stage multi-engine ratings..." he mused.

Mike grinned broadly, "Yeah, it's just a shame that she can't get her DLQs, ain't it?" he said mischievously.

That brought Harm out of his introspection, "God yes! I wonder exactly when the last Stearman trap was made?" he laughed.

The slight degree of tension dissipated the two friends slumped on to the grass at the side of the hangar, their backs resting against the wall as the conversation turned on their shared military flying experiences, and their mutual acquaintances, although throughout their "Do you remember...?" conversation, both men kept at least one eye and one ear cocked skywards, alert for the first sight or sound of the little yellow biplane.

Any concern they might have felt was unnecessary, both pairs of trained eyes and ears picked up the speck in the sky and identified the engine's throaty growl almost simultaneously. Both men stood as Loren made her downwind leg and then banked onto her final approach and were joined by Pop just as the Stearman flared and made what Harm considered to be a perfect three point landing.

"Yup, like I said afore... that gal's a natural-born stick!" Pop grunted just before he discoloured a patch of grass with a jet of tobacco juice.

Mike grinned, "Or it maybe because you're just a natural-born instructor!" he added _sotto voce_ for Harm's benefit.

The only response he elicited with that sally was a non-committal grunt from his target.

****Sunday, April 29, 2001, 1850hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (292250ZApr01)** **

A freshly showered and changed Loren stood, hands on hips and a frown on her face as she regarded her leathers and helmet lying across the bed, and her boots standing together at the bed's foot. "I'm beginning to see why you leave your gear in the garage," she said to Harm.

Harm who was till wearing his leather pants and was waiting until Loren had finished in the shower nodded his agreement, "Here's the thing though... it's going to be a pain in the butt dragging it all back and forwards each time we want to take the bike out... and," he cast a glance around the room, "there just isn't enough room in here to bring in another closet just for the leathers."

Loren hooked her foot around the leg of her dressing chair, "Well... neither of those are insurmountable," she smiled thoughtfully. "Instead of bringing the cycle over here when we want it, we go to the cycle and get changed in the garage. There is a light in there, isn't there?"

"Well, yeah," Harm agreed, "but it would mean leaving whichever car unattended throughout the day..."

"H'mm... I know you always said it was bad neighbourhood, but when you had both cars there, you used to leave the Lexus in the alley didn't you? While you kept the 'vette in the garage?"

Harm thought for a few moments, before he reluctantly conceded, "True... but then, I lived above the alley, and if anyone had tried to steal the Lexus, I would have heard them..."

"Yeah... and by the time you'd gotten down those stairs, or the elevator – even if it hadn't stalled – the Lexus and the thieves would have been long gone!"

Harm cast a jaundiced look at Loren, he just plain didn't like being out argued. But at the same time he loved the way that Loren was marshalling her arguments _ex-tempore _and demonstrating just how good an attorney she was already as well as sign-posting, if such were needed, her potential. "Yeah, that's true enough, but..."

"But nothing!" Loren interrupted waspishly, "And if that doesn't convince you, then all I've got to say is that it would be cheaper to get a cab over there, than to lose a car! Besides," she continued in a far more conciliatory toner, "It would only be temporary measure... we'd just have to make sure when we pick our new place that it has sufficient storage for our leathers!"

"Our new place, hey?" Harm queried, but relieved that Loren now seemed to have accepted the idea.

"Damned straight!" Loren affirmed.

"Well, with the question of what we're going to do with our gear all settled, how about you set the table while I grab a shower – a very much needed shower – and then when I'm done, I'll start dinner?"

"Sounds like a plan," Loren smiled, "And then Mister, we have those wedding invitations to write out this evening!"

"This evening?" Harm said plaintively.

"This evening!" Loren confirmed, and then stood and swayed towards him, standing on tip toes to give him a gentle peck on the lips. "I know how much you hate paperwork, and all you really want to do for the wedding is just turn up on the day, but I am going to need some help with getting things organised, so if we can get the invitations done this evening that will be a major hurdle crossed, and anyway... if we get the invitations done early, then we can get to bed early..." she finished suggestively.

"Now that sounds like a plan! Harm smiled, "But what about the leathers?" Harm queried as he struggled with the zipper on his leather pants.

"Well they could stay in the lounge overnight, and then we could put them in the Lexus and take them over to the garage after duty tomorrow... unless you'd rather forgo the early to bed part, and take them over tonight?" Loren smiled wickedly.

"No, no... early to bed sounds plenty good to me!" Harm said firmly.

****Monday, April 30, 2001, 0750hrs EDT, Ops Bullpen, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301150ZApr01)****

Judging by the slightly sappy smile that spread over Harm's face each time he looked at Loren, and by her pinkened cheeks every time she look at Harm the 'early to bed' part of her scheme hadn't just sounded plenty good and led to other, knowing, smiles being exchanged between other members of staff, and a hidden smile from one member of staff in particular. Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden was forced to bite the inside of his cheek and beat a hasty retreat to his inner office, before his indulgently amused smile broke out across his face and gave anybody the idea that he condoned what was almost a flagrant disregard of his rules on the subject of maintaining military decorum and keeping personal relationships out of the office.

****Monday, April 30, 2001, 0745hrs EDT, Security Detachment Check Point, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301145ZApr01)****

By way of contrast, two other members of staff made no secret of their feelings, Lance Corporal Somers who had issued Harm and Loren their building passes on arrival at the CP had waited until the two officers had taken the elevator before she turned around with her own smile on her face to see Raoul Hernandez regarding her with a soft, quizzical smile of his own.

"What?" she demanded almost truculently.

"Oh... nothing much," he replied lazily, "Just that I noticed Miss Singer's expression and I was remembering what put that sort of look on your face."

As Julia had been remembering pretty much the same occasion, she blushed furiously and complained in an almost whimper, "Ooh... that is so not fair! You know we need to keep us out of the office!"

"Yeah, I know," Raoul replied entirely unrepentantly, "But it's just a little something to knock you a bit off balance!"

Julia sat down at her desk and shot her beloved a darkling glance. The big hulk was getting just a little too good and knocking her off her stride. Who would have thought that Raoul Hernandez had ever heard of 'Phantom of the Opera', let alone gotten hold of tickets for that show's reprise at the Hippodrome theater in Baltimore and a suite at the Marriott Waterfront in that city and taken her there for the whole weekend. It was time, and past time, that she made an effort and regained the initiative in their relationship... on the other hand it had been wonderful to be spoiled and pampered all weekend, even if she was a Marine.

Raoul had no difficulty in interpreting Julia's scowl, and allowed himself a silent chuckle before returning his attention to the weekend's logbook as he read himself in.

****Monday, April 30, 2001, 0803hrs EDT, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301150ZApr01)****

The other member of staff who allowed an open comment on the subject was Carolyn Imes, who as soon as Harm and Loren had hit the bullpen had requested Loren's help with the upcoming Quantico hazing trials. However as soon as Loren had taken a seat across from Carolyn, the older woman had been unable to pass up the opportunity to comment.

"Looks like you had a pretty good weekend?" she said.

"Oh, yeah!" Loren replied with a burst of enthusiasm, "Saturday Harm took me shopping for leathers and all the rest of the stuff, and then yesterday we rode down to Charlottesville on his cycle and..."

"Wait a minute!" Carolyn interjected in surprise, "Harmon Rabb has a motor cycle?!"

"Sure, a classic Indian, but then when we got to Charlottesville, I went flying. Course, that meant it was a pretty full on weekend, and so we had an early night when we got home..." Loren tried to pass off the early night bit insouciantly, but her vivid blush gave her away, as did the glance she sent over her shoulder in the direction of Harm's office.

"Loren Singer!" Carolyn gasped in pretended shock, which had the effect of making Loren blush even more furiously and once more silently blame her mother for her fair colouring.

"Is... is it that obvious?" she complained.

"'Fraid so," Carolyn answered, "but only when you smile, look at Harm, or think about it... if you'll take my advice, when it comes to staff call, don't look at Harm, don't think about the weekend, and for God's sake, if you do, don't let the Admiral catch you!"

"Ah... that would be kind of difficult," Loren objected, as she opened her briefcase, "Because..." she handed Carolyn a heavy, cream envelope.

"Loren..." for a few seconds Carolyn lost the power of speech, "Is... is... is this what I think it is?"

"Open it and find out!" Loren directed her with a grin of pleasure.

With an embarrassed grin at her eagerness, Carolyn almost tore the envelope as she dragged the card out and saw to her surprise that it was addressed to her and 'companion'. "Oh, Loren, thank you! Of course I'll RSVP formally, but yes, I'd love to come and I'm sure Pete will too!"

"Um... there's just one thing that isn't on the invitation," Loren added, embarrassed in her turn, "I... uh... I'd like you to be my maid of honour, if you would, please..."

"Are you sure about this? It's not as if we've been friends for a long time... surely there must be someone else...?"

"No, I'm sure. This is only going to be a very small wedding, and I only want the one attendant, and that is you."

"In that case, then, yes, of course I'll be proud to stand up with you!" Carolyn agreed.

"Thank you!" Loren said fervently.

"For what? Harm asked from the office doorway which he had approached unseen.

"Carolyn's just agreed to be my maid of honour!" Loren said with damply glowing eyes.

"She has, has she?" Harm smiled, "Well done you. But now, I need to borrow Loren for five minutes, before staff call, so if you don't mind?" he said to Carolyn.

"And if I did, it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference, would it?" Carolyn smiled in return. "Go on, Loren. We can pick this up after staff call!"

He stood back, allowing Loren to exit the office into the bullpen, and then with a smile Carolyn he turned to follow Loren. "I thought we were going to make the Admiral the first recipient of the invitations?" He queried quietly.

Loren looked up a shade guiltily, "Yes, we were, but Carolyn presented me with such a perfect opportunity, that I just couldn't ignore it."

Harm smiled back down at her, "Well, I dare say that is no lasting damage done, so… Shall we beard the Dragon in his den?"

Loren gulped, "Have you got his invitation?" she asked somewhat nervously.

Harm patted his shirt's breast pocket, "Safe and sound," he assured her as he guided her towards Tiner's outer office.

"We'd like a couple of minutes with the Admiral, if possible," Harm told the Yeoman.

Tiner nodded, "one moment, please Sir, ma'am." He pressed the call button on the intercom, "Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Singer to see you, Sir."

Chegwidden's snort was clearly audible, but so was his rather gruff, "_Okay, Tiner, send 'em in_!"

The young Yeoman looked up at the two officers, "Sir, ma'am, he said…"

"That's okay, Tiner, we heard him," Harm said, and then turning back towards Loren added, "Shall we?"

"I don't think we have an option now," she grinned, but Harm could still see tell-tale signs of tension on her face.

So it was with a reassuring smile that Harm rapped smartly on the door frame and waited growled "Enter!"

****Monday, April 30, 2001, 0819hrs EDT, Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301219ZApr01)****

Rarely had the expanse of carpet between door and desk seemed so huge as it did this morning, and despite his outwardly calm appearance Harm admitted to himself, if to no-one else, that he too felt the same story of butterfly wings and his stomach.

"Thank you for seeing us, Sir," he said as soon as he and Loren had halted in front of the big desk.

Chegwidden peered at him over the top of his reading glasses, "I'm a busy man, Commander, so cut the BS, and tell me what I can do for the pair of you this morning."

"Nothing much this morning Sir, it's just that we both wanted to be here when you received this…"

Harm reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a twin envelope to the one that Loren had handed to Carolyn.

"As promised, Sir," Loren added.

Chegwidden neatly slit the envelope with his cutlass-shaped letter opener and read the message inscribed on the invitation card. Putting off his reading glasses, he laid the card centrally on his desk blotter and looked up at his two junior officers, "Thank you both for this. I accept. I will of course, reply in writing. Thank you. Now, if there is nothing else?"

"Nothing else, sir!" Harm and Loren replied in chorus.

"Good... dismissed..."

"Well that went as well as could be expected..." Loren said, with more than just a touch of relief evident in her voice, a she and Harm re-entered the bull pen.

"Yeah..." Harm agreed, his voice flat, as he searched for the words he wanted.

Loren stopped short, "What?" she demanded.

"Um... this next one... might be a bit awkward... for you... so if you'd rather I did this solo, I'd understand..." Harm replied uncomfortably.

For a moment or two Loren regarded him with a puzzled frown on her face, and then the coin dropped, "Ah... the Roberts?" she asked.

Harm just nodded.

"Well, she still isn't my favourite person, but I am willing to make the effort, so no, thank you. I'll come with you; for better or worse, remember?"

"Don't make it sound so enjoyable!" Harm quipped, but then looked around the bull pen until his eyes fell on the person he wanted, who was talking earnestly to a PO3 Legalman, "Lieutenant Sims?" he called out.

Harriet spun on her heel, "Sir?"

"Please join us in Lieutenant Roberts' office."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" the blonde Lieutenant responded, and turning back to the LN3 dismissed him in a couple of words.

Their paths converged at Bud Roberts' office door at almost the same second, leaving it to Harm to clear his throat to attract the younger man's attention.

****Monday, April 30, 2001, 0829hrs EDT, Lieutenant Bud Roberts' Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA ****(301150ZApr01)****

"Sir, ma'am... Harriet...uh... Lieutenant Sims?" he stuttered.

"Spare us a few moments, Bud?" Harm asked quietly.

Bud's eyes flickered between his three visitors as he nervously stood, "Uh... sure... uh... I mean, yes, sir!"

Harm stepped to one side, "Harriet?" he made a gesture yielding precedence to her and she, with a slight, although nervously concerned smile stepped into the office and only then did Harm, with slight pressure on the small of her back urge Loren to follow before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "Sit down, Bud, Harriet, please," he said drawing a deep breath, "And stop worrying, there's nothing wrong. In fact, it couldn't be better. Loren..." he prompted.

Loren once more dipped into her briefcase and extracted a cream envelope and deliberately handed it to Harriet, "It's your invitation, for both of you," she included Bud with a swift glance, "to our wedding."

Harriet sent an anguished look, which was not lost on Loren or Harm, at Bud, who although for a second looked taken aback, quickly recovered, "Thank you, both of you, from both of us. We'll be there." he laid slight emphasis on the latter part of his reply.

"And of course the invitation includes Harm's Godson," Loren offered a smile along with what she hoped might be an olive branch.

"Thank you... Loren," Bud again answered for himself and a resolutely silent and expressionless Harriet.

"Well, we'll leave you now," Harm said, uncomfortably aware of the degree of tension that had arisen in the office, "Stay as you are," he waved off Bud and Harriet's rising from their seats and with a final smile, he gently closed the office door behind him, and with an inclination of his head he indicated his own office, "That went well, I thought," he said with a touch of irony.

"Gee, ya think?" Loren retorted as he stood aside to let her enter his office ahead of him.

In her husband's office Harriet Sims practically exploded, "The nerve of that woman! Coming in here and smiling as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, 'of course the invitation includes Harm's Godson'," she mimicked with ferocious accuracy.

"easy sweetie," Bud said seriously alarmed at the volume and pitch of |Harriet's voice, and with a nervous glance at the door, "Can you just for once, try and give Loren Singer some credit?"

"Why? Why should I?" Harriet exclaimed furiously, her eyes sparkling with tears of anger.

Bud came out from behind his desk and perched on his second visitors' chair next to Harriet, and fishing a white handkerchief from his pocket, he handed it to her, waited until she dabbed her eyes dry and then taking both his hands in hers he asked, "Do you honestly believe that Loren Singer likes you any more than you like her?"

"No! Of course not! That bitch probably wishes I was dead!"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, sweetie, but yes, I agree that she doesn't like you."

"So why was the smarmy cow pretending to be all sweetness and light?" Harriet demanded truculently.

"Well... I think that maybe... possibly, she was, in her own peculiar way trying to make a peace offering..." Bud offered hesitantly. "After all, she made the point that it was Harm's 'Godson' that was included, not 'your son' or 'little A J', so maybe just because she doesn't like us, she still doesn't want Harm to have to lose contact with AJ... maybe this was a genuine olive branch. I mean, you know how AJ loves his Uncle Harm, maybe we should accept that the Commander is going to marry Loren Singer, and unless we want to deny our son all contact with the Commander..."

"No... I don't want that..." Harriet sighed disconsolately, "It's just going to be so hard being all sweetness and light on the surface, when I hate that bitch's guts... And anyway, since just when did she become 'Loren' Singer to you?" she demanded with a flash of her former anger.

"Since I accepted that one of the best friends I've ever had decided that he wanted to marry her," Bud replied gravely. "Look, maybe she isn't as completely bad as we thought... Even the Colonel seemed to warm to her before she left. And if the Colonel, who had more reason to dislike her than you, can come to some sort of agreement, then maybe you should make an effort and meet her halfway, that is if _she's_ honestly trying to make some sort of effort?"

Harriet looked uncomfortable, and then her shoulders slumped, "Alright, I'll try to stop being hostile, but I don't ever see us becoming best friends forever!"

"Good... because if you continue hating her after she becomes the Commander's wife, then you'd probably end up losing the Commander's friendship too, and you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"No! No, of course not..." Harriet sighed.

"So... this is an RSVP invitation... when I reply, what should I say, that we accept or not?"

"Of course we accept... it's just that I can't help feeling that the Commander is making the biggest mistake of his life!" Harriet finished defiantly.

****Monday, April 30, 2001, 0923hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301332ZApr01)****

Having received progress reports from cases in progress, Admiral Chegwidden grunted in apparent satisfaction, "Now, a new crop of misdemeanours and felonies committed by Navy and Marine Corps Personnel. First off, Commander Austin, your team gets a nice, fat abuse of authority case, including lesser charges of negligent homicide, conduct unbecoming, making false declarations and anything else you can think up that will stick."

"Sir?" A slightly bemused Meg Austin answered.

"Captain Benjamin Harding, ONI. The CO of Lieutenant Turlington, the intruder Lieutenant Singer shot.!

Loren gasped almost silently and the blood drained from her face for a few seconds, although despite her anguished and silent pleas, it flooded back soon enough as every head at the table turned to stare at her.

"Uh, sir, this case... might it not be better handled by someone else, sir? After all, I am peripherally involved..."

"Are you attempting to second guess me, Commander?" Chegwidden said sternly.

"No sir!" Meg hastily denied.

"Good!" Chegwidden grunted. "But what isn't quite so good is that you obviously haven't yet taken on board the team concept . You do not have to prosecute this case yourself. If in your judgement you are too involved, hand it off to a suitably qualified member of your team, just keep an over-watch on the case! Got it?"

"Sir, yessir!" Megan snapped put.

"Well enough! Commander Turner, you – or one of your team will defend." He turned towards Harm, "And before you start, Commander, I trust that you have enough wit to realise that you are far too closely involved to be allowed within a good country mile of this case – and that goes for you too, Miss Singer!"

"Yes, sir, of course!" Loren replied.

Harm allowed himself a grim smile, "Yes, of course it's understood, sir. But in this case my preferred method of redress wouldn't be through the UCMJ!"

"I didn't just hear you say that, Commander!" Chegwidden snapped in a reproving tone and the accompanying glare he sent around the table made it clear that he expected that no-one else had heard it either.

"Commander Imes, you are to take over from Commander Rabb everything he holds on the Richardson case and prepare it for a judicial review. I know your team is short-handed, and I know that Lieutenant Singer has previously displayed impressive talents in that direction, but she cannot be involved in this case. Is that understood?"

"Aye, aye, sir," Carolyn replied impassively, but with a sinking heart, knowing that she would now have to be the attorney of record for the review, and that she would, in all likelihood have to be the person to review the case and make recommendations. She could only hope that she could tap Harm's knowledge of the case without it coming to Chegwidden's official notice.

Chegwidden then returned his attention to Harm, "But just to keep you from feeling left out, Mister Rabb... Petty Officer Corpsman Two McCormack is currently lying in a coma at Portsmouth Naval Medical Facility after being caught upside the head by a pugil-stick. The injury occurred as part of routine training, McCormack is attached to the Twenty-second MEU – Second Battalion Ninth Marines embarked on the LHD Peleliu. His parents have written to their Congressman, wanting to know exactly what happened, and complaining that their son was a non-combatant, and shouldn't have been involved in the training."

"It does seem a bit odd, sir," Harm agreed.

"You really think so?" Chegwidden queried sarcastically. "Well, not everyone who is a potential enemy of the USA is a fully paid up member of the Geneva and Hague Conventions, and are as likely to try to kill a Navy Corpsman as they are a Marine Corps Rifleman, so it makes sense that Corpsmen attached to Marine units are trained in as many combat techniques as possible. Or do you disagree?"

"When you put it like that, sir, no. How could I?"

"You can't and you shouldn't!" Chegwidden grunted and then paused, "Is there anything else that I need to know this morning? No? Good. Now, just one more item this morning, and that is to reiterate that travel in Navy or Marine Corps vehicles on the Beltway is still prohibited, as is travelling on the Beltway in uniform. In a further sinister development, on Friday evening, Captain Ian Hamilton, USMC was shot through his screen door as he answered his telephone situated in the front hall of his house, suggesting that the shooter had identified and stalked his target, and had reconned the kill zone! So, people, remain on the alert, and if you see anything that strikes you as remotely suspicious, call it in and take evasive action! Any questions? No? Dismissed!"

Chegwidden stood to the normal accompaniment of the sound of chair legs scraping on the hardwood floor.

Harm waited until the Admiral has disappeared through the doors before he said, "Sturgis, Meg, can you hold up a minute, please?"

The two Commanders exchanged a glance, given that they had just been handed opposing roles in the upcoming Harding case, it was only natural that they expected Harm to mention that, however to their surprise, he merely reached out a hand to draw Loren to his side, before he reached once more into his shirt pocket, "Loren and I have finally set a date for the wedding," he smiled, "And we would both be delighted if you can attend..." he checked the names on the envelopes and then handed them to his two friends.

Meg smiled, "Congratulations, you two. From the minute I first saw you together I had a feeling that this day wouldn't be long in coming!"

"Congratulations, indeed." Sturgis Turner intoned gravely "and thank you."

"Yes! Thank you, so much!" Megan agreed, slightly embarrassed to have forgotten to say thanks immediately.

Harm and Loren stayed for a few moments longer in the conference room after Sturgis and Meg had left. "There's still some friction there," Loren observed, "unless I'm very much mistaken."

"No... I don't think you are," harm said, "But maybe a head to head over this Harding case might help them get it out of their systems..."

Loren gave him an exasperated look, "I wasn't talking about Sturgis and Meg; I was talking about Sturgis and you!" she declared firmly.

"Oh... Oh... Yeah... Well, he'll come around eventually, he always does!"

"You mean he always has, so far!" Loren corrected him.

****Monday, April 30, 2001, 1011hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301411ZApr01)****

Harm had spent the last hour reading what little there was of the McCormack file and was, quite frankly, puzzled. Pugil-stick training was conducted under strict conditions with strict supervision. Both participants worn helmets, similar to the sparring helmets worn by boxers, as well as groin guards and protective gloves. The staves themselves were heavily padded and by all accounts there is no way that the unfortunate Corpman's injury could have been caused by his participation in the training. All the witness accounts stated that all proper safeguards had been in place. It just didn't make any sort of sense.

His musing were interrupted by a sharp double rap on his office door jamb, and on looking up at his unannounced visitor, he felt his face settle into an unwelcoming mask. "Agent Gibbs, how may I help you?" he ground out.

"I'm not sure you can," the former Marine answered as he stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, occasioning Harm's brows to raise in surprise at this minor breach of protocol.

"Why don't you come and close the door?" he said ironically.

Gibbs looked at him levelly for a long second, "I already did." he said matter of factly, and then indicated the visitors' chairs, "May I?"

"Sure, go ahead!" Harm replied, his words at a marked variance with his facial expression and the tone in which he spoke.

Gibbs sat and settled back in the chair, his hands resting lightly on the arms, "Like I said, I don't know if you can help me, but I am hoping you can," he said flatly.

For a moment Harm was on the verge of pointing out that Gibbs attitude was hardly best calculated to elicit help from him, but then realised that the NCIS agent hated having to ask for help, particularly from someone whom he disliked and quite possibly mistrusted.

"Well, we won't know until I know what sort of help you want," he said reasonably.

Gibbs swallowed as the words were sticking in his throat. "I want your help in catching the Beltway Shooter."


	64. Chapter 64

**Chapter 64**

**Monday, April 30, 2001, 1015hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301415ZApr01)**

Harm looked at his visitor in blank astonishment, "Excuse me?"

Gibbs snorted in displeasure, he hated asking anyone for help and he especially hated having to ask Rabb but the Sonofabitch just sat there and asked him to repeat himself. Gritting his teeth, and with a mental sigh, he said, "I need your help to catch the Beltway Shooter."

Harm shook his head, "I thought that's what you said, but it doesn't make any more sense to me the second time around than it did the first! How do you expect me to help you? You're the former scout sniper with field experience in those roles; okay, I can shoot a little, and I'm pretty good at field craft, but all that has been under instruction, Sniper School and field problems."

"That's so," Gibbs agreed, "but I don't need another scout sniper, what I need is someone with a brain, who also thinks like a sniper. Ray Crockett tells me that there are very few people with an instinctive eye for country, and that of those few, you are the best he's ever come across."

Harm blinked, "Um… That's a top compliment coming from Ray Crockett, what did you have in mind, Gibbs?"

"I've already been over the ground with my team, but neither of my agents have the necessary skills. What I want is a body, a live body, at the scene of each shooting while the second person scouts possible firing positions. If we can positively identify each stand then we may be able to get some sort of idea as to how this Sonofabitch is thinking."

"Hell, Gibbs, you don't need me for that. You're the guy with sniper experience, and anyone of your agents can play the role of target," Harm objected.

"That's true, as far as it goes," Gibbs replied, "but I would want the two of us at the stand, so we can bounce ideas off each other. Look, Rabb, it's a given that we don't like each other, but does that really matter when some lunatic is slaughtering our brothers and sisters?"

"When you put it like that, no, it doesn't matter." Harm pushed back from his desk, and stood, "Let's go brace the Admiral with this and see what he has to say…"

**Monday, April 30, 2001, 1028hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301428ZApr01)**

"That was quick!" the Admiral grunted when Harm and Gibbs appeared in his office. Harm was braced to attention, and although Gibbs usually ignored military etiquette, more to prove that he was no longer an active service marine than for any other reason, he very nearly found himself following suit, and deliberately slouched, overcompensating for his first reaction.

His posture didn't escape Chegwidden's attention, and he stared steadily at the NCIS agent with just the merest lift of an eyebrow to indicate his interest.

Gibbs felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he registered Chegwidden's scrutiny and despite himself, found that although he didn't quite come to attention, his posture became more alert, more attentive, and yes, dammit, more respectful.

Well aware as he was, of Gibbs' status as a former Marine, Chegwidden was satisfied that he had made his point and relenting slightly grunted, "Take a seat, and tell me what's so all fired important that you had to see me immediately."

"Sir, Agent Gibbs has approached me to ask for my assistance in trying to trace the Beltway Shooter."

Chegwidden cast a jaundiced eye at the NCIS agent, "And why would you do that, Agent Gibbs? From my reading of the interpersonal dynamics between you two you're hardly the best of friends!"

"No, Admiral, we are not the best of friends, and I doubt that we will ever be. But I've seen the Commander in action down at Quantico, he has a more than very good ratio of wins to losses in court, and he has had sniper training, and comes highly recommended by a man I greatly respect, Ray Crockett."

Harm shot the NCIS agent a quick glance, trying to work out if Gibbs was aware of the bond shared by Admiral and the former Gunnery Sergeant.

Chegwidden was trying to figure out the very same thing, it wasn't widely known that Crockett had saved Chegwidden's life in Vietnam, but the former seal wouldn't put it past the NCIS agent to have somehow wormed that secret out of someone, somewhere. But then again, after Rabb tracked down Crockett in the wilderness of the Quantico training area, the veteran had taken the naval officer under his wing and put him through an abbreviated version of the Marine sniper school, submitting to the Admiral, at the end of his period of instruction, an informal but glowing report on Rabb's abilities and potential, so that Chegwidden was quite prepared to believe that Gibbs wanted, or even needed, Rabb's unique blend of skills. However, when he considered the phone call he had just received from the SecNav, this was all a little too pat for his liking. He turned his attention now fully to the NCIS agent and gave him a stare that Gibbs felt effectively pinned him to his seat.

"Do I take it that Commander Rabb has agreed to your request?"

"Yes, Sir!" Rabb rapped out.

Gibbs nodded his head, "Yes, Admiral, he has."

"Well, that's certainly highly convenient," Chegwidden said with heavy irony, "considering that the SecNav has just finished ordering me to make the investigation into the Beltway shootings a joint JAG/NCIS operation, and strongly recommending that the JAG element be made up of Commanders Rabb and Austin. Tell me, Gibbs; were you aware that the SecNav was contemplating such a move?"

For a moment, but no more than a moment, Gibbs was tempted to lie and deny all prior knowledge of the SecNav's plans, "Yes Admiral, I had heard the scuttlebutt to that effect."

Rabb scowled at Gibbs, "if you knew I was going to be detailed for the investigation, why the pantomime back in my office?"

Gibbs gave a half shrug by way of apology, "I figured if I would have persuaded you to come in voluntarily, you'd come in in a more… accommodating mood…"

Chegwidden gave a snort of cynical laughter, "Did it work, Mister Rabb?"

Harm glared at Gibbs, before he turned back to face his CO "It did, Sir, right up to about ten seconds ago!" Harm turned his attention back to Gibbs, "and that, Gibbs had best be the last time you ever try to play me!"

Wisely, Gibbs said nothing.

Chegwidden felt that the NCIS agent was far too comfortable with what had happened, and if asked would have sworn that he could see the hint of a grin on the former Marine's face. 'Time to bust that particular bubble,' he said to himself, before he allowed a sarcastic grin to cross his face, "I'm just as keen as the SecNav to get this Sonofabitch behind bars, so I'm going to exceed the SecNav's instructions and I'm going to add a third member to the JAG component of the team, one who has special skills which I'm sure will prove invaluable."

Chegwidden allowed his grin to broaden as both men sat opposite squirmed in their chairs. He thumbed the intercom call button, "Tiner!"

"_Yes, Sir_," the Yeoman's voice rendered tinny by the electronics of the intercom was nevertheless clear enough for the two visitors to hear.

"Pass the word for Lieutenant Commander Manetti, please."

"_Aye, aye, Sir_!"

Chegwidden turned his attention to Rabb for a couple of moments, "Lieutenant Commander Manetti is one of the O Fours, for whom I've been fishing. For the moment she'll work with you, but once we've put this case to bed, she'll be joining Commander Mattoni's team."

Rabb nodded, "Aye, aye, Sir, but… You said she has special abilities?"

Chegwidden nodded in return, "I did, she has just completed the FBI's profiling course at Quantico, which is partly the reason her PCS to this office has been delayed."

Both naval officers caught the despairing and disparaging, not to say disgusted and impatient glance that Gibbs directed heavenwards and both smiled.

"Psychological profiling, Sir?" Harm asked innocently.

Chegwidden lost his grin and replied, "Yep, the investigation so far has turned up so very little, and I figure we should explore every avenue that is open to us, even those avenues that some people dismiss as pointless. I have had enough of hearing news reports about the death of another sailor or Marine at the hands of this seemingly uncatchable Sonofabitch. You get out there Rabb, Gibbs, you make use of every tool in the box, if you have to work non-stop days and nights, then so be it. But you catch this bastard!"

"I intend to do just that, Admiral." Gibbs said levelly.

"Then what's keeping…" Chegwidden started before he was cut off by the buzz of the intercom.

"Yes, Tiner?" He asked with a hint of impatience on his voice.

"_Lieutenant Commander Manetti is here, Sir_."

"Very well, send her in!"

The door, held open by Tiner, allowed the entrance of the latest attorney to join the JAG HQ. Curiosity as well as ingrained good manners brought Harm to his feet, followed half a second later by Gibbs. From the name, Harm had been expecting to see a woman of Italian descent, but what he saw was a petite woman with a mix of distinctly Asian and Caucasian features, her hair piled at the back of her head.

She came to a halt in front of the desk between the two wing chairs which had been occupied by Harm and Gibbs, "Lieutenant Commander Manetti, reporting as ordered, Suh!" She said in a soft, light Virginian drawl.

"At ease, Commander, take a seat!" The Admiral half invited, half ordered her.

Tracy Manetti looked lost for a second, seeing only two chairs, both of which had obviously been occupied by a tall man on Navy Commander's uniform and the older, grey-haired man in faded jeans and a sports jacket.

Harm smiled at the newcomer, and indicated she should take his seat before turning on his heel and swiftly crossing to the informal seating area in front of the fireplace, picked up one of the wing chairs before bringing it back to place in front of the Admiral's desk.

The Admiral watched this little byplay were tolerably amused grin, and waited until Harm had retaken his seat before he spoke.

"Lieutenant Commander Manetti, I'd like you to meet Commander Harmon Rabb, and NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs…" His grin grew broader as Gibbs started in his seat, obviously surprised that the JAG knew his full name.

"Gentlemen," Tracy Manetti acknowledged the introduction with the single word and a cool smile directed to each of the other two men in turn.

"Eventually, Commander Manetti, you will be joining Commander Alan Mattoni's legal team, but for the moment, you will be working with Commander Rabb, Commander Austin, and Special Agent Gibbs, identifying, locating and putting a stop to the work of the so-called Beltway Shooter. This might sound like a tall order; your role will be to develop a psychological profile of whoever this marksman is. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Suh, understood."

Chegwidden nodded in satisfaction before he switched his gaze back to Harm "Commander Austin is in court this morning, and I understand the panel in that case are already deliberating their verdict. I will brief Commander Austin at the earliest opportunity today. Rabb, hand off your outstanding cases to your team; I expect the three of you start working with Agent Gibbs first thing tomorrow morning."

Recognising the note of finality in the Admiral's voice, both Harm and Tracy sprang to their feet, "Aye, aye, Sir!" They responded in chorus.

Gibbs was half a second slow in responding, but he too came to his feet, inclined his head in brief nod a contented himself with a single word response, "Admiral."

**Monday, April 30, 2001, 1107hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301507ZApr01)**

Harm eased himself into his chair and looked up at Gibbs and Manetti, who at his gesture followed him into his office.

"I'm going to be busy for the next half an hour or so." he said uncompromisingly. "Have you been here long enough to find the break room, Commander?"

"No, Suh," the petite woman replied.

Harm got to his feet and took the three steps to his office door, surveying bullpen to his eyes lit on one particular member of staff, "Yeoman Two Edwards!"

"Sir!" Lynn Edwards spun on her heel to face Harm.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Manetti, if you have five minutes, show her the break room, please."

Edwards allowed a half smile to appear on her face, "Certainly Sir! If you would care to walk with me, ma'am?"

Harm turned his attention back to Tracy Manetti, "Give me about forty minutes?" And without waiting for an answer turned to Gibbs, "How about you Gibbs, you want a coffee?"

The grey-haired NCIS agent shook his head, "Not for me, and unless there's anything we need to talk about here and now, I'll head on back to the Navy Yard, and I'll see you there at zero eight hundred tomorrow."

Harm nodded his head, "Makes sense. I guess what you have on the case is over at your office."

Gibbs nodded and glanced at his watch, "Agreed, but I'll pass on the coffee; I need to go see a man about a dog…"

Harm shot an annoyed look at the agent. He was still ticked off about the way Gibbs had tried to play him earlier, "You'll need to brief us fully tomorrow, and keep us in the loop from then on it!"

"Wouldn't have it any other way… Commander," Gibbs said over his shoulder as he turned away, his tone just short of a sneer.

Harm glared as the NCIS agent walked – no casually sauntered across the bull pen and out through the double doors. 'God, that man's arrogance is insufferable!' he said to himself, and then sighed and reached for his calendar and sent a jaundiced look at the half dozen case-files on his in-tray. With a sigh he picked up the telephone and dialled a number, "Faith?" he asked and paused for confirmation when the 'phone at the other end was picked up, "It's Rabb… could you come to my office, please? Yes, now, if it's convenient."

Harm spent the couple of minutes it took Faith Morrison to secure her office and cross the bullpen to his in a lightning quick mental review of her SRB. It wasn't entirely his fault that he hadn't got to know the younger officer better in the short time she'd been here; after all, he'd been bounced halfway around the world and back in the week since she had first reported for duty…

'She's married, to another Naval Officer, although God knows – and I should know – what his duty station is, or even what in what branch he's serving, so that more or less rules out aviation or JAG… I'm certain I would remember if it was either of those two options. No children though, which would make life easier when I have to send her out of town on investigations, although Bud and Harriet seem to cope alright with Little AJ…. Commissioned via the NROTC while studying her bachelor's degree in law at Stanford and then went to law school at Princeton, graduating in the top third of her year. Impressive.'

Any further rumination on Harm's part was cut short by a sharp double tap on his door frame. "Come on in," he invited her, rising from his seat as she walked through the doorway.

"Lieutenant Commander Morrison, reporting as ordered Sir!" she snapped out as she halted in front of his desk.

"Take a seat, please, and relax. You're not in trouble," Harm smiled, trying to put the seemingly nervous woman at her ease, as he retook his own seat.

Harm took the opportunity to more or less covertly observe the officer who was, effectively second-in-command of his team. A slightly taller than average brunette, she was in her early 30s, she might have been thought a little young for her present rank, but Harm recalled that she had only just received her step from Lieutenant. Her summer uniform was neatly pressed, and bore the Navy Achievement Medal, the Kosovo Campaign Medal and the Sea Service Deployment ribbons.

"Firstly, I need to make an apology to you, I haven't gotten to know you as I should this last week, but in mitigation things have been a little bit hectic…"

"So I understand, Sir. How is Lieutenant Singer, if I might ask?"

"We're getting there thank you. Unfortunately, my getting to know you better is going to have to take yet another turn in the backseat, and this time my apology is that I am dropping you right in at the deep end with very little warning. But before I explain that rather cryptic comment, once we're behind closed doors, I'm Harm, not Sir or Commander; I understand you're given name is Faith… Do you have any objection to being addressed as that under the same sort of circumstances, or would you prefer to remain Commander?"

A shy smile spread across Faith Morrison's face, "I can hardly call you by your name, and then insist you call me by my rank, can I… Harm?"

Harm smiled back, "Good… because that makes it easier for us to work together… especially with what I've got to tell you. With immediate effect I and Commander Austin are TAD to NCIS to run a joint investigation into the Beltway Shootings, with the aim of throwing his ass in jail and then throwing the damned key away. Unfortunately, this affects you because you and Barlow are going to have to take on, at least temporarily my caseload as well as the cases you already have."

Faith Morrison managed a weak grin, "At least it'll give me something to do in the evenings, rather than sending me square eyed gawping at the TV!"

"I thought you were married?" Harm queried with a frown.

"I am, but the other half is still down Jackson in Florida. We've applied for spousal co-location, and were just waiting for a billet to come free in the DC area."

"I see, not a very congenial situation. What is his current billet?"

"OIC disbursing at Jackson, Harm."

Harm shook his head, "Can't help with that one I'm afraid, Faith, all my contacts are either at JAG or in aviation."

"Yes, I've seen the wings," Faith said cryptically.

"Well, time presses on," unwilling to continue that particular subject in conversation, Harm reached for the top file in his in tray.

**Monday, April 30, 2001, 1236hrs EDT, Outside Seating Area, Cafeteria, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (301636ZApr01)**

"Do I need to be jealous?" Loren's lightly amused tone gave the lie to her query, but Harm, deep in thought as he read through some hastily computer printed copies of news reports concerning the Beltway shootings failed to either properly hear the question or detect Loren's wry amusement.

Looking up from his table, where his half-eaten tuna and pasta salad sat by his elbow, he blinked and asked, "Huh?"

"A well-constructed and concisely delivered question, counsellor," Loren grinned as she slid into the seat opposite, and then wrinkled her nose in distaste as she examined her egg salad more closely, "Oh, well…"

Harm still not up to Loren's speed gave her a puzzled look, "What are you talking about?"

Loren hastily swallowed a mouthful of salad and gave Harm a pitying smile. "I was just asking, dear, whether I needed to be jealous."

Still none the wiser, Harm asked, "Jealous? Jealous of what, of whom?"

"Sometimes, fiancé of mine, you make it very difficult to tease you!" she pouted.

"Tease me? About what?"

"About that pair of attractive brunettes you've been closeted away with the last hour and a half!" Loren said, shaking her head in despair.

Harm's mouth dropped open in sheer surprise, "What attractive bru…" He began, and swiftly amended his sentence, "do you mean Faith Morrison? My new team member? Is she attractive? I haven't really noticed… Not that it matters, firstly I'm engaged to you, and secondly she's married. Thirdly, I was handing over to her all my cases because with effect from zero eight hundred tomorrow, Meg Austin and I will be working with a royal pain in the ass from NCIS, known as Leroy Jethro Gibbs on the Beltway shootings case. The second brunette is Tracy Manetti, she's one of the new JAG's the Admiral's been trying to get on board, and she'll be working with me and Gibbs – she's a profiler."

All Loren's levity fled and she put down her fork, "Why you?" she demanded.

"Umm… because I've had some sniper training and the SecNav figures that I might have a… different insight into what's going on…."

"So why do they need this Manetti person too?" Loren asked somewhat belligerently.

For a moment Harm thought about making a joke out of Manetti's presence, something along the lines of needing her to chaperone he an Meg, but then remembering Loren's insecurity about the tall blonde Texan, he decided that a joke like that was probably best left unsaid.

"Because as a profiler, she might be able to work out the type of person we're looking for, and work out his motive and that would be a great help in catching him. See, from my reading, most serial killers have a reason for what they do, okay, it's probably some sort of sick and twisted reason, but it doesn't have to make sense to anybody else, just to them.

"Oh…" Loren said, pausing to take a sip from her diet Pepsi, "I thought it was maybe to keep an eye on you and Miss Texas Sunshine!"

The sip of water Harm had just taken suddenly decided to take a wrong turn and for a few seconds he coughed and spluttered, his eyes watering as he fought to prevent the water from exploding all over the table.

"That was dealing from the bottom of the pack!" he complained when he could finally breathe.

"Oh, yeah…" Loren agreed with a beatific smile, "but it was so much fun!"

**Monday, April 30, 2001, 2123hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (301636ZApr01)**

"So… how many is that?" Harm asked as he shook his wrist to try to get some of the cramps out.

"Umm…" Loren scratched a quick addition on the back of a spoiled envelope, "With what we finished last night that makes eighty nine…"

"Eighty nine!" Harm asked in an appalled voice, "I don't think the chapel holds that many!"

"Of course it does!" Loren accompanied her words with a withering look, "But that's the last of them, unless you're going to invite your great-aunt Dorothea?"

"Huh? I don't have a great aunt Dorothea!" Harm protested.

"Good; in that case we won't invite her, and so this is the last of them!"

"Huh! Cute!" Harm snorted.

"I was trying for funny," Loren pouted and then grinned as she stood walked around the table towards Harm, "But I'll settle for cute, if that's all I can get!" she added as she settled herself on Harm's knee.

"No… I can stretch to funny, as well," Harm smiled as he curled an arm around Loren's waist to prevent her from sliding off her perch.

"And anyway, most weddings only get about a ninety per cent acceptance rate, so let's call it ninety invitations sent – just as a round figure, so that would make…"

"Eighty-one guests," Harm finished for her.

"H'mm awkward," Loren mused, "but that's not the right answer… we won't know the total until we get all the replies in."

"Why not?" Harm demanded.

"Because, O love of my life," Loren smiled, "There are several that have been sent to named individuals 'plus one', and unless and until we get those replies…"

"Alright, counsellor; point taken!" Harm snorted. "But if that's all the invitations done, then once we drop these in the mail tomorrow, we can start looking for somewhere to live!"

"Ah, talking about tomorrow… I shall be taking the Miata in the morning."

"Had enough of my driving?" Harm asked with a smile.

"Nuh-huh, but with you playing – and playing nicely – with Agent Gibbs, you don't know what time you're likely to get home, and I have a seventeen thirty appointment with the woman who is tailoring my wedding dress. So whoever gets home first needs to take the fish casserole out of the freezer and defrost it. If it's defrosted, it'll only take about twenty minutes in the oven."

Harm nodded, "Got it. Is that your casserole, with the saffron in it?"

It was Loren's turn to nod, "Yes it is, and on my way home, I'll stop off at the store and pick up a baguette."

"Sounds good to me," Harm agreed, "But, I reckon it's time we started making a move towards the bedroom. I've a sneaky feeling that tomorrow is going to be a long day!"

Loren eased herself off his knee, "Okay, but I claim first dibs on the shower!" Then the smile faded from her face as she cast a slightly anxious look around the lounge, "I know I'm being silly, but you will make sure that the place is properly secured before you…"

"Of course I will, and you're not being silly!" Harm tried to smile, but he couldn't quite hide the troubled look in his eyes.

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 0752hrs EDT, Bull Pen NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (011152ZMay01)**

"Gibbs!" The name was said in so fierce a whisper that it came almost as a hiss as Agent Owens attracted the grey-haired agent's attention.

Gibbs looked up, a frown already on his face, as he typed a report on his computer, using the 'hunt and peck' method of typing, "What?" he demanded.

"Incoming!" Owens nodded towards the elevator at the side of the bull pen where Harm, Meg and Tracy stood, looking around as they got their bearings.

Gibbs took in the sight of the three naval officers in their pristine summer white uniforms and shook his head in disgust, "Oh for…" he muttered as he stood and then called out, "Rabb… over here!"

Harm had already spotted Gibbs, and with murmured directions to Meg and Tracy he headed towards Gibbs' desk.

"'Morning," he said curtly, "Agent Gibbs, Commander Meg Austin and Lieutenant Commander Tracy Manetti. Meg, Tracy this is Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs." Meg, who knew him best, had no difficulty in hearing the hostility in his voice and sent him a troubled glance, and from the looks on their faces neither did Tracy, Gibbs, nor indeed Agent Owens.

Gibbs acknowledged Meg's polite "Agent…" and Tracy's nod with one of his own. He gazed levelly at each other in turn and then gave a sigh, "Did none of you think that you will be operating on and around the Beltway, where our phantom shooter has been targeting Navy and Marine Corps personnel in uniform? It didn't occur to any of you that civilian clothing might have been a better choice?"

Harm was annoyed with himself that he hadn't considered those circumstances, but he'd be damned if he was going to admit that to Gibbs, "Well, I figure I can put that down to an incomplete briefing. I seem to recall someone being damned anxious to get out of JAG HQ at the earliest opportunity yesterday."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, 'This is going to be just so much fun!' he thought bitterly and turned to his other two team members, "Owens, take Commanders Austin and Manetti down to the women's locker room and see if you can find something that isn't military that will fit them." His eyes flitted around the bull pen looking for the third member of his team, spotting the late-comer as he tried to slip unobtrusively behind his desk; Gibbs could deal with that later, right now, however… "DiNozzo, you can do the same for Commander Rabb, take him to the men's locker room!"

"On it, boss!" The two junior agents chorused.

Harm raised his eyebrows, "Boss? You have your own team now?" He queried in disbelieving tones.

Gibbs subjected him to what Harm considered to be an extremely arrogant stare, "Yeah, my team now, Mike Franks retired on Friday."

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 00817hrs EDT, Women's Locker Room, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (011217ZMay01)**

Charlene Owens looked doubtfully at Meg; it had been easy to find an outfit for Tracy Manetti, now wearing a plain Royal blue hooded sweat-shirt and a pair of boot-cut jeans. But Meg was taller than most women, at 5'11" she was taller than Owens, who was considered to be above average height for a woman. The best Owens had been able to come up with so far was to remove all the military jewellery from Meg's uniform blouse and provide her with a black, slightly flared skirt, which while it fit snugly around her waist and hips was about three inches shorter on the leg than Meg was really comfortable with and that even Owens thought was a bit too revealing.

The NCIS agent shook her head, "I'm sorry, Commander but that's about the best we can do. We just haven't got any pants long enough in the leg to fit you. Maybe tomorrow, you could bring your own civilian clothes.

Meg looked down at herself and she too shook her head, "I look ridiculous," she mourned, "a teenager or a girl in her early twenties could get away with a skirt this short, I just look like mutton dressed as lamb!"

"It's not ideal, ma'am," Tracy Manetti agreed in her soft, Southern drawl, "but it's a damn sight better than a bullet in your head."

Meg pulled a face, "That's true, I just hope that Harm doesn't bust a gut laughing!"

"I'm sure the Commander is too much of a fine California gentlemen to do that, ma'am," Tracy replied.

"Let's hope so," Meg replied, "and… Tracy isn't it? Well, if we're gonna be working together, especially in the public view, we'd best be on first name terms, you never know who might be listening. So… I'm Meg."

Tracy Manetti smiled in pure pleasure, "delighted to meet you, Meg."

Both naval officers then turned and looked expectantly at the NCIS agent who slowly shook her head, allowed a reluctant smile to spread across her face and said simply, "Charlene."

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 0818hrs EDT, Men's Locker Room, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (011218ZMay01)**

Harm silently cursed the impulse that had made him decide to take a motor pool vehicle from Falls Church to the Navy yard. If he'd taken the Lexus he would have had his sea-bag with him, and could have worn a comfortable pair of jeans and a T-shirt that fitted properly and a light weight unbleached linen jacket. He sourly stared at his reflection in the mirror, and strongly suspected Agent DiNozzo of deliberately kitting him out with a pair of slacks that were a size too small for comfort around the waist and at least two inches too short on the leg, as well as a faded green sweatshirt that was uncomfortably tight across the chest and shoulders.

Despite his disgruntlement he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge, if only silently, that his suspicions were fuelled by the almost instant dislike he'd taken to yet another NCIS agent. DiNozzo wore an unnecessarily expensive two-piece suit, which if Harm was any judge, was Italian in style if not in cloth, with his hair slicked back, with a fairly contemptuous half-sneer on his face and an irritating habit every minute or so of popping the gum he chewed, in short he looked like a bad extra from West Side Story. And although in his early 30s, he seemed to Harm to be stuck in his youth when he was probably some sort of sporting hero of his college fraternity. On top of everything else, he seemed to be too pleased with his own appearance, even now while Harm was gloomily taking stock of himself, DiNozzo, stood behind his shoulder, his legs bent at the knees so he could observe himself in the mirror while he fussily ran a comb through his hair.

'Probably thinks he's God's gift to women, too!' Harm thought sourly, before he turned and said coldly, "If you've quite finished prettying yourself up, let's get on with it."

DiNozzo already felt threatened by the mere presence of the tall naval officer, but now he flushed red; he hated being rebuked, even if the rebuke was only implied and so in return grinned, almost insolently, "Yes, Sir, Commander, Sir," thinking how much he was going to enjoy Gibbs putting this stuffed shirt navy shyster firmly in his place.

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 0823hrs EDT, Bull Pen, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (011223ZMay01)**

DiNozzo being DiNozzo, had registered the presence of two very attractive women in the bull pen, but being sent to escort Harm to the men's locker room had prevented him from carrying out his usual MO, but now that he had returned to the Ops section he was in time to see Meg and Tracy as they left the elevator and walked back towards Gibbs' desk. He noted Tracy's trim appearance, approving of the way her jeans clung to her hips and thighs, but it was Meg's blonde beauty that captivated him, especially her long legs, most of which, thanks to the brevity of her skirt, were on display. But to DiNozzo's frat boy mind only one way of expressing his appreciation occurred, he leered, straightened himself from where he lounged against his desk and also straightened his expensive silk tie.

"Boss…" he whispered in an urgent undertone, "Who…?"

Gibbs shot him an impatient glare, "If you would have been on time you would have met them already," and raising his voice he introduced the third member of this team, "Agent Tony DiNozzo, Commander Meg Austin, Lieutenant Commander Tracy Manetti…"

DiNozzo gave Meg his best, winning smile, and as he took Meg's hand said, "A lovely name for a lovely lady… Do you mind if I call you Meg?" ignoring for the moment Tracy's presence.

Harm had watched with distaste the younger man's reaction to Meg, 'Yep, God's gift to women! It's a wonder he didn't trip over his tongue!' he thought disgustedly, and the leering tone of voice in which DiNozzo spoke prompted Harm to straighten up and start to move towards him.

DiNozzo's reaction to her hadn't gone unnoticed by Meg, neither had the way in which he had ignored Tracy. Shooting a warning glance at Harm to leave this to her, Meg favoured the callow NCIS agent with the sort of look she normally reserved for rats, cockroaches Gila Monsters and other assorted vermin, "_You_ may call me 'Commander', Agent DoNozzi," she said coldly, deliberately mispronouncing his name..

Once again DiNozzo felt his face flame, but in an effort to regain lost ground, he turned his smile on Tracy, "And you're Tracy, right?"

Tracy Manetti was all too familiar with DiNozzo's type, immature fraternity boys who felt themselves to be entitled by virtue of family money or merely by being members of a prestigious fraternity; she had suffered all the way through college from their constant attempts at 'getting to know her better' and their petty and vitriolic verbal revenge when they had failed, attaching words like 'frigid', 'lesbian' and 'bitch' to her name.

"No, you may also call me 'Commander'," she said flatly.

DiNozzo gritted his teeth as he surreptitiously looked around at what was fast becoming the scene of his public humiliation. Gibbs had a cynical grin on his face, as did Charlene Owens, while the two female navy officers eyed him with acute dislike, but it was the grin on Harmon Rabb's face that really got under his skin, and he desperately needed to be somewhere else for a few moments to restore his battered ego.

"Boss…" he began.

"Go and get two cars juiced up and ready to go for ten minutes!" Gibbs said curtly.

"Yes, boss!" the younger agent replied in a relieved voice and spun on his heel towards the elevator.

"And take your gear with you!" Gibbs added in an exasperated tone.

"Yes, boss!" DiNozzo replied, abruptly changing his course to grab a back pack from behind his desk and a holstered Sig Sauer from his desk drawer, clipping the latter to his belt.

"A bit full of himself!" Harm commented as the younger man disappeared though the elevator doors.

Gibbs shrugged indifferently, "He's young," was all he said.

"Not that young!" Harm disagreed.

"Harm, leave it," Meg interrupted before her long-time partner lost his temper, "He's a worm, nothing that Tracy and I can't handle!"

"And that's the truth!" Tracy confirmed with a smile up at the tall Commander.

"Well… if you're sure…" Harm grumbled.

"We're sure!" Meg replied after a quick confirmatory glance at Tracy.

Gibbs merely grunted, "Let's move this along to the conference room. I've had everything set up for your briefing there!"

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 0833hrs EDT, Conference Room, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (011233ZMay01)**

A corkboard had been fixed to one the long walls of the conference room and Gibbs, 'Or more likely Owens,' Harm thought, had pinned to the board all the team had on the Beltway Shooter. Which was not all that much. There were the usual crime scene photographs along with the victims' ID photographs as well as the scene of crime reports, all neatly laid out in chronological order, together with a map of the northern section of the Beltway with numbered pins indicating the location of each shooting.

The three navy officers stood in front of the board, at first trying to absorb the big picture, until Harm stepped closer to the board and peered at the map. "Gibbs, does that thing work?" he jerked his chin at the computer that stood on a desk on the far corner of the room.

Gibbs shrugged, "Beats me, I only try to work the damn things!"

"Meg, could you check it out, please?"

Meg flashed a half-smile and moved across the room to sit at the computer, a few seconds later the screen flashed into life, showing the NCIS crest, overlaid with a text box and a flashing demand for a password. "Gibbs?" Meg asked, pushing back and moving the caster-mounted swivel chair.

Gibbs grunted, a sound that might have meant anything, but moved to the computer, and typed in his password.

"OK, I'm in, Harm, what do you want?" Meg asked, her fingers posed over the keyboard.

"Can you bring up a large scale map of each shooting, and print it off?" Harm queried.

"How large do you want it?"

"As large as you can get it, with say a one thousand yard radius fan of sixty degrees of the angle of entry of the bullet into the victim's body…"

"Okay… what's the first location?" Meg asked.

Harm called out the necessary information and Meg tapped the necessary keys and within a minute the printer next to the computer whirred and spat out a print of the relevant section of the map.

Harm took a seat at the head of the table, almost within arm's reach of Meg and studied the print out, "Meg, can you bring up the same map, but with the location of traffic cameras factored in?"

"Uh… yeah… but it'll take a few minutes longer…" she replied.

"We've asked for the relevant traffic camera tapes, but Metro PD are being a bit slow to release them." Gibbs volunteered.

Harm raised his eyebrows in surprise, "You've never struck me as the type to let officialdom bother you," he remarked.

"Normally I ain't, but I can't get anyone who knows how to work those damn' things," he nodded at the computer, "to bring up the tapes of the relevant times and places for each of the shootings…"

Harm turned back to Meg, "Meg could you…?"

"I could but, y'all have to know that it's illegal to hack into law enforcement data bases…"

"Well… I won't tell anyone, if you don't," Harm grinned at her.

"Yeah, in that case I can do it…but do you want print-outs of the maps first?"

Harm thought for a moment or two, "Yeah, hold on…" he got up and moving back to the corkboard started calling out the locations of the second and subsequent shootings.

In the meantime Tracy had been studying the crime scene reports and the victims' details, now a troubled frown on her face, she took a seat at the foot of the table, producing a notebook from the depths of her purse and swiftly sketched out a mind-map.

"This really doesn't make much sense at all," she remarked ruminatively as she laid her pencil down.

"Yeah, tell me about it!" Gibbs scoffed.

Tracy shot him a look that only just concealed her annoyance. She had already met investigators like Gibbs, as she mentally pigeon-holed him as one the sceptics who refused to recognise that psychological profiling had any value, despite some recent major successes by the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Team based at Quantico, but before she could respond Harm interrupted with a quiet-spoken, "Go on, Tracy…"

"I don't think we're dealing with a serial killer here…" she began, only to be interrupted by a contemptuous snort from Gibbs.

"Not a serial killer?" he demanded incredulously, "That proves it! This profiling crap is just that, crap! How can he not be a serial killer when he has so many victims to his credit in such a short space of time!"

"Hey give her a break, Gibbs," Harm said, "At least hear her out before you make up your mind about anything!"

"Thank you, Com… uh… Harm." Tracy replied, blushing slightly, "As I was saying before I was interrupted, I don't think we're dealing with a serial killer here, what we seem to have is what is known as a spree killer. A serial killer usually has a specific victim type: age, sex, colour, occupation all tend to be similar, and he tends to stick to the same MO but this guy or guys changed from passively lying in wait to actively stalking his last two victims…"

"You reckon it's a male shooter or shooters?" Charlene asked.

Tracy nodded, "It's always possible that it's a woman, but the probability is stacked against that scenario, but…as I was saying, this shooter doesn't seem to care whether his victim is male, female, young, old, black, white, Hispanic… the only common denominator is that they are all Navy or Marine Corps personnel." Tracy paused for breath.

"Yeah, well we kinda knew all that already," Gibbs muttered.

"It's also more than probable that shooter is at least in his thirties, although again there is a possibility he is younger. If he is younger there's a chance that he is a disgruntled, failed applicant to either the Navy or the Corps, probably someone who had hoped to get into Special Forces, Force Recon, or Scout Sniper or even Seals." She looked at Gibbs, "Would it be possible to canvass Navy and Marine Corps recruiters in DC, Southern Maryland and Northern Virginia to see if there have been any such failed applicants in the last two to three months?"

Gibbs grudgingly made a note, but nodded his head, "It's already being done, but it takes a bit of time," he grunted.

Tracy looked across the table at him, "Remember, I'm not expecting any results from that line of enquiry, it's just to cover what I feel is a remote possibility."

"You feel?" Gibbs said scornfully.

Tracy coloured again, "Yes, it's… I can't explain it… It's just that it's like an instinct…"

Gibbs opened his mouth as if to speak but was forestalled by Charlene, "A gut feeling?" She asked, with a significant look at Gibbs.

Tracy looked across at the African American woman smiled gratefully, "Yes, just that."

Harm and watched with keen interest the by-play, noting particularly that Gibbs seemed to deflate and settled back in his chair once Charlene had spoken. Obviously, her words, few as they were meant something to the grey-haired NCIS man.

"What's really bugging me is the possible motive," Tracy continued. "With no common thread between victims… It's hard to tell why shooter's committing these crimes!"

Meg, who had continued to print out maps of each shooting scene, twisted in her chair, "You may have just hit the nail on the head!" She called in an encouraging tone over her shoulder.

"How so? Gibbs demanded.

Meg furrowed her brow as she sought to put her thoughts into words, "Tracy has just called them crimes, that's nothing earth-shattering in itself, but who investigates crimes committed by and against Navy and Marine Corps personnel?"

"We do, NCIS, of course!" Gibbs said in a patronising tone.

"And who is the most logical NCIS investigator to look into crimes committed by a sniper?" Harm interjected as he followed Meg's train of thought.

"That would be you, boss," Charlene answered Harm, but with a cool, calculating look at Gibbs.

"So, what if all these shootings are just a means to an end to draw you out into the open?" Meg asked.

"Do you have any enemies that would think like that? And would they have the necessary degree of marksmanship to kill with one shot every time?" Tracy asked.

Harm snorted in amusement, drawing a filthy look from Gibbs, who nevertheless shrugged his shoulders and replied, "There are one or two people I've upset over the years…"

Tracy lapsed into silence as she processed last minutes' comments, until at last she drew a breath and raising her head and looked across the table at Gibbs once more, "I really don't like this, if this guy is a spree killer, or a serial killer, then he's likely to keep on doing what he's doing until he is caught…"

"Or killed," Gibbs said grimly.

Tracy heard him but decided to ignore the older man's interjection, "In either case, we can expect the intervals between his attacks to grow shorter." She drew a deep breath, "But there is a slightly different scenario that I think we ought to consider. It's a bit of a wild theory, a bit of a stretch even, but so far it's the only plausible motive we've come up with, and once again my gut feeling is that we are on the right track. And if so, then we are looking for a male, in his thirties at least, possibly with a history of psychopathic or sociopathic behaviour. And furthermore, someone who has the necessary marksmanship skills and has no hesitation in killing the innocent to inflict emotional hurt on his main target, which in this case Agent Gibbs, is you. Who, that fits that description, would you have ticked off that much?"

Gibbs sat in silence for nearly a minute, a frown of concentration on his face, before he shrugged in a helpless manner, "Over the years, I've pissed off a hell of a lot of people, including the few Marines and Seal or two who I've helped send to Leavenworth, and who may be good enough rifle shots to pull off the kind of shooting we've already seen."

Harm bit his lip, "How many cases would we be looking at?"

Gibbs allowed himself a wintry smile, "Over the years? Two, maybe three hundred…"

Harm looked at Meg, "Could you….?"

"That depends on what you want me to do first…" she answered.

"Easy question," Harm grinned, "Get me… get us, the traffic camera footage the times and places of each shooting on the Beltway. I'm sure that Agent Gibbs and his team have the necessary skills to access their own agency's data base." He finished with a malicious grin at the suddenly long-faced NCIS agents.

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 0943hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA (011343ZMay01)**

Admiral Chegwidden heaved a sigh, "I hadn't meant this to happen but with Commanders Rabb and Austin working with NCIS for the foreseeable future, I don't see that I have much choice. Commander Turner, I realise you're still getting your feet under the desk as Chief of Staff, but this one is yours…" He slid a green-tagged file folder across the table to the former Submariner, "A Fire Controlman One Terence Patrick Donovan, USS Saipan, four counts of negligent homicide. Seems he misdialled the settings on a CIWS and fired a four second burst into an Amtrac full of Marines."

Turner looked briefly through the file, "At first sight it seems like a slam-dunk, sir."

Chegwidden allowed himself a tight smile, "So it would seem. However…" he drew a deep breath, "Donovan's paternal grandfather is a former Chief Petty Officer USN and a Medal of Honour Recipient, and Donovan himself is a new appointee to the Academy. Complicating matters even further is Donovan's maternal Grandfather. Owen Kilpatrick, the CEO of Kilpatrick and Donovan of Boston…"

"The shipping multi-millionaire?" Turner asked with a silent whistle of surprise, which drew an admonitory glare from his CO.

"Just so," Chegwidden agreed, took a breath and turned to Alan Mattoni, "Your team catches the defence on this one, Commander!" he slid a second copy of the file down the table to Alan Mattoni.

Mattoni opened the file and gave the contents a quick scan, his face falling as he weighed up the evidence included in the file, "The Saipan's home port is San Diego, Sir. How come we're getting this case?" he asked.

Chegwidden fixed him with a piercing stare, "We get it because I have been ordered to deal with it. I do not question my orders, and I strongly suggest you do not question yours! Understood, Commander?"

"Of course, Sir! I was merely curious!" Mattoni defended himself in an apologetic voice.

"H'mph! Remember, curiosity killed the cat!" Chegwidden warned his subordinate.

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Chegwidden continued to glare at Mattoni for a few seconds longer before he allowed his face to relax somewhat and then turned towards Carolyn Imes, "And how are the Quantico cases coming on, Commander?"

"If the Marine Corps SJA will be ready, we could go to an article 32 Monday, Sir."

"So Soon?"

Carolyn very nearly shrugged, "Yes, Sir. We had a rethink on our approach, and although the case is pretty long winded, the CMC has helped us considerably by charging all the defendants with failing to obey an order or regulation. He was pretty adamant that article 92 was the way to go, sir." She did grimace, "At least for the first tranche of courts martial, sir. When we get through the battalion headquarters trials, it gets a bit messier with H and S Company cadre personnel facing a charge of negligent homicide."

"Negligent homicide?" Chegwidden asked for confirmation.

"Yes, sir. Corporal Henderson, the young woman who committed suicide. Both the Navy and the Marine Corps IGs pressed for this one. Their view is that she was driven to suicide by the actions of the H and S Company First Sergeant, and that he and the Company Commander were negligent in their duty of care by failing to notice the effects that their actions had on the Corporal."

"H'mm… you do realise that two of your key witnesses are tied up at NCIS?"

"Commanders Rabb and Austin? Yes, sir. And so is the NCIS ME who pronounced death and carried out the autopsy. But I shouldn't need any of them for more than a morning or afternoon, and I have plenty of other witnesses from the battalion to testify against the cadre."

"So… a week today, eh?"

"Yes, sir, provided that defence counsel can be ready…"

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 1519hrs EDT, Conference Room, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, ** **(011919ZMay01)**

Meg stifled a yawn while Harm rubbed his eyes, of all the people present he was probably the one least used to staring at a TVB screen or PC monitor for hours on end, which is what he and the rest of the team had been doing as they reviewed the tapes from the traffic cameras that Meg had burned onto DVDs, and he was just about ready to call it a day..

Harm looked around at Meg, Tracy and Gibbs; Agents Owens and DiNozzo had been sent back to their own desks to go through the computerised archives searching for any former Marine Corps or Navy personnel who Gibbs was responsible for sending to Leavenworth, you might have the necessary marksmanship skills and who had completed their sentences within the last twelve months.

"We're getting nothing!" Harm said despondently, hoping for disagreement, but receiving only glum-faced nods of agreement in response.

But even as she nodded, a thought occurred to Tracy Manetti, "Meg, that shooting… the Marine Corporal we reckoned had been stalked… are there any traffic cameras on her route to her boyfriend's parents' house?"

"Maybe…" Meg's fingers flew over the keyboard, "Why?"

"Well, she was shot on the Saturday morning… and it wasn't a trip she made every day, but… she did visit them on Friday evening… so if there are any tapes from that time and place, then we might get lucky and spot a vehicle that was following her. That way, he'd have time to set up the ambush on Saturday, once he knew or guessed where she was going…"

Gibbs frowned, "If he was following her, how did he get in front of her to set up the shot?"

"Her trunk was full of groceries, with a till receipt for about half an hour before the shooting," Harm tapped the file he held meaningfully and shrugged, "It's pretty clear to me that she stopped at a store on her way."

"OK…" Gibbs grudgingly agreed, "But let's run both tapes for the Friday and the Saturday."

Meg sighed and using the technique she had used earlier, once more hacked into the Metro PD's traffic camera system, "If I get caught doing this, you're going to have to defend me, pro bono!" she warned Harm, "And keep the Admiral off my back!" she ended feelingly, remembering the letter of reprimand on her SRB.

"And if he won't, I will!" Tracy grinned, "I'll make it plain that you were only obeying orders!"

"Aw, gee, thanks!" Meg said sarcastically, bringing a grin to the faces of the others, even Gibbs. They were all aware that obeying orders was not a valid defence if a crime had been committed.

Ten minutes later, with both tapes burned on to DVDs, the four gathered around the monitor to watch a slow time replay.

It wasn't however until the third run-through of the second tape that Gibbs spotted something. "Hold it there! Rewind!" he shouted, nearly startling Meg off her seat and nearly deafening Tracy next to whom he stood.

"Okay… now play again… slowly… there…. Stop! That grey van… I'm sure I saw it on the Friday video…"

Meg quickly swapped out the discs in the DVD drive and fast-forwarded the player until Gibbs said, "Coming up about… now…Yes! There!"

All four examined the image on the screen, "It does look like it," Tracy said doubtfully.

"Yeah," Meg agreed, "But there are so many vans of that type around… and so many of them grey…"

"Can you advance frame by frame; see if we can get a licence plate?" Harm asked, as a knot of nervous tension formed in his stomach.

"Yeah… hold on…"

The frames ticked over with agonising slowness until there was a collective sigh of relief. "Maryland plates!" Gibbs said unnecessarily, "Can you sharpen up the image?"

Meg looked doubtful… "I might be able to, but it's not the clearest image I've ever seen…"

"Why, you-all have a masterly grasp of understatement!" Tracy offered in a bid to lower the suddenly heightened tension in the room, a bid which seemed to have been successful if the chuckles of the other three were anything to go by.

"There! Hold it there!" Gibbs snapped, "I think I can just about make out the plate… HLR 855…"

"Let's get back to the other disc," Harm suggested, "Let's see if we can match that with the grey van on that tape…"

It was the work of seconds for Meg, now like everyone else, given a fresh burst of energy by the discovery to swap out the discs again and fast forward to the time stamp where Gibbs had first noticed the van. Unfortunately the angle proved too acute for the full plate to be seen, but the last two digits of the number, '55' were clear enough.

Harm grinned, "How many friends do you have at the Maryland DMV?" he asked Gibbs.

"Not many, but enough!" Gibbs replied with a wolfish smile. "In the meantime, with me!"

He led them back to the bull pen and on entering snapped at Owens and DiNozzo, "Forget the paper chase for the moment. DiNozzo, take our JAG friends down to supply, and get them fitted up with vests, wind breakers and ball-caps, we're going tactical!"

As DiNozzo with a disappointed expression on his face led the trio of JAGs towards the elevator, Gibbs slid behind his desk picked up his phone and jabbing a sequence of numbers into the pad he waited for an answer and then spoke, "Hey Annie, it's me, Jethro. Jethro Gibbs I need a trace on a Maryland plate…" he read the numbers off his notepad and waited for a couple of minutes until his face split into a grin as her wrote down the name and address he was given..

"Thanks, Annie, I owe you one…. Yeah, I know you will!"

Replacing the phone on its cradle for a moment Gibbs sat still and then with a sigh, he picked up the phone and dialled another number that of the Maryland State Police at Rockville "Major Griffiths? This is Special Agent Gibbs from NCIS. I'm our lead on the Beltway Shooter case. We've just come up with a suspect's name and address, it's in your bailiwick, Rockville, and we could use some back up…"


	65. Chapter 65

**Chapter 65**

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 1903hrs EDT, McAuliffe Drive, Rockville, MD (010003ZMay01)**

The two unmarked, dark blue Crown Victorias rolled to a gentle stop at the North West end of McAuliffe Drive, "That doesn't look very promising," DiNozzo remarked, nodding his head backwards in the direction from which they had just driven.

Harm looked disgustedly across at Agent DiNozzo who sat behind the wheel. "Why not?" he demanded.

"It's the rear access to a strip mall," DiNozzo said, in the tone of someone trying to get an idea into the skull of a particularly dense child. "We're hardly likely to find a sniper in Dunkin' Donuts, or whatever the damned place is called!"

"You sure about that, DiNozzo?" Owens asked from the back seat, "You should know that low-lifes can pop up anywhere, a guy with all your experience, and all," she added

DiNozzo shook his head, "Nah, I don't buy it!" he argued, popping his gum for emphasis.

"But that doesn't mean that you go in there without your head being in the game!" Owens reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" DiNozzo waved a casually dismissive hand.

Harm had had enough, "Listen up, DiNozzo, I don't give a damn whether you get yourself killed or not, but if your sloppiness leads to either of my officers getting hurt, then the sniper will be the least of your problems. I'll kill you myself!"

DiNozzo turned to look at Harm, "Yeah, yeah…" he sneered, and obviously intending to say more, but the look in Harm's eyes convinced him that was a bad idea. "Listen, okay, I may not believe the sniper's there, but when I go in to any situation where there are weapons, I'm one hundred per cent in the game!" he said so defensively that he sounded like a small boy caught with his hand in the candy jar.

"Yeah?" Harm said cynically, "Just make sure you are!"

"I'd do as he says, DiNozzo," Owens grinned from the back seat, "It doesn't sound like the man likes you!"

To his relief, the approach of Gibbs gave DiNozzo the chance to both ignore Owens' jibe and to change the subject, "Heads up!"

Harm climbed out of the car and lounged against the side as Gibbs came close, and as he did so Harm noticed the older man's face was set in a grim, unhappy expression and that he was shaking his head.

"Problem?" Harm asked.

Gibbs nodded, "Yeah… this doesn't smell right…"

"Oh, why not?" Harm asked.

Gibbs shook his head again, "I don't know, but my gut tells me our shooter isn't around here… look at the address we've got, turns out to be a bakery in a strip mall… but I dunno… I just don't think our shooter's here… maybe they were false plates on the van… but something about this just doesn't make sense."

"It may not make sense to you or I," Harm argued, "but we've already come to the conclusion that our shooter is either a sociopath or a psychopath, so what he does, where he lives, what he does for a living doesn't have to make sense to us, just to himself." Harm paused, but then honesty compelled him to continue, "But… DiNozzo was saying the same about things not feeling right just before you walked over."

Gibbs grinned mirthlessly, "I know you don't like DiNozzo, and yeah, sometimes he's a pain in the ass. He's immature and annoying, all those; but he's also a pretty good cop, with pretty good instincts. Don't let your prejudices make you overlook that. Also, he's a pretty good man to have at your back if push comes to shove! Oh, and yeah, you got a good point too… Ah!"

Gibbs last exclamation was provoked by the sight of two large panel trucks, dark blue with SWAT marked in large letters on the side, turning into McAuliffe and pulling into the kerbside opposite the two NCIS cars.

The passenger side door of the lead vehicle opened and a figure dressed in black coveralls, the legs bloused over combat boots and wearing black body armour and a standard issue, black helmet crossed the street towards them. His eyes flickered between Ham and Gibbs, "Agent Gibbs?" he asked.

"That would be me," Gibbs agreed and jabbed a thumb in Harm's direction, "This is Commander Rabb, Navy JAG Corps…"

"I'm Lieutenant Richie Jeavons, Maryland State Police. Are we ready to go?"

Harm and Gibbs looked at each in dismay before Harm spoke up, "We're ready to plan," he said.

"What's to plan?" the state trooper asked. "The bad guy's holed up; we close the building, toss in a stun grenade or two, go in while he's still staggering and drag him out."

Gibbs frowned, even with his preference for straightforward methods this was a little too John Wayne for his tastes.

"Uh… what exactly have you been told?" he asked cautiously.

"Um… that you've got the Beltway Shooter holed up and you wanted back up to winkle him out. Why, is there something wrong?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Gibbs grinned mirthlessly and led the way around to the trunk of the second Crown Vic and unfolded a set of architects' drawings, while Harm gestured for Meg and Tracy to join them.

"No…" Gibbs used a pen as a pointer, "The shooter… if he is in the building… yeah," he added as an aside to the police lieutenant, "we're not even certain he is in the building… is in this building here. It's a commercial bakery in back with a retail store in front and it's the centre left store of eight that make up the Twinbrook strip mall, which at this time of day is pretty likely to be busy with lots of civilians around. Now… are you sure you want to go in all guns blazing?"

The lieutenant winced, "When you put it like that, no. But that's not the intel we were given! So…" he took a deep breath, "What do you suggest?"

"Shock and awe," Gibbs grinned mirthlessly. "A silent assault, front and rear simultaneously, and trust that the sudden irruption of… how many men you got?"

"Twenty-four."

"Well then, two dozen storm troopers will paralyse everybody for a few seconds and give us the edge we need."

The lieutenant bristled slightly at the description of his men as storm troopers, but acknowledged that Gibbs had a point. "Okay, so how exactly?"

"Well get your non-coms over here and we can all get briefed together," Gibbs replied, and then raising his voice yelled, "DiNozzo, Owens! Get your sixes over here!"

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 1941hrs EDT, Panificio Fratelli Marco, Rockville, MD (012341ZMay01)**

Less the two pairs of sharpshooters, one front and one rear of the building, Lieutenant Jeavons' men did as they had been briefed, on a radioed word of command they had rushed the building front and rear, and as Gibbs had suggested their sudden arrival was enough to shock customers and workers alike into stillness, and not a shot was fired. The customers in the retail store were quickly vetted and released, while the employees were all herded into the bakery area, where bakers, order pickers and drivers were already corralled.

Gibbs strode out to where he could be seen easily, "Okay," he yelled over the discontented grumbling, "Federal Agents here. Who's the manager here?"

A short, stocky, man, his short sleeves rolled up to reveal heavily muscled forearms, the result Harm guessed of many years kneading dough, stepped forward, "I'm Angelo Marco, one of the owners! What do you guys mean by this huh? You scare off my customers, make me lose business, stop my workers! Hey! Kent, take three guys and unload those damned ovens!"

"Nobody move!" Gibbs snapped out, and Kent froze in indecision, plainly scared by the heavily armed SWAT troopers but obviously almost as equally scared of his boss.

Marco took an angry step forward, "What's the big idea? You see those ovens over there?" he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the end wall, lined with a bank of imposing industrial ovens, "Well, in those ovens there's about a thousand bucks worth of baked goods, and if they ain't out of there is the next minute or two, they're ruined. Are you gonna pay for them? Because if you don't I sure as hell will be suing the state for compensation!"

Harm stepped up next to Gibbs, and said in an urgent undertone, "Let 'em save their bread. Send a squad of troopers with them to keep an eye on them. This guy doesn't look like he's going to cooperate as it is and we might just bring him around."

Gibbs grunted, whether in annoyance or in agreement |Harm couldn't tell but then the NCIS agent looked around and laid his eyes on a state police sergeant, "Sergeant, take three men and keep an eye on 'em. You, Kent, is it? Do what your boss said!"

Marco seemed to deflate slightly and offered a grudging, "Thanks, officer," to Gibbs.

"Agent," Gibbs corrected him gently, "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS." He looked at the bakery owner carefully for a moment and then asked, "You got somewhere we can talk?"

"Talk? _Now_ you want to talk?! Sheesh! Yeah, my office is this way, c'mon."

Harm and Gibbs followed, Harm calling over his shoulder, "Tracy, with me, please."

Gibbs, Harm and Tracy followed Marco into his office, which for tidiness, and much to Harm's surprise, put his own neat office to shame. Here it seemed there was a place for everything and everything was in its place.

Marco slid into the swivel chair on the far side of his desk and glared up at his visitors, "Okay what's all this crap about?"

Gibbs consulted his notebook for a few seconds, "According to DMV you're the registered owner of a grey panel van, licence plate number HLR 855?"

"So what? I'm the registered owner of nineteen vans. What?" he asked in surprise, noting the surprise on the faces of the three facing him, "You think my little shop out front can sell everything my bakery produces Naah… I sell to half a dozen super stores in the MD area inside the Beltway, so I need the vans for deliveries… Okay?"

"Uh… yeah… but HLR 855?" Gibbs persisted.

Marco swivelled his chair around until he faced a bank of green file cabinets… Okay… equipment… vehicles…" he mused as he ran his finger down the outside of the drawers, stopping at the second drawer from the top and sliding it open. Pulling out a file, he opened it on his desk and flicked through the pages for a minute or so before exclaiming, "Hah! I thought that licence plate sounded familiar. So much for the DMV! I sold that van two months, maybe six weeks ago…"

"Okay, to whom did you sell it?" Harm asked.

"Uh… I don't know…" Marco confessed. "See, I keep each van for three years. Bu that time, with the miles they do in heavy traffic they begin to have problems, so I sell 'em off… well… I send 'em to a vehicle auctioneers, and then the auctioneers send me a cheque for whatever the vehicle went for, less their commission of course."

"Which auctioneers?" Gibbs asked, his pen poised over his notebook.

"Monster Car and Truck Sales, Washington North East," Marco answered. He got up from his chair and placed the open file face down on the office photocopier and pressed a couple of buttons, "Here ya go… that's the sales invoice from the auctioneers and ya can see where I tore off the cheque…"

Gibbs took the photocopied sheet and carefully folded. "Okay, thanks, Marco…" he turned to Harm, "Well, we might as well be going. Thank you for your co-operation, Mister Marco…"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever! Just get on outa here will ya and take your goons with you. I still got a business to run!"

With Jeavons and his men back in their trucks and trundling back to wherever the Maryland State Police SWAT team had their HQ, Gibbs and Harm stood between the two Crown Victorias, discussing what came next.

"Ya think he's clean?" Gibbs challenged Harm, referring to Marco.

"Not sure," Harm replied, "but that's why I had Tracy come in to the office with us… Tracy?"

Both men waited until the dark-haired woman joined them, "Suh?" she inquired of Harm.

"That guy back there, Marco, how does he fit into your profile?" Harm asked.

Tracy gave a determined shake of her head, "Not at all… he's too hot tempered. Too explosive. He hasn't got the patience to be able to act as a sniper. Did you hear him light into his workers as we left, hollering and shouting at them, cussing them to get back to work, and that he didn't pay them to stand around lollygagging? Nope, if something lights his fuse, he explodes. I wouldn't put it past him to use his fists, or a rolling pin… but a sniper, no way."

Harm looked at Gibbs who grudgingly nodded his head. He still didn't have any faith in profiling, but his years as an investigator had made him a pretty shrewd judge of people, and for once his and the half-Asian Naval officer's opinion matched. "That's about my reading of the guy, too," he admitted.

Harm nodded, happy with Tracy's character analysis, "Thanks Tracy," he said and then turned back to "Gibbs, "So what now?"

"That auction place ain't too far off our road back to the Navy Yard," Gibbs said speculatively.

"True enough," Harm agreed, but looked at his watch, "But what are the odds there'll still be anyone there this time of the evening – someone who has access to the files and who can give intelligent answers to intelligent questions?"

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully, "You're probably right, but it wouldn't hurt just to swing by and take a look, would it?"

Harm glance anxiously at his watch, he didn't like the idea of Loren being alone in the apartment and becoming agitated again because he wasn't there, but he certainly didn't want to make a call to her while he was sat next to DiNozzo. But on the other hand, Gibbs seemed to be making a major effort to co-operate… He gave a mental shrug, "No… I guess it wouldn't hurt too much…"

Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 2037hrs EDT, Brentwood Rd NE, Washington, DC, (020041ZMay01)

Once again as the two NCIS cars pulled in to the kerbside Harm and Gibbs dismounted from the vehicles and after each had given the securely padlocked gates in the chain-link fence a sour look looked at each other and Gibbs gave a disgusted shrug, "Well, that looks like it until tomorrow… unless you want to push it tonight?"

Harm shook his head, "Nope, no can do. Tomorrow is fine by me."

Gibbs looked slightly impatient but then gave a shake of his head, "Okay… let's head back to the Yard, and make arrangements for tomorrow…."

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 2113hrs EDT, Men's Locker Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (020113ZMay, 2001)**

As soon as he had gotten back to JAG HQ Harm changed out of the ridiculous outfit DiNozzo had fitted him out with, 'fitted me up with, more likely' he silently reflected as he stuffed it into a plastic sack meant for recycling non-classified office waste, but a grin split his face as he emerged from the men's locker room just as Meg with an equally relieved end now dressed in a pair of slacks and a lightweight sweater walked into the hallway from the women's locker room opposite.

"Aw, shame…" he grinned as he pointedly eyed her slacks.

Meg tried to frown, "Don't go there!" she warned him, but her eyes gave her away as he tried to hide the wry amusement she felt. "I have never been so self-conscious in my life!" she complained.

"Ah… but I'll bet you never wore a skirt that short before!" Harm grinned unrepentantly.

"God, no! Not even as a teenager!" Meg giggled.

"Yeah, from what I remember you telling me back in the day, you were being too much of a tomboy!"

"Thank God!" Meg chuckled, "I had a hard enough time today keeping my cool with that DiNozzo slime bucket drooling all over me. Not to mention half of Maryland State Troopers leering at me as if they'd never seen a woman before! If guys had acted like that around me when I was nineteen or twenty, I'd have punched them out!"

"Just as well you didn't… I'd have a hell of time explaining to the Admiral just why one of his senior attorneys had been arrested for assaulting a federal agent or a police officer!"

Meg shook her head, "I just can't believe that creep is a federal agent, nor despite what Charlene Owens said, I just can't bring myself to believe that anyone could rely on him when the chips were down!"

"I got the same feeling when Gibbs said pretty much the same thing, but…"

"But Gibbs, yeah, I know you don't like him, doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to keep a no-hoper on his team," Meg finished thoughtfully.

"Yeah, that's true…" Harm said as he pushed open the swing doors that led to the lobby and the CP desk. By unspoken mutual consent Harm and Meg let the conversation drop as they signed out for the day, Harm merely remarking to Gunnery Sergeant Bonetti that he, Commander Austin and Lieutenant Commander Manetti would need an M-9 with four full clips each for zero seven thirty hours in the morning.

"No problem, sir!" Gunny Bonetti replied smartly, making the requisite note in the CP's occurrence book.

Harm nodded in satisfaction, "Goodnight Gunny!"

Bonetti stiffened into a brace, "Goodnight, sir, ma'am!"

Harm walked Meg out to her Mustang and as they walked he asked, "Shall I take that?" indicating the hated skirt which she had rolled up and tucked under her arm.

"Thanks, Harm," she smiled as he opened the bag for her to drop in the offending item of apparel, and once unburdened she turned and unlocked the car door and slid in behind the wheel.

"Y'know…" Harm began in a musing voice which immediately alerted Meg.

"What?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Oh… nothing much… I was just picturing you getting into your car while still wearing this…" he patted the bag which now contained the skirt.

"You! You… you… you man!" Meg protested, not sure whether to laugh or be really angry, but her sense of humour won out, "I am so going to get you for that!"

Harm smiled fondly, "Drive safely Meg!"

Meg shook her head in mock despair and drove off into the gathering darkness, waving a careless hand in farewell and with a smile on her face. 'Will he ever grow up? Harm? Grow up? Get real, girl, you_ know_ it's not gonna happen!'

Once Meg's Mustang had left the parking lot Harm hurried across to the Lexus throwing both his sea bag and the plastic sack into the trunk. He had already phoned Loren from the locker room and although she reassured him that she was 'fine' there was an edge to her voice that he didn't like, so losing no time, he jumped into the driver's seat and started the engine.

**Tuesday, May 1, 2001, 2151hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal St NW, Washington DC, (020151ZMay, 2001)**

Harm tried the door handle and fund, not much to his surprise that it was locked. With a weary shake of his head he fished in his pockets for his keys, unlocked the door and let himself in. The lights were on full and the TV was showing some mindless so-called reality show, so as he passed it on his way to the bedroom he pressed the off switch, and once he had done so, he could hear the sound of running water.

With a chuckle he opened the bathroom door, "Hey Loren, turning yourself into a prune again?"

Loren had tensed as the door opened, but at the sound of Harm's voice she relaxed, letting the hand that had grabbed for the towel on the bath stool slip back into the water, "Hey, you," she said softly, "I was beginning to think you'd run away with the Texas Tomboy, or your chaperone!"

"No such thing…" Harm started to say as he picked up the towel from the bath stool, intending to hand it to Loren, but his voice died away as his actions dislodged her Sigma so that it slid off the stool and landed on the floor.

There was a second's silence as Harm looked up and their eyes locked. The he dropped to one knee and carefully picked up the weapon. Seeing that the clip was in place, he checked that the safety catch was engaged and then removing the clip, he tilted the weapon to one side and worked the action, catching in his left hand the round that was ejected from the chamber.

Standing, he hefted the weapon in his hand and finished handing Loren the towel, "Oh, Loren… we really need to talk about this… "

Loren stood water dripping off her as she hastily wrapped the towel around herself, "What's to talk about? I don't feel safe here on my own. I couldn't be more vulnerable than when I'm in the bath, so I took precautions!"

Harm put the weapon back down on the stool and offered Loren a strong hand to offer additional support as she stepped out of the tub, "Oh, sweetheart, I know you feel this place isn't secure anymore," he said as he drew her into his arms, "but there's got to be a better way…"

Loren looked up into his eyes, "I did what I felt necessary for my own protection, and I would do it again!"

"That's what worries me, sweetheart," Harm admitted. "Look you know I've had to use firearms, but I don't like using them, and I know you don't. Look how shaken you were after the Turlington thing. And it's still controlling you." He shook his head, and stepped back, but kept his hands on Loren's shoulders, "Have you eaten yet?"

Loren shook her head, bewildered by the change in subject, "No, I was waiting for you… but what's that got to do…?"

"Nothing," Harm interrupted her, "But I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I could always argue better on a full stomach. Go and get dressed… although… you just being in a towel has a certain attraction…" he leered suggestively.

"Oh, forget it buster!" Loren said with a half-grin, "If you're about to chew me a new six then anything else tonight is right off the agenda!"

"Oh, well, in that case, while you're getting dressed, I'll go fix us something quick for dinner!"

Two cheese omelettes and a salad later, Harm drained the last of his mineral water and took a deep breath, "Okay… first off, yes, I know you know your way around firearms, but in a way I wish you didn't. The more you keep a loaded and cocked weapon around, the greater chance you have of having an accident and shooting someone you didn't mean to, the pizza boy, or the guy who delivers the Chinese, or me or even yourself?"

Loren, now in a pair of dark-blue satin pyjamas, scowled across the breakfast bar at him, "That's not going to happen!" she said defensively.

"And that's what everyone who ever accidentally shot someone they didn't mean to though," Harm replied reasonably.

"Look… as you rightly say, I'm trained in the use of firearms. And what's the first rule of weapon handling? Always assume that a weapon is loaded until you've made certain that it's not! Right?" Loren challenged him.

"Yeah, that's right," Harm agreed, "But the problem is that if people have firearms constantly around they get so used to them that they get complacent, and that's when accidents happen."

Loren drew a deep breath, "This discussion is getting us nowhere! I'm going to bed!"

"No!" Harm responded unthinkingly.

Loren froze halfway off her bar-stool, "What did you just say?" she demanded incredulously as her eyes flashed with anger.

"Uh… that came out more… well… I didn't mean it to sound like an order… I just… Loren, I'm sorry…" Harm drew another deep breath, "It's just that I thought we had an agreement not to go to bed still mad at each other, and besides, this is far too important a conversation not to resolve."

Loren stood for long, long moment while Harm held his breath as he waited for her reaction.

Then she nodded, "You're right. We do have that agreement in place!" she said her voice still icy, but at least she sat down again and stared across the table at Harm. "Okay… I accept that you didn't mean to issue an order, but be warned, I won't stand for that tone of voice at home. I wouldn't like it in the office, but there I'd have to put up with it. But don't ever speak to me like that again in my apartment!"

Harm winced at the reminder that this had been Loren's home long before they became a couple, and that the lease was still in her name. "Is that how you feel, Loren, that this is still your place and not our place?"

Loren looked as if he'd struck her, "Oh God, Harm, did I just say that?"

"Yeah, yeah you did… Did you mean it?"

Loren looked confused, "I… I don't know…" she sat in silence for a minute or two while Harm too stayed quiet to let her think. At length Loren looked up, "No… I don't mean that…" she said slowly, "But when it sounded like you were ordering me not to do something I'd said I was going to, then I guess I felt threatened. I think it's all tied up with not feeling safe in here anymore. Maybe for a second or two I thought that if you weren't here I'd be free to keep my weapon at hand every second of every minute, but I don't want that! The thought of you not being here… well… it doesn't scare me, but if you left, if I kicked you out, then I know I'd feel a certain satisfaction for the moment… but I'd miss you like hell;, and your not being here, would hurt, would really hurt. No Harm this is our apartment, for better or for worse, and for the moment it is for the worse. Harm I really don't think I can live here for much longer…"

Harm nodded and stretched his hand out across the breakfast bar and waited for Loren to put her hand in his. "Okay, I know you don't feel safe or happy here anymore, and I promise we will start house hunting on the weekend, starting Friday evening. So I'll get on to some agents tomorrow if I get a chance, and we'll have some listings delivered. Then tomorrow evening, we can sit down together and go through them, crossing off all those that are totally unsuitable. But, we may have to compromise on what we think is our ideal and what's available that we can afford.

Loren nodded, "Okay…"

"And tomorrow, you need to start doing something about finding someone to talk to…"

Loren sighed, "I really don't want to, Harm… If we're going to start looking for a house then we're going to need every penny we can scrape together, so we can't afford to waste money on private therapy, and if I go through the Navy… well… you know how that will look on my record…"

"What? That you needed someone to talk to in order to resolve your feeling after a home invasion? Loren it's not as if you had an identified mental disorder… think of it as a debriefing, like aviators, or Seals, or even Marines go through every time they complete a mission. They have these debriefings not just to gain intel, but to let the guys get off their chests anything that's bothering them. If you don't like the idea of approaching the medics direct, why don't you let me ask around for you, unofficially, I know a few therapists up at Bethesda…"

"I didn't know you were so screwed up!" Loren half giggled.

Harm's face darkened for an instant, "Well, I did need some counselling after my ramp strike…"

"Oh, Harm, I'm so sorry…"

Harm waved off Loren's apologies with a grin, "And it's a wonder I didn't need more counselling after the crap that life's thrown at me since, but what I really meant was that I've had to call psychiatrists and psychologists as expert witnesses at various courts martial over the years…"

"You could do that?" Loren asked.

Harm nodded, "Of course I can ask, but that doesn't mean any of 'em will say yes!"

Loren nodded decisively, "Okay, if you can get a therapist to assure me that counselling won't go on my record then okay, I'll see someone."

"In that case, I'll ask." Harm promised.

"Good… are you ready for bed yet, 'cos I am."

Harm nodded, I'll just make sure the doors and windows are secured then I'll grab a quick shower. And I'll be in bed with you before you know it!"

In a way he was right. By the time he got to bed some ten minutes later, Loren was fast asleep; the lines of stress and worry had gone from her face and with her soft golden hair splayed out across the pillow, Harm though she looked like a small child sleeping peacefully.

**Wednesday, May 2, 2001, 0753hrs EDT, Bull Pen, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (021153ZMay01)**

Harm, Meg and Tracy stepped out of the elevator into the growing buzz that was NCIS Ops as the day's work began, and made straight for Gibbs' desk. Gibbs looked up as they approached and let his crooked grin show for an instant, "What kept ya?" he asked, but then without waiting for an answer he turned and barked "DiNozzo!"

"On it boss!" DiNozzo activated a remote, bringing to life the large, flat-screen monitor mounted behind Gibbs desk. The screen showed mug-shot images of two middle-aged men who shared a family resemblance.

"Henry and Lawrence Sullivan, better known to their rather unsavoury intimates as Hank and Larry," DiNozzo began, attracting a hard stare from Gibbs and the hastily added, "Sorry, boss!" from DiNozzo as he continued. "The owners and licensed auctioneers for Monster Car and Truck Sales North East of Brentwood Road NE, Washington DC. Both men have arrest records for a string of assaults and Hank has an arrest for intimidation and threatening behaviour, all to do with their business. Both men have a reputation in the world of used car sales as being hard-head, and hard-fisted men, but a corresponding reputation for honesty and fair dealing. Go figure – an honest used car salesman!"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs growled impatiently.

"Sorry, boss! Owens is looking into their financial records and business and private accounts…"

"Owens?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, boss. They pay themselves well, but they also pay a reasonable wage to their employees, nothing extravagant, but well above minimum wage. Their latest IRS audits match their declared income and expenditure according to company records"

"So apart from being hot-tempered and too ready with their fists, they're model citizens?" Gibbs asked with a touch of irony.

Owens nodded, "Seems like it boss."

"One other thing, boss," DiNozzo frowned, "They have permits for firearms for the defence of the property."

"If they've got felonies recorded against them, how the hell did they get weapons permits?" Gibb s demanded.

"Uh… it looks like none of the charges against them made it as felony assault; they were all classed as misdemeanours…" DiNozzo said unhappily, "and the last arrest was… uh… sixteen years ago…"

"So… they've either changed their ways… or they've got someone in their pocket," Gibbs mused.

"Could be they've changed, boss, they're both members of the local Knights of Columbus chapter, and are known as heavy contributors to charity."

"That jibes with their personal accounts, boss," Owens corroborated.

Gibbs shook his head, "So, a couple of real sweethearts… still, don't believe everything you read. He looked at the three JAG officers, noting with approval that all had taken yesterday's lesson to heart and had showed up in smart, tough but casual wear that would keep them unnoticed on the streets, well, apart from the two women. It struck him that they could be wearing burlap bags and still attract male attention. "You three need to draw side arms again?" he asked.

"Nope, we brought our own today," Harm said with a grin.

"Good! Saddle up!" Gibbs yelled at his two agents, "Let's go visit with the Sullivans!"

**Wednesday, May 2, 2001, 0841hrs EDT,** **Monster Car and Truck Sales North East, Brentwood Road NE, Washington DC (021241ZMay01)**

"DiNozzo, you and Owens have a wander round, see of you can spot anything fishy, but try to look like you're interested in buying," Gibbs instructed the two NCIS agents, "Commanders, if you'd care to accompany me?"

Gibbs led off across the yard where to Harm's eye there seemed to be about three hundred vehicles parked. Vehicles of all makes and models and in varying condition. Some, particularly the newer, better conditioned one were marked up with a seller's reserve price on them. Others, particularly the vans and trucks, which stood in a row by themselves, bore no such price marking.

Gibbs headed towards the one building on site, a long, low, white building in the middle of the wall facing the yard was a single door marked "Reception".

As Gibbs opened the door a buzzer sounded bringing a young woman out through a door to behind the counter that ran the width of the room. She raised her eyebrows slightly at the sight of five people entering as a group, but nonetheless managed a professional smile and greeted them politely, "Good morning, how may I help you?" her eyes swept the group, swiftly passing over Gibbs and the two female JAGs, but coming to rest on Harm and as they did so, her smile widened slightly and became warmer.

Meg sighed, and slipped her arm possessively through Harm's – to his and the young woman's confusion, while Gibbs just grunted in annoyance and flashed his badge and ID, "NCIS Agent Gibbs. We need to speak with Mister Sullivan."

The young woman tore her reluctant eyes away from Harm and in a manner that forcibly reminded Harm of DiNozzo at his most irritating, popped the gum she was chewing. "Which one?" she asked unhelpfully.

"The one who calls the shots," Gibbs said calmly, but fixing her with a glare that was meant to convey the message that he wasn't in the good for games.

If he meant to intimidate the young woman he failed miserably, with another pop of her gum she said, "Well… that would be Mister Lawrence…"

"Okay… get him." Gibbs demanded brusquely.

She gave him a disdainful look and replied, "Just stay here and I'll check whether he has the time to see you."

"Tell him to make the time!" Gibbs snapped, his patience running out fast.

The receptionist, if that was what she was, simply gave a sniff that reinforced her opinion of Gibbs and sauntered back through the door behind the counter, leaving the group time to look around the reception area.

The fittings were old, as was the furniture, both showing signs of wear. The carpet covering the floor however was a hard-wearing industrial quality carpet in a dark brown colour that Harm guessed would hide a lot of dirt, but it looked as if it had been recently hovered. The low tables, littered with auction catalogues were dust free, and the chairs looked as if they could be sat in without risking the cleanliness of the sitter's clothing. A few framed prints of classic cars hung on the walls and a second door marked "Private" pierced the interior long wall of the room.

Just as Gibb's temper was beginning to boil over, the receptionist returned and with a bright, but totally false smile said, "I'm sorry, but Mister Lawrence has a full calendar today, and Mister Henry is not on the premises, but if you would like I could make you an appointment… Hey! You can't do that!"

Her protest was sparked by an impatient exclamation from Gibbs as he threw open the door marked private and snapped "With me!" over his shoulder at Harm, Meg and Tracy. Once through the door however, he paused to get his bearings and then on no more than his gut instinct he turned right and headed for a door at the end if the hallway, by this time the receptionist had come into the hallway but was now behind the party, but kept shouting, "Stop" stop!"

The noise was enough for a couple of doors to open and a couple of curious female faces peeked out into the hallway but the sight of Gibbs' scowl as enough to send them bolting back into their offices. Not so with the occupant of the end office. Unmistakably one of the Sullivans, he took in the scene in an instant.

"I'm sorry, Mister Lawrence, I tried, but they…"

"It's okay, Francine," he drawled in an accent that Tracy immediately placed as being from the southern end of the Virginia Blue Ridge Mountains, "Y'all head on back to reception. I'll handle things from here on in, y'hear?"

"Yes, Mister Lawrence, I am sorry," an audibly relieved Francine replied and quietly effaced herself.

"Now, you look like the herd-bull here," Lawrence Sullivan said to Gibbs, "So, whyn't you-all just step into my office and we can discuss whatever you want like civilised Christians. His eyes flickered to Tracy, "My apologies, ma'am, if you adhere to another belief system, there was no insult intended."

"And none taken, Mister Sullivan," Tracy replied coolly.

Sullivan only just managed to conceal his surprise at hearing Tracy's accent and backing into his office, held the door open to allow the five visitors to troop in.

"My apologies to you-all again, but we appear to have a dearth of seats," he wheeled his own hair out from behind his desk and positioned it near the two chairs in front of the desk before hitching a hip onto a corner of the desk, "I could call someone and get another couple of chairs for you gennelmen?" he suggested.

Gibbs just shook his head, and Harm with an irritated glance at the NCIS Agent said, "No, thank you. That's very thoughtful of you, but we hear you're a busy man, so we won't beat about the bush, which means we'll be out of here before our legs get tired."

Sullivan chuckled, "That's fair enough, and that being the case how can I help… NCSI was it?"

"NCIS." Gibbs corrected him, "Naval Criminal Investigation Service."

"The Navy? How can I help the Navy, I sell cars not boats." Sullivan quipped, bringing brief, pained smiles to the faces of everybody except for himself. He gave a little shrug at their reaction, "Stony ground," her murmured just loud enough for Harm to hear, and this time his sally brought a genuine, if passing smile to Harm' lips.

"We understand that you do business with Fratelli Marco, a bakery business up in Rockville." Gibbs said.

Lawrence Sullivan nodded, "I couldn't say for sure without checking with our records office, but I'm sure you wouldn't have come here if you weren't certain."

"We're certain," Gibbs said, and slipping his hand into his pocket he pulled out sheet of paper, now laminated into a transparency, "This is a sales invoice from you to Fratelli Marco, which had a tear off cheque attached to it in respect of a vehicle sale."

Lawrence nodded, "That's our usual business practice, yes."

"The vehicle in question is now an item of interest in an investigation, and we would like to know to whom you sold it. I assume you don't do finance deals and therefore that you ask for some form of identification when a customer writes you a cheque."

"Damn, straight we do!" Lawrence grinned, "It doesn't take more'n a couple of kited cheques to make you very wary in this business."

"That being so, Mister Lawrence," Meg deepened her own accent, "P'raps you-all can tell us who bought this particular van?"

"Surely, ma'am," Lawrence smiled, by no means immune to Meg's beauty and southern charm – which she exaggerated when it suited her purpose. "If you could pass me the invoice, please Agent Briggs?"

"Gibbs, Agent Gibbs," the harassed NCIS man repeated firmly.

"Once again, my apologies. My receptionist wasn't too clear, and then again, you didn't identify yourself, so I just repeated what I thought I'd heard. Now… if you'll allow me a moment…" he slid off the desk and walked around it to where he bent over his computer and checking the details on the invoice he tapped a few keys and waited. A grunt of satisfaction escaped hi lips and a few seconds later, a sheet of paper purred out of the expensive printer on the desk's return, and with a smile he picked it up and read out, "Yep a 1998 Ford Econoline, Maryland licence plate, HLR 855, sold to Carlos L Chaykal, 3908 Colonial Avenue, Alexandria, Virginny. There you go Agent Gibbs.

Gibbs looked at him blankly for a moment and then seemed to give himself a shake, "Thank you, Mister Sullivan, we'll get out of your hair now."

"Allow me to see you out," Lawrence smiled as he came around the desk once more and held the door open for them, "Ladies, it was a pleasure to meet you both."

Gibbs remained silent until he reached the two parked Crown Victorias, where he pity his fingers in his mouth and whistled. DiNozzo and Owens re-appeared from around the end of one of the rows of vehicles and casually made their way back to the cars. "Report!" Gibbs snapped.

DiNozzo shook his head, "Nothing obvious boss, no chop shops or anything, looks like a legit business, at least on the surface."

Gibbs looked at Owens as if for confirmation, "Like Tony says, it looks like an up-front clean business."

"Yeah… anything your end, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Nope, a total bust." Gibbs ground in in frustration.

"But I thought we got a name and address?" Tracy asked.

"We did, but the address is a bust, and I'm willing to bet the name is too. And the bastard is rubbing our noses into it. It looks as if you were right yesterday, Commander," he added looking at Tracy. "It looks like he has got a grudge against NCIS!"

Tracy looked pleased but puzzled, "Thank you, I think."

"How do you know the address is a bust, boss?" DiNozzo asked,

"Because I recognised it!" Gibbs replied and handed the sheet of paper to DiNozzo, who looked at it, shook his head helplessly and handed the paper back to Gibbs.

"You don't recognise that address?" Gibbs asked his agent unbelievingly.

"No, boss, sorry, it doesn't mean anything to me…" DiNozzo confessed and then yelped "Ow!" as Gibbs' free hand swept around and smacked into the back of DiNozzo's head

"What was that for, boss?" he asked in an almost-whine.

"That's for not recognising Tom Morrow's address!" Gibbs growled exasperatedly. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"One moment, Gibbs," Meg spoke up, a tiny frown had put a pair of vertical creases between her eyes, "May I have a look at that?" she held her hand out, and tweaked the paper from Gibbs' hand. She stood a moment reading what was printed and then a reluctant grin appearing at the corners of her mouth, she muttered "Damn Sullivan's accent, I thought that name sounded strange, it isn't 'Chay-kal' it's 'Chacal' and is a definite bust!"

"How so?" Harm asked reading over her shoulder.

"Meg gave an irritated sniff, "What's happened to your Spanish, Harm? It was never that good, but it used to be good enough to read that!"

Harm looked again, "Carlos L Chacal… no… oh! Wait! Yes! Carlos El Chacal – Carlos the Jackal!"

Meg let a smirk appear on her face as Gibbs, DiNozzo, Owens and Tracy all looked at each other with varying degrees of incomprehension writ large on their faces.

"I thought he was a fictional character!" Owens said.

Tracy shook her head, "No… he's real enough, he was jailed in France, two life sentences for acts of terrorism, without parole."

"Yeah, how would you know that?" DiNozzo jeered in an effort to hide his own ignorance.

"Possibly because she spends her time doing more than reading movie magazines, and actually watches something on TV other than hoary old films!" Owens spoke up in Tracy's defence.

"Enough! Get mounted, and let's get back to the yard. Owens, as soon as we're back get an all agency bolo out on that vehicle. He's got to have it hidden away somewhere. Which means he has to move it whenever he takes a stand. And if he moves it, we can see it! Or somebody damn' well better had!

**Wednesday, May 2, 2001, 0841hrs EDT, Courtroom 3, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA** **(021241ZMay01)**

Gunnery Sergeant Fieberling, JAG HQ's senior Bailiff rose to his feet, "All rise! This General Court Martial is in Session, the Honourable Judge Captain Owen Sebring, US Navy, presiding.

Carolyn and Loren rose to their feet on the prosecution side of the aisle while behind the defence table Major Devereux, the SJA at Quantico and the accused, Lieutenant Colonel Walters rose to theirs.

Lieutenant Colonel James Robert Walters, USC, you are charged with twenty-three specimen counts of Wilfully Disobeying an Order or Regulation which was known to you, or which you might reasonably be expected to know, that is to say Marine Corps Order 1700.28 which forbids the practice known as hazing, and with a further twenty-three specimen counts of Disobeying an Order or Regulation which was known to you, or which you might reasonably be expected to know, that is to say Marine Corps Order 5800.8, which forbids the imposition of Incentive Physical Training at any stage in a Marine's career after the successful conclusion of recruit training. How do you plead?"

Devereux cast a quick glance at his client and turned back to face Judge Sebring, "Not guilty, your honour."

"Very well," Judge Sebring said, and looked at Carolyn, "Is the prosecution ready to begin proceedings?"

"We are your honour," Carolyn replied.

"Very well, make your opening statement."

Carolyn drew a breath and walked out from behind the prosecution table and turned to her right to address the panel. "Members of the panel, in this case you will hear how Lieutenant Colonel Walters on defiance of orders signed by the Commandant of the Marine Corps fostered a regime within his battalion that encouraged the victimisation of women marines by subjecting them to a harsh and unnecessary and degrading and illegal long term regime of extra training, to be carried out in what would normally have been those Marines' off-duty hours, including their meal times, when they were not allowed sufficient time to eat the rations they had been served. You will also hear how these same women Marines were awarded Incentive Physical Training to punish them, again in direct disobedience to an order signed by the Commandant of the Marine Corps expressly forbidding the imposition of Incentive Physical Training on Marines who had successfully passed put of recruit training phase, or Boot Camp, as it is more generally known. The accused faces twenty three specimen charges, but it is suspected that there were many, many more cases that should be taken into consideration. Now, it may be true that the accused did not personally give orders to each individual woman Marine who was terrorised in this manner, but he was the Commanding Officer of that battalion, and it was his responsibility to ensure that those orders issued by his higher authority and made known to him were obeyed both in spirit and in letter. He did neither; he connived at and condoned behaviour so heinous that promising Marines either failed to re-up at their option points. Or allowed themselves to be so disillusioned by their treatment that they accepted or engineered medical or administrative discharges. The cost of such waste has yet to be fully calculated, but it runs into many thousands of dollars. But it is not the money involved in this case that should concern you. It is the question of whether Lieutenant Colonel Walters did or did not disobey Marine Corps Regulations. It is our intention to prove that he did disobey those orders. Thank you.

MAJOR Devereux rose as Carolyn smoothed her skirt under her and re-took her seat. "Members of the panel, we have all just heard trial counsel state their case. And in doing so she made use of a lot of emotive terms, and yes, it was a very clever piece or oratory. But, and this is a big but, nothing of what trial counsel said regarding the practices at MCCDC Quantico, loathsome and illegal as they might have been, can be placed at the feet of Lieutenant Colonel Walters. You will undoubtedly hear mention of the responsibility of command, in that whatever happens in that unit, be it an infantry squad or a motor maintenance battalion, is ultimately the responsibility of the commander of that unit. But the commander can only be held responsible if he knew of the abuses being carried out supposedly in his name. The defence will show that Colonel Walters is innocent of the charges brought against him, by virtue of a conspiracy of silence engineered by his subordinates in a deliberate effort to keep him from finding out that Marine Corps orders were being disobeyed and that he was in effect betrayed by men that he thought he could trust, in fact by men whose trust, unconditional trust and obedience, he had every right to demand!"

Devereux turned on his heel and returned to his seat.

Judge Sebring looked at his watch, and nodded to Carolyn, "The prosecution may call its first witness."

Carolyn looked at her witness list, "The prosecution calls Captain Maria Klein, Military Police, United States Marine Corps!"

Maria Klein entered through the double doors at the rear of the court room and marched, head high down the aisle to where the bailiff escorted her to the witness stand, and duly swore her in as a witness.

Carolyn rose and approached the witness stand, manoeuvring so that she could see Klein, Judge Sebring and the panel, and with the slightest turn of her head also see the defence table so that she could judge their reactions to her questions.

"Would you please state your full name, rank and duty station for the record," Carolyn asked.

"Maria Sylvana Klein, Captain, Military Police, USMC, attached to the Office of the USMC Inspector General, Washington DC." Captain Klein responded in a clear voice.

"Thank you. Can you tell the court what your specific duties were for the period March Eighth and March Thirteenth this year?"

"I was assigned as the IG's liaison with Naval Criminal Investigation Services for the duration of an investigation into alleged instances of widespread disobedience to…"

"Objection!" Devereux was ion his feet, "This witness has no idea of the scope of these so-called instances of disobedience to orders. For her to state that they were widespread is highly prejudicial to my client's case!"

Sebring looked at Carolyn, "Commander?"

"The witness did not state that these occurrences were widespread your honour, she said that she was detailed to assist NCIS to investigate reports of allegedly widespread disobedience."

"Yes, she did." Sebring nodded his agreement. "Objection overruled, proceed, please, Commander."

"Thank you Your Honour. What did your investigation reveal, Captain Klein?"

**Wednesday, May 2, 2001, 1931hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal; Street NW, Washington DC (022331ZMay01)**

"And what happened then?" Harm asked as he poured their after dinner coffee.

Loren had been bubbling with nervous tension after the first day of the string of Quantico courts martial. Major Devereux had succeeded in obtain separate trials for his clients and so it looked like the process was going to drag on for quite a while.

"Oh, Captain Klein was a brilliant witness. She answered crisply and clearly, never tried to voice her opinion when she wasn't sure of an answer, and asked for and received permission to consult her notebook to refresh her memory – Devereux objected to that of course, but Judge Sebring overruled him. She gave a pretty damning oversight of the whole sorry mess." Loren then frowned slightly as Harm settled next to her, "It wasn't quite so pretty on cross, though. Devereux tore into her, and tried to discredit her testimony on the grounds that she was, or had been in the past, guilty of disobedience to orders too…"

"Her marriage?" Harm guessed.

"Yeah… but… but you knew about that?"

Harm nodded, "I did, but that's not important… go on…"

"Not important? Mister this conversation is not over!" Loren declared, but then snuggled back under Harm's arm and continued, "Anyway, it didn't really matter, Carolyn was magnificent, she didn't miss a shot all day, and now she was on her feet like a rocket, objecting that Captain Klein's past didn't matter a damn, because she wasn't the one on trial!"

"And what did Judge Sebring have to say to that?" Harm asked slightly amused at Loren's vehement praise of Carolyn.

"Oh, he agreed with Carolyn again, and overruled the objection. And that's got me a little worried, Harm." Loren confessed.

"Oh… why?"

"Well things went a little too well today, so now I'm kinda waiting for a shoe to drop… and then later of course, the other one."

"Can't see it myself… looks like pretty much a slam dunk from what you've said, Devereux may bleat about a conspiracy of silence, but it doesn't matter, Walters was the CO and if he didn't know what was going on in his command then he should have done, and there is no valid excuse on earth for him not knowing what was happening in his command. It was his responsibility, and he failed. But if the panel; buy that as his excuse, then it means he was derelict in his duty. I've known howitzer sergeants to lose their stripes over an incident on the gun site, when they were miles away at Battalion Headquarters. The privileges of command are there, but so are the responsibilities. That is why they pay us senior officers bigger bucks than they pay junior officers. We're more at risk because we tend to have more subordinates to screw the pooch – for which we are then held responsible!"

Loren craned he neck to glare suspiciously up at Harm, "Was that a dig at me?" she demanded.

"No not at you… well not at you specifically, more at Lieutenants in general," Harm said. And as he was to acknowledge later, somewhat incautiously, as Loren launched a deadly accurate revenge tickling attack which in a couple of minutes had Harm breathless and gasping for mercy.

"Good! And don't you forget it!" Loren exclaimed with immense satisfaction as she resumed her former position.

"Now, she continued, as if nothing had interrupted the conversation, "What about your day?"

Harm grunted in disgust, "Gibbs get worse, and what's more he does very little to correct his agents, one of whom, DiNozzo is in Meg's words a slimeball."

"Yeah, okay, I get it, you don't like Gibbs or his team and you hate working with them!"

"I don't dislike all his team, Agent Owens is okay." Harm protested.

"Oh… what's he like?"

"She is a very tall, almost as tall as Meg, African-American woman, maybe just a little older than you." he replied.

"And she's okay? Just okay?"

"Yeah, she's okay," Harm said, deliberately refusing to arise to that particular bait.

"H'mm…" Loren replied, letting the subject of Agent Owens drop, "But what about the day itself. How did the investigation go?"

"It was a bust. We thought we had a lead, and we tracked it down, and we got a name and address for the buyer of the van we think is being used for transport and as a mobile stand for the shooter. The trouble is the name and address we were given were both bogus. So all we've been able to do is put out a bolo and hope something turns up before anyone else gets themselves dead."

Loren winced in sympathy, "Harm… It might be an idea for you to check that your best service dress is ion top line for the morning. I've a feeling that while you're marking time on your investigation Carolyn and I are going to be calling you as a prosecution witness. And you know how Judge Sebring is likely to react if you're not there when called. Oh, and you might want to call Meg too, give her a heads up.

**Wednesday May 2nd, 2001, 2012hrs EDT, Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, 4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC (030012ZMay01)**

Meg sat up with a gasp and wriggled free of Victor's hold as she grabbed for her purse on the side table, "Austin!"

"_Hi Meg, it's Harm. Where are you? I tried calling your home number…. But…"_

"Oh… I'm just on my way back from the store, I haven't been home yet. Been to the gym for a yoga class…" she looked over the top of the phone at Victor and mouthed "Rabb". Victor nodded in understanding and lay back waiting for Meg to finish.

"What can I do for you Harm?" she asked in as natural a voice as she could manage.

"_More the other way 'round, this is a heads up. Loren's just tipped me off that we might be called as witnesses in the Walters court martial tomorrow. Judge Sebring is presiding, so you might want to make sure that your best service dress is up to scratch…"_

"Oh… okay, Harm thanks. I think it is, But I'll check when I get home. 'Night!"

"_Night Meg_."

Meg closed the phone and put it back in her purse, a frown on her forehead, "I hate lying, especially to Harm, he's one of my oldest friends in the service."

Victor struggled upright, wincing as his wound pulled at him, "I said this was a bad idea, Meg. We were better off sticking to plan A."

"Which one was that?" Meg tried to smile.

"The one I came up with before all this crap," Victor made a vague gesture at his stomach. "The one where I said no off duty contact until my hitch is up. Hey, querida, no tears, hey? From what the doctors have told me, with only one and a half kidneys lift, and a chunk blown out of my liver, I'm likely headed for a disability discharge, and as it was an injury in the line of duty, I could be a pretty penny to the better. So, we just need to be a little patient a little linger, entiendes?"

Meg bit back a sniffle, "Yeah, I got it. So, I guess I had best be off home, hey?"

"Yeah, but Meg, don't go mad at me, okay?"

"Oh… I'm not mad at you Victor, I'm mad at these stupid regulations, and I'm mad at me because I'm not strong enough to resist temptation!"

"Okay…, so you slipped up this once. It was a mistake. We all make mistakes. But you are a strong woman, my love, and you will resist temptation in future. And I know that is the truth, because if you weren't so strong I couldn't love you like I do!"

"Damn you, Victor Galindez! Don't you dare say such sweet things to me when already I'm having a hard enough time trying not to cry! Especially when I love you too!"

"Good, that is enough for now, so go on, go home my love, and drive safely!"

Meg managed a watery smile, "I will," she promised.


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter 66**

**Thursday May 3rd, 2001, 1018hrs EDT, Courtroom 3, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (031418ZMay01)**

Meg stood and squared her shoulders as the bailiff called her name. Adjusting the strap of her regulation purse over her left shoulder, she nodded her head for the bailiff to hold the door for her, and head up she marched down the central aisle of the court room, towards the witness stand, where the clerk of the court, Captain Sebring's Legalman waited to swear her in.

Taking her seat, she looked expectantly at Carolyn Imes, waiting for the red-head to begin questioning. Carolyn didn't keep Meg waiting for very long, "Good morning. Could you please state your name, rank and duty station for the record?"

"Megan Theresa Austin, Commander, United States Navy. My current billet is Headquarters the Judge Advocate Generals Corps, United States Navy, at Falls Church, Virginia." Meg said in a clear voice.

"Thank you; please tell the court the nature of your duties."

"I am an attorney and investigator."

Carolyn nodded appreciatively. Of course, she would have expected no less from Meg, who as an attorney knew how the game was played, was being careful not to answer questions she had not yet been asked.

"And what Commander Austin, do those duties entail?"

"I investigate alleged offences against Navy Regulations and Marine Corps Regulations and Orders, as an attorney I prosecute or defend alleged offenders as I am detailed on a case by case basis."

"And can you tell the court the exact nature of your duties the period March tenth to thirteenth this year?"

"I was assigned to investigate an alleged widespread occurrence of victimisation of female Marines at the Marine Corps Combat Development Centre at MCB Quantico."

Major Devereux rose to his feet, "Objection! The witness has no means of telling how widespread victimisation was, or indeed whether there was any victimisation!"

"Commander?" Judge Sebring asked Carolyn.

"The witness stated she was investigating alleged occurrences of victimisation. Also that it was alleged that these occurrences were widespread. Witness has not stated that these offences occurred, no matter how widespread they might have been."

Judge Sebring eyed Carolyn severely. He knew exactly she had done and he knew that she had done it deliberately. She had just reinforced in the panel's mind that the offences did occur and that they were widespread. But he also reflected that Devereux, had made his objection solely for the sake of disrupting Carolyn Imes' rhythm, and so in great measure had brought misfortune upon his own and his client's head. "Very well, Commander. Objection overruled!"

Devereux retook his seat, fuming at himself. As soon as Carolyn had started the reply to the judge, he realised that he had made a mistake, he also, like the judge, realised Carolyn had said what she had said quite deliberately.

Carolyn turned back to Meg, allowing a slight smile of satisfaction to pass fleetingly across her face once her back was turned to the judge.

"Just how, Commander, did you set about undertaking this investigation?"

"I was provided with a new identity as Sergeant Margaret Pearce, USMC, and I was furnished with orders to report for duty at MCCDC."

"So, you were working, as the saying goes, undercover?"

"Yes."

"And you duly reported for duty, as per your orders?"

"Yes."

"Where you met with a hostile reception?"

Devereux stood again, "Objection! Counsel is leading the witness!"

Judge Sebring gave Carolyn another long, hard look, "Sustained. Mind your step, Commander! The panel will disregard trial counsel's last question."

"My apologies, Your Honour. I'll rephrase. Please tell the court, Commander, in your own words what sort of reception you received when you first reported for duty."

"I was made to feel unwelcome by the Sergeant Major at HQ MCCDC Support Battalion, and then unwelcome and threatened by the First Sergeant of Headquarters and Support Company…"

"Objection! Neither the Sergeant Major nor the Headquarters and Support Company First Sergeant are on trial here!" Major Devereux once more shot to his feet.

"Commander?" Judge Sebring asked.

"The Sergeant Major and the H and S Company First Sergeant are the senior non-commissioned officers in MCCDC, it is the prosecution's contention that their attitudes permeate the entire command and influence the attitudes of those junior to them in rank and experience. Taking that contention into account it is the prosecution's intention to demonstrate that the hostility towards women experienced by Commander Austin, in the guise of Sergeant Pierce, pervaded the command structure of MCCDC to such an extent that the accused cannot possibly be ignorant of it, and therefore by taking no steps to eradicate that attitude, that he is guilty as charged."

Once again Judge Sebring looked Carolyn in the eye and eventually gave a curt nod of his head. "Objection overruled! I'll allow the witness' reply into the record. But once again counsellor, tread carefully, those remarks would have been better if they had been included in your opening statement!"

"Yes Your Honour!" Carolyn managed to hold back a smirk once again as she turned back to the witness stand and her eyes locked with those of Major Devereux.

"No, Commander, can you tell the court just how you were made to feel unwelcome by the Sergeant Major when you reported for duty?"

Meg hesitated slightly as she marshalled her thoughts, "Sergeant Major Conlan's attitude was off from the second I halted in font of desk. It wasn't so much what he said but the tone – the contemptuous tone in which he said it…"

"Objection!" Once again Devereux shot to his feet. "Now we are hearing the witness' opinion and not just to a recounting of the facts!"

"Counsel?" Judge Sebring asked again.

"Commander Austin is an experienced attorney, well used to interpreting unspoken signals, facial or somatic, in judging whether or not a speaker is concealing something, or being entirely open, and in judging a speaker's underlying attitude. If she states that a person's attitude was contemptuous, or derogatory, then I believe her."

"A fair summation, counsellor, but unconvincing. The panel will disregard the witness' last statement. Objection sustained."

"Yes, Your Honour." Carolyn turned back toward Meg. The Judge's ruling had not been entirely unexpected, both she and Meg had known that, due to the Sergeant Major's wiliness, that her evidence against him was the weakest part of her testimony.

"Moving on then, Commander, are there any specific details of your initial interview with the H and S Company First Sergeant that would lead a reasonable person to assume prejudice?"

"Yes. The first thing the First Sergeant said to me was that I was out of uniform. I was not."

"In what way did the First Sergeant suggest that you were out of uniform?"

"He ordered me to report back to him at a later hour in the uniform of the day."

"And the uniform of the day was?"

"Battle Dress Uniform."

"And you were wearing?"

"Service Dress Alpha."

"Then in the face of things, Commander, you were out of uniform."

"No… USMC Regulations require that personnel reporting in for duty at a new unit are required to wear Service Dress Alpha."

"Why then would the First Sergeant state that you were out of uniform?"

"I can't answer for what the First Sergeant reasons might have been."

"Yet you state that his attitude was hostile?"

"It was."

"I'm sure the court is just as confused as I am on this issue, Commander. You state that the First Sergeant's attitude was hostile, but you also state that you are unable to discern what he was thinking. Could you please explain this dichotomy?"

"Yes. I don't know what the First Sergeant was thinking, but I do know what my perceptions of his attitude were, and what effect they were having on me."

"That's a fine distinction, Commander."

"It is, but a necessary one."

"Do tell?" Carolyn invited.

"I can testify to what I heard and saw, I can testify as to what I thought and felt about what I heard and saw, but I cannot testify as to what another person was thinking, no matter what effect they might have on me."

"And what effect did the First Sergeant have on you?"

"I was concerned."

"Concerned about what?"

"I was concerned about what effect his attitude could have on me physically and psychologically."

"And were these concerns justified?"

"Yes."

"In what manner?"

"When I reported back to the First Sergeant, as he had ordered, he further ordered me to report for a PRT at seventeen hundred hours that afternoon."

"That sounds like a lawful command, why should it cause you concern?"

"For two reasons, there was an element of punishment in the time stipulated, as that was the hour for evening chow to be served in the mess hall and secondly because my SRB, as Sergeant Pierce, showed my PRT to be in date, and that retesting was unnecessary at that time."

"Objection! The witness cannot know whether the PRT ordered was necessary or not!"

"How so?" Judge Sebring demanded of Devereux.

"Your Honour, the witness as a relatively junior member of the unit, and a newly arrived member of the unit, cannot possibly have known whether PRT testing was mandatory for all new transfers-in, and in which case the testing was necessary."

Sebring thought carefully, "While the additional testing may have been unexpected and have come as an unwelcome surprise, I agree with defence counsel. The witness cannot have known whether unit policy made day one testing of newly arrived personnel necessary or not, so unless trial counsel can justify the witness' assertion then I am inclined to sustain the objection."

"If I may proceed Your Honour, I think that further testimony will justify the witness' assertion."

"Go on counsellor, but wherever you're going, get there quickly!"

"Yes, Your Honour. Commander, can you produce any corroboration that the PRT ordered by the First Sergeant was unnecessary?"

"In the context that it was not mandatory for new arrivals? Yes. Corporal Le Blanc, the H and S Company clerk expressed mild surprise that I was to undergo a PRT that afternoon. He advised me to eat a light lunch but also said that the last person the First Sergeant had subjected to such a regime was Corporal Henderson."

"The deceased?"

"Ye…"

"Objection! Your Honour, this is hearsay at best, and is irrelevant to the case now being tried!" Devereux was back on his feet.

"Counsellor?" Judge Sebring asked Carolyn.

"Not hearsay, Your Honour, but a relation of what was said directly to the witness. If we discount what she heard, then we must discount what she saw. If defence counsel cares to look at the witness list for the prosecution, he will see that Corporal Le Blanc's name appears, and so defence counsel will have ample opportunity to cross-examine him."

Judge Sebring nodded, "I'll allow it, objection overruled!"

The remainder of Meg's testimony took until lunch recess, and was a bald recounting of the treatment she had received that first day at Quantico. The only blip coming when she recounted that First Sergeant Santiago had reproved her on the state of her uniform. A reproof she alleged was unnecessary and unjustified.

In response to her allegation, Devereux once more objected, "With all due respect, the witness is a naval officer, not a Marine. How can she tell what was or was not an acceptable standard of presentation?"

Once again Judge Sebring queried Carolyn.

"With respect Your Honour, I suggest that we let the witness answer that question?" Carolyn replied.

"Go ahead."

"Commander, how can you be sure that your presentation was up to standard?"

"My uniform was prepared to the highest standard of presentation by a Staff NCO of the Corps, exactly so that my appearance could not legitimately be faulted."

"Different NCOs have different standards, Your Honour. It may very well be that First Sergeant Santiago has higher standards than this anonymous 'Staff NCO', Your Honour!" Devereux protested.

Judge Sebring hesitated. He, like almost everyone else at JAG HQ had heard that it had been Gunnery Sergeant Galindez who had put Meg through the mill on her run up to this investigation, but he could not, of course, bring his personal knowledge to bear.

"Counsellor?" he asked Carolyn.

Carolyn nodded; she had been hoping to avoid this, but for once Devereux had her cornered. "Commander, please tell the court the name of the Marine Corps NCO who assisted you with your personal appearance."

Meg bit her lip, she really had not wanted to bring Victor's name out into open court, but the question had been asked, and she had to answer it, "Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez."

Carolyn allowed a brief smile to cross her face, and turned back to face Judge Sebring, "Gunnery Sergeant Galindez is known to us, Your Honour, and it is our contention that Gunnery Sergeant Galindez cannot be faulted, or bettered, in the standards of presentation that he requires from himself and from his juniors."

"You Honour," Devereux complained, "That is an entirely subjective opinion… I see no sign of that name on trial counsel's witness list…"

"Counsellor," Owen Sebring turned back to Carolyn, "Why is that?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Galindez's involvement in this case was peripheral, and we saw no reason to call him a witness. He could add nothing material to the evidence."

"Where is the Gunnery Sergeant? Could he be called as a witness?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Galindez is currently on hospital leave, Your Honour, recovering from a gun-shot wound received while on duty."

"In this case?" Judge Sebring asked in surprise.

"No Your Honour, an entirely unrelated matter."

"Is he fit enough to travel?"

"For short distances? I think so, Your Honour, but I would need to take the matter under advisement, medical advisement," Carolyn emphasised for the sake of clarity.

"Very well, I shall expect an answer tomorrow, Counsellor."

"Yes, Your Honour."

Owen Sebring sat back, "Please continue, Counsellor!"

Carolyn took a deep breath, and pretended to consult her notes while she gathered here thoughts. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Devereux's disruptive tactics were beginning to have an effect on her concentration, but she had to fight back with what the court would allow, and her best weapon was the truth, "Commander Austin, please tell the court what happened when you reported for your PRT on day one…"

**Thursday May 3rd, 2001, 1223hrs EDT, Cafeteria, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (031623ZMay01)**

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs paused just inside the double swing doors to the cafeteria, and passed his hand backwards over his head in an unconscious gesture, and then shuddered as his hand swept the rain that had gathered in his hair down the back of his neck. His already sour mood further poisoned by the experience he glowered around the room until he saw his target, alone, at a corner table.

Shouldering his way across the room, he hooked a foot around a chair leg and without waiting for an invitation he sat.

"I got your message, what the hell's going on?" he demanded.

"If you got my message, then you know what's going on. Commander Austin and I have been warned as witnesses for today certainly, and from what I can gather, for tomorrow too, probably!" Harm replied. He raised a forkful of salad to his mouth, chewed and swallowed before asking, "Any news on your bolo?"

"Not a thing!" Gibbs said in disgust. "What's this case that's got you and Austin tied up? Couldn't it wait?"

"Apparently not," Harm said dryly, "and as for what case it is… Do you remember a couple of months back, the Marine Corporal at Quantico? The young woman who hanged herself?"

Gibbs' face fell into sober lines, and when he answered there was an edge of bitterness in his voice as he said quietly, "Yeah… I remember…" then his voice took on a questioning tone, "My… uh… Mike's team investigated that case, how come I haven't been called as a witness?"

Harm studied the NCIS agent carefully, noting the anger in the older man's eyes before he shook his head and replied, "I don't know… but if I were pushed, I'd hazard a guess that because this is the trial of the CO of Support Battalion, the actual death of Corporal Henderson isn't material to the charges he's facing. But I'm betting when it comes down to the Sergeant Major and the First Sergeant, your testimony _will_ be needed."

Gibbs slumped down onto the bench alongside Harm and shook his head in disgust, "Damn it, if I had my way, I'd have charged the CO with negligent homicide. It's his damn' battalion, he's responsible!"

Harm nodded, "That's why he's being charged with fostering an atmosphere where women marines were subjected to unnecessary and humiliating duties just because they were female. But the top guns in the legal world reckon that it was a stretch to include a manslaughter or negligent homicide charge. Unfortunately there's no equivalent in the UCMJ for corporate manslaughter."

"Damn well ought to be!" Gibbs grunted.

Harm merely nodded but refrained from commenting; while in sympathy with Gibbs, for once, he could immediately see legal pitfalls that would have adverse effects on operations.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes before Gibbs spoke again, "So…how long before you'll be free again? I really want to do more recon of the shooting sites…"

Harm shook his head. "Impossible to say right now. Meg's on the stand, but I don't know how far she's got with her testimony, or whether she's still under direct, or has moved on to cross exam…."

"Can't you hazard a guess?" Gibbs snapped.

Harm shook his head, "Too many variables; a lot depends too, on how many objections are made. They may only take a minute or so to resolve, but they all add to the length of time a testimony takes!"

Gibbs gave vent to a disgusted grunt, but he had appeared on too many witness stands too many times to be able to dispute Harm's reasoning. He levered himself to his feet, "Just call me when you're done. Okay?"

"You've got it!" Harm agreed. But as he watched the NCIS agent stride off in the direction of the elevator, he was left with the somehow disturbing feeling that Gibbs had come to him seeking reassurance and support, neither of which Harm felt he had been able to offer and left him feeling that somehow he had let down the NCIS agent.

"Somebody doesn't seem very happy?" Loren asked as she slid into the chair just vacated by Gibbs.

Harm looked across the table in surprise. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't even seen Loren as she made her way across the room towards his table.

"No… and just for once, I can't blame him. We seem to have hit a dead-end in the search for the shooter. It's almost as if he knew we were after him and he's decided to lay low… it's as frustrating as hell!"

Loren wound a few strands of spaghetti around her fork but paused before raising it to her mouth, "You realise what you just implied?" she asked.

Harm looked up with sharpened interest, "What?" he demanded.

"Well, you've more or less just said that you think there's a leak somewhere. How many agencies are involved in this case?"

"Five!" Harm grunted. "Us, NCIS, Metro PD, Virginia and Maryland State Police…"

Loren gave Harm a grim look, "Well, there you have it… too many people in the know. And you know what they say about more than two people being able to keep a secret!"

"Yeah… three can keep a secret if one of them is dead!" Harm finished for her.

Loren nodded glumly, "Well… there you have it… with five agencies and God knows how any individuals in the loop. It's almost inevitable that there's a leak…"

Harm made a face of disgust, "Yeah… but the idea of a law enforcement officer being a contact to a serial killer… there's just so much wrong with that picture."

Loren nodded again and took a mouthful of spaghetti, chewed and swallowed before answering, "Maybe it's not a mole, just an accidental leak… you know, a friend of a friend of a friend…" she said thoughtfully.

"Doesn't make much difference," Harm pointed out. "Like they used to say in the war, 'Loose lips sink ships!'."

"Okay… in that case use the same system that the allies used. Deception." Loren answered.

Harm pushed the remains of his salad around on his plate, "How do you mean?"

"Of all the agencies involved, how many do you know well enough to trust?"

Harm shook his head, "None of 'em!"

"Not even NCIS?" Loren asked in surprise.

"Oh… No… I trust them as far as keeping secrets goes," Harm replied, "I just don't trust 'em to be able to find their ass with both hands!"

"Well… you, Meg and… and… what's her name are working with them now, maybe you could keep their feet on the right path?" Loren suggested, "You know, work with them, but keep anything you find to yourself until you've got a definite lead, and only mention it to the other agencies when it's too late for a leak to reach the suspect?"

Harm looked thoughtful, "Well all the state police have been doing is keep an eye open for the obvious, but to cut them out of the loop… we'd need to discuss it with Gibbs and then if we can agree, take to both the NCIS Director and to the Admiral. If they – particularly the Admiral – found out that we were freezing out the police from our inquiries…" he left the thought unfinished as an expression of horror crossed Loren's face.

"Oh God… yes… you'd have to come clean beforehand… I really don't want to have to apply for spousal relocation while you spend what's left of your career scraping barnacles off garbage scows in Adak!"

Harm shuddered, "Don't even think about that! Now, how's the case coming along?" he asked brightly.

Loren scowled at him, "Don't think I don't realise what you just did!" she accused him, "As for the case, Meg's finished with direct, and we'll be starting with cross examination after lunch. Which reminds me," she glanced at her watch, "I gotta go, see if Carolyn and I can do some additional prep for her. Devereux is being a pain the ass, and I bet he's got a couple of nasty questions up his sleeve!"

Harm grinned. His ruse had been pretty transparent, but that wasn't important. What was important was that it had worked. "Okay… see you later… I've gotten some realtors' listings that we need to go over!"

Loren smiled and nodded, "Okay, see you later…" but Harm was pretty sure he had seen a flicker of hastily masked uncertainty.

Once Loren had weaved her way back through the clutter of tables Harm sighed and reached for his phone.

**Thursday May 3rd, 2001, 1948hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (032348ZMay01)**

Harm had tried his key in the lock, which was just the signal Loren had needed to come to the door and disengage the deadbolts and security chain. Harm frowned as he heard the locks being operated but managed to muster a half-smile as the door swung open. He was too tired to argue with Loren about her fears, and truth to tell, he was tired of arguing about them. He just wanted the old, feistier Loren back.

"Hi, sweetheart, sorry I'm so late," Harm said softly as he stepped through the door, and dropping his briefcase by his feet and his cover on the hall table he opened his arms.

Loren stepped in and reaching up she gently touched his cheek while her eyes searched his face, seeing the tiny and all but hidden signs of fatigue. She cradled his face in her hands and drew his face down to hers, kissing him softly on the mouth.

"Tired?" she asked sympathetically.

Harm considered his response for a few seconds, but then decided that honesty was probably the best route to take, "Yeah, a little, but more frustrated than tired…"

"You were okay at lunch, so what's happened to put you in that frame of mind?"

Harm dropped into an armchair and rubbed his hands up and over his face and head, "A series of tough meetings. Gibbs wasn't too hard to convince… He's really pissed about the fiasco with the van… just when we thought we were getting somewhere… and even the Admiral was okay with the idea of keeping things between the two agencies until it becomes necessary to share with the Local LEOs… not that he wasn't reluctant at first, but Gibbs kinda wore him down. He could say stuff to the Admiral that would have had me in the brig! But Director Morrow… Wow, he was one tough cookie. He just didn't want to buy into the idea at all!"

"But you persuaded him?" Loren asked.

"Eventually… but I don't know about 'persuaded' being the right word, it was more a case of Gibbs and me tag-teaming him until we wore him out… or down…"

Loren nodded. "Well, I'm just putting the finishing touches to dinner, come up and sit at the table and have a beer while we talk!"

Harm levered himself to his feet, "Hold that thought… but I think I'd best hit the shower first. I've got time?"

Loren glanced at her watch, "Fifteen minutes, and not a moment longer!" she warned him.

"Yes, ma'am!" Harm grinned and turning on his heel he made for the bedroom, his hands already working on the buttons of his white shirt.

He was back in a little over twelve minutes, dressed in joggers and a t-shirt, his hair still damp and spiky from having been hastily towel-dried. He walked up to the table and managed a half-power grin, "That feels better… now… did someone say something about a beer?"

Loren looked up from the work top where she had a salad tosser in one hand and a flask of salad dressing in the other, "That was before someone got busy… the beer's in the fridge, and I'm pretty sure you know where that is!"

"Just about…" Harm groaned as he got back to his feet, "Should I open one for you?"

Loren paused for a moment before she answered, "Yeah, that would be good. And… it will make a nice change to have a beer with dinner!"

Which is?" Harm asked as he nudged the fridge door shut with his hip, his hands being occupied in screwing off the two bottle tops.

"Moussaka with red lentils, bread and salad," Loren said as she placed the bowl of salad on the table and turned back towards the oven.

Dinner was eaten to the accompaniment of wedding plan ideas, the washing-up done and the kitchen secured before Harm made a pot of coffee and he and Loren settled down on the couch with a bowl of fresh fruit salad and natural yoghurt for dessert.

Harm took an appreciative mouthful of dessert and having swallowed, he asked, "So how was your afternoon?"

"Not bad. Meg stuck to her testimony, and although Devereux tried to trip her up, it's pretty difficult when you're faced with a witness who confines her answers to 'yes' and 'no', and then the one time he started a line if open questions, Carolyn shut him down with an objection that he was leading the witness."

"So… he's not the sharpest knife in the Corps' JAG Division box?"

Loren took her time as she took her next mouthful, think through her answer as chewed, "No… I wouldn't say that, exactly. He's got a lousy case, and whichever way he goes his client is likely to face dismissal at the very least, all he can really do is put up enough of a smokescreen in the hope that he can mitigate the sentence."

"Yeah, I can't understand why the guy didn't accept a plea-bargain!" Harm nodded as he scraped the last of the yoghurt from his dish.

"Semper Fi – Retreat? Hell no!" Loren offered as a possible reason for the Marine Officer's intransigence.

"H'mm… Yeah, that's always a possibility… but… Do you know if Devereux intends to put Colonel Walters on the stand?"

Loren looked at Harm curiously, "I don't know for sure, but I think so."

"Well… if he does, I'll bet it's so that that Walters can rant against the inclusion of the women in the services, citing physical and psychological weaknesses, even up to including Corporal Henderson's suicide as 'proof' that women aren't mentally or physically 'strong' or 'tough' enough to stand up to the stress of service life. After all, if a woman can't handle a little extra discipline, how's she going to fare in combat|?"

"That's disgusting!" Loren exclaimed.

"True, but it could also be compared to testing to destruction," Harm offered, but with an expression of distaste plastered across his face.

"But it would be so ineffective… it doesn't matter that he's sacrificing his career to uphold his opinions, women are in the services to stay, and are taking a fuller part on all aspects of military life. And that's not going to change no matter how many field-grade officers don't like it!"

"True. But it might mitigate his sentence. I've used the same tactic myself, and looking at the composition of the panel well… Even if they agree with his views the panel aren't going to commit career suicide by finding him not guilty, but they might press for a reduced sentence.."

"With Judge Sebring presiding? I think not!" Loren rebutted Harm's argument.

"No… probably not," Harm agreed. "Now… do you want to wash up while I rig the ironing board?"

Loren made a moue of distaste, "Flip for it?" she asked with a hopeful grin.

Ten minutes later Loren put the two dishes away just as Harm finished ironing her blouse for the morning and for a moment she stood hip-shot, gazing contemplatively at him. Feeling her eyes on him, Harm looked up as he draped her skirt over the ironing board, "Yes?" he asked.

"I was just thinking… With you bogged down in this Beltway shooter case, we're not going to be able to get away to Charlottesville this weekend, are we?"

Harm thought for a few seconds but then regretfully shook his head, "Nope… I can't see that happening. Remind me in the morning to call Mike…"

**Friday May 4th, 2001, 1128hrs EDT, Courtroom 3, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (041528ZMay01)**

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," Harm answered firmly, only half-listening to the Marine Corps Staff Sergeant Bailiff's curiously monotone rendering of the witness oath; an oath that Harm had heard so many times during his career that he could have recited it in his sleep.

The oath administered, he waited for Carolyn to start her direct examination, answering crisply and clearly as she asked him for his name, rank duty station and an explanation of his duties, before she moved on to her first significant question.

"Commander Rabb, can you please tell the court the nature of your duties on March Thirteenth this year?"

"Yes. I was investigating allegations of suspicious behaviour in Support Battalion, Marine Corps Combat Development Command at MCB Quantico."

"What sort of suspicious behaviour, Commander?"

"It had been brought to JAG's attention that a certain NCO, a Sergeant Booker, had been arrested for brawling on several occasions since his arrival in post, but had apparently never been subjected to administrative or disciplinary action."

"That wouldn't have been unusual if he was merely defending himself, would it, Commander?"

"No… but in that case I would have expected to see some sort of action taken against his putative assailants."

"And such action was not forthcoming?"

"No, it was not. Examination of the Page Elevens of the SRBs of all involved were clean of any mention of disciplinary or administrative action for any physical altercation during the period of Sergeant Booker's assignment to Support Battalion MCCDC."

"Objection! Irrelevant! Whether or not individual Marines were disciplined for fighting has no bearing on this case!" Devereux stated.

"Commander Imes?" Judge Sebring asked.

"That Sergeant Booker escaped punishment for one or even two instances is plausible, but he was not disciplined at all even after having been arrested no less than nine times. It is the prosecution's contention that he could not have escaped censure without there being some sort of mechanism in place to shield him from the consequences of his actions!"

"Objection, Your Honour!" Devereux was back on his feet a look of anger on his face, "Trial Counsel is attempting to introduce facts not in evidence!"

"He's right, Commander; there is no evidence to show that this Sergeant Booker was or was not arrested on any grounds, nor is there any evidence to show that he received no punishment subsequent to any possible arrests!"

"If the Court will permit, I am on the point of introducing that evidence, Your Honour," Carolyn replied evenly.

"Very well, but wherever you're going, get there quickly! In the meantime, the panel will disregard Trial Counsel's previous remarks!" Owen Sebring decided.

"Thank you, Your Honour!" Carolyn answered and took a breath as she turned back to Harm, but before she could speak, Devereux was back on his feet.

"Your Honour, Trial Counsel has not yet answered my previous objection!"

The judge looked steadily at Devereux, "It seems to me that Trial Counsel has not yet answered your objection primarily due to the fact that you have not yet given her the chance to do so, Counsellor!" he rebuked the Marine attorney.

That may or may not be true, Your Honour," Devereux riposted triumphantly, "But there is no evidence linking a lack of action in this NCO's case to the defendant!"

"It does seem tenuous at the best, Counsellor," Sebring said somewhat severely to Carolyn.

"Sergeant Booker is also on my list of witnesses to be called, Your Honour," Carolyn replied "And the prosecution is convinced that his testimony will not only shed further light on the matter of whether or not he was protected from the consequences of his actions but will also establish that the alleged widespread illegal activities were not only known to the Battalion Command but were the result of the Command's active encouragement!"

Judge Sebring nodded, "Very well, objection overruled, carry on with your questions, Commander!"

"Thank you, Your Honour. Now, Commander Rabb, the lack of disciplinary or administrative action taken against Sergeant Booker struck you as an anomaly because?"

"Because Sergeant Booker had been arrested by the MPs at Quantico for brawling on no less than nine different occasions in the preceding twelve months."

Carolyn nodded, "Thank you, Commander. Your Honour, I have here prosecution exhibits three and four, certified copies of the SRBs of the Marines involved in these altercations, and copies of the Brig Log at Quantico."

She passed two clearly marked folders to the Marine Corps bailiff, who passed them on to Captain Sebring.

"Defence Counsel?" he asked somewhat ironically.

"We have seen authenticated copies of those documents, Your Honour, and we stipulate to their existence and accuracy," Devereux reluctantly admitted.

The judge nodded, "Enter them into the record," he told his Legalman who was also acting as court recorder.

Carolyn allowed herself a small, swift smile, "Commander Rabb, how did you come to get hold of the originals of those documents that have just been entered into the record?"

"With some difficulty, the Battalion S-1, the assistant S-1 and the Battalion XO all attempted to prevent me from examining the originals."

"Why do you suppose that was, Commander?"

"I believe the attempts to obstruct my investigation were grounded in the desire to prevent me from noticing the very anomalies that I subsequently discovered."

"Objection! Trial Counsel is asking the witness to speculate!" Devereux was back on his feet.

"Commander Rabb is an experienced litigator and trial attorney, Your Honour, and has been exposed to a wide range of actions and the motives for those actions during his time as a JAG. What he saw and felt based on those years of experience must necessarily lead him into forming an opinion."

"H'mm… I'll let it ride for the moment, Counsel, but don't try to pull too many similar stunts!"

"No, Your Honour. Commander Rabb, why did you suppose that your inquiries were being hindered?"

"I first spoke to the Battalion Assistant S-1 who refused to allow me to examine the SRBs of Sergeant Booker and the other Marines involved, so that I had to recourse to applying to the judiciary for a Military Judge's Order. Subsequent to obtaining that order, signed by Judge Morris, the Battalion XO tried to warn me that I was in breach of Marine Corps Orders prohibiting unauthorised personnel from examining SRBs. He was so obdurate on his refusal to allow me to carry out my investigation that it was only when I warned him that not only was his attitude, words and actions borderline insubordinate but that he was also laying himself open to a charge of impeding a JAG investigation that he reluctantly stood down."

"You threatened the XO, a Major USMC, with charges of insubordination and impeding a JAG investigation, even after you had already taken the unnecessary step of obtaining a Judge's Order?"

"I did." Harm replied flatly.

"Why would you do that?" Carolyn asked innocently.

"I came to the conclusion, in the face of events at that time, that there was something in or something missing from those SRBs that the Battalion Command did not wish me to see, and that the XO was aware of what was – or wasn't there – and was attempting to conceal the anomalies that I subsequently discovered."

"Objection! This is all just speculation on the witness' part!" Devereux said wearily as he again rose to his feet.

"No… it's informed professional opinion. But I'm done; your witness counsellor," Carolyn said and returned to her seat at the prosecution's table, her sudden finish to her questioning leaving Devereux off balance and with his mouth hanging open. He shook his head and turning back to the defence side of the aisle he made an almost visible effort to recover his wits.

"So… Commander Rabb… basically, you searched the SRBs of the Marines involved in these altercations in order to find evidence of wrongdoing?"

"Yes."

"And you stated that the search was carried out after you had obtained a Judge's order?"

"Yes."

"How did you obtain this order? Did you arrive at Quantico with it tucked into your pocket?"

"No. I obtained it as a result of a telephone call and it was faxed through to the Battalion Orderly Room at Support Battalion."

"What made you suspicious enough to carry out such a search?"

"JAG was acting on information received."

"What information?"

"That Sergeant Booker had been arrested nine times occasions since he had rotated in to the unit, but contrary to MP expectations he had never received brig-time as a result of his arrests."

"I see. From whence came your information?"

"From the MPs manning Quantico Brig."

And how did you become aware of this circumstance?"

"We, my partner and I at the time, were investigating another offence, when Sergeant Booker brought himself to our notice by assaulting the suspect in our case."

"For which he was arrested?"

"No… Sergeant Booker was already under arrest for a prior assault."

"I see… so Sergeant Booker was never arrested for the alleged assault on the individual who was himself under suspicion of committing an offence, and seeing that you allege that Sergeant Booker was under arrest at the time, then presumably your 'suspect' was also under arrest?"

"Yes."

"So it is possible that your suspect, the so-called victim of Sergeant Booker's assault, in fact initiated the altercation and rather than Sergeant Booker being the attacker, he was in fact the one who was attacked? Wouldn't that explain why he wasn't charged with a further assault?"

"It is possible." Harm grudgingly conceded.

"So, all we have is an extremely tenuous connection between Sergeant Booker's actions and the defendant in this case! And an unfunded allegation, indeed, a mere suspicion on the part of the MPs at Quantico Brig that Sergeant Booker was getting away with something!" Devereux said condescendingly, and then turned to Judge Sebring, "Your Honour, the defence moves that this witness' testimony be stricken from the record."

"On what grounds?" Judge Sebring asked in some surprise.

"Not only is it irrelevant, but it is also fruit of the poisoned tree, Your Honour. The testimony is not only tangential at the best, but is the result of an illegal search."

"Illegal search? Major Devereux, you had better not be trying to pull a fast one here! In what way was the search illegal? We have just heard that the search was carried out pursuant to a Judge's order!"

"Which was obtained by dubious methods, without consultation between the witness and the issuing Judge, therefore it is the defence's contention that protocol for obtaining a judge's order was not properly followed and therefore that any so-called evidence obtained pursuant to that order is tainted."

Judge Sebring frowned. "I will have to consider this motion carefully. This court is in recess for thirty minutes while I do so!" He rapped his gavel on the bench top and stood as the bailiff, almost caught by surprise by his abrupt movements snapped out a startled "All rise!"

Harm waited until Judge Sebring had left the courtroom before he stepped down from the witness stand, and made his way out of the courtroom, heading for the galley and a quick cup of coffee, where Carolyn found him a couple of minutes later.

She poured a coffee for herself and Loren who had entered the galley with her and turned to Harm, "That was unexpected. Do you think that Captain Sebring will buy it?"

"And undermine Admiral Morris?" Harm shook his head, "No, I don't think so."

"No," Loren agreed, "This is just nacht und nebel, designed to sow a soupçon of doubt in the panel's minds."

"H'mm… Maybe, maybe…" Carolyn said and then took a sip of her coffee.

"What do you mean by that?" Harm challenged her.

"Judge Sebring is pretty well known for his reluctance to set precedent, and it might just be that he'll grant Devereux's motion, just so that he doesn't appear contentious."

"True," Loren nodded, "But he would then be flying in the face of Judge Morris' decision to grant the order in the first place. And I can't quite get my head around the idea of him doing that!"

"Let's hope you're right, otherwise I've wasted two days when I could have been concentrating on the hunt for the Beltway shooter!" Harm said bitterly.

"Well, even so, you and I both know how difficult it is for a panel to disregard what they've seen and heard, despite any judge's instructions to the contrary!" Carolyn declared as she drained her mug.

"True," Loren agreed, and taking a glance at her watch she added, "But we'd best be getting back – unless of course we want Judge Sebring to come down on Devereux's side!"

The three officers left the galley and turned right to head for the hallway leading to the courtroom but were intercepted by a breathless PN3 Hawkins, "Commander Rabb, sir! Tiner just gave me this to hand to you!" she held out a message slip.

"Thank you," Harm replied and taking the piece of paper he unfolded it and swiftly read the note before he swore viciously, "Shit!"

"Problem?" Carolyn asked.

"Yeah…" Harm's eyes met Loren's, "It's from Gibbs. The grey van we're interested in has just been found burned out on a deserted lot in Middletown, Maryland!"

"So…" Loren exchanged a troubled look with Carolyn, "Back to square one?"

"Yes, dammit!" Harm said, but then took a deep breath, "Come on ladies, let's get this damn testimony over so I can get back to my other case!"

The courtroom was still filling up as Harm made his way back to the witness stand and Carolyn and Loren took their seats at the prosecution table, and it was a further five minutes before the bailiff called the court to order.

Judge Sebring took his seat and cleared his throat, "Defence Counsel, please rise. I have considered your motion and consulted for precedence. A request for a judge's order made by telephone was granted in the case of the United States versus Campbell in June ninety six, and the evidence obtained as a result of that order was ruled admissible at the time of the trial. And that decision was upheld by the Armed Forces Court of Appeal on October ninety nine. Therefore I dismiss the defence motion. This witness' evidence is admissible and will remain on the record. Commander Rabb, I remind you that you are still under oath!"

"Yes, Your Honour!" Harm replied.

"Defence Counsel, you may continue with your cross-examination of the witness."

"I have no further questions for this witness," Devereux said.

"Re-direct, Your Honour?" Carolyn shot to her feet.

"Go ahead, Counsellor."

"Thank you, Your Honour. Commander Rabb, the court has just heard you testify that it was possible that your original suspect initiated the altercation that brought Sergeant Booker to your attention. But it was pretty apparent from your tone of voice and body language that you don't believe that is the case. Why is that?"

"Because my suspect was under arrest for a non-violent offence, while Sergeant Booker's arrest record speaks for itself," Harm replied confidently enough, but he was expecting an objection from the defence, nor was he disappointed.

"Objection! That is pure speculation!" Devereux complained.

"I agree!" Judge Sebring said severely. "Objection sustained. Watch your step, counsellor!" he warned Carolyn.

"Yes, Your Honour. I have no more questions for this witness," Carolyn said, turning away from the bench so that Captain Sebring wouldn't see the brief smile of satisfaction that she was incapable of completely concealing. True, Harm's last statement had been dismissed as speculation, but the panel had heard it.

Judge Sebring waited until Carolyn had re-taken her seat, "The witness is excused. Thank you, Commander! This court is now adjourned until fourteen thirty hours!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm replied, and standing he restrained his impatience and walked the length of the aisle to the double doors, but once through the doors he turned to his left and at a pace just short of a trot he rushed back to his office and picked up the phone before he had even sat down.

**Friday May 4th, 2001, 1258hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (041658ZMay01)**

Hi fingers stabbed angrily at the number pad on his telephone and with the handset clamped to his ear he waited for the ring tone.

"_Gibbs_."

"Gibbs, this is Rabb, I've just got your message about the burned out van. What the hell is happening?"

"_I don't know more than what I've told you in the note. I'm at the scene now, trying to confirm that it is the van we're interested in, and trying to find somebody who might have seen how it caught fire. Looking for accelerant is pretty much a no-brainer in a vehicle fir_e!"

Harm nodded unconsciously, "Yeah… but what worries me is that we've only just decided that the van is of interest to us, but it seems that word has already got back to the shooter…"

"_Yeah, and he's decided to get rid of it ASAP before it leads us to him_!" Gibbs agreed, finishing Harm's thought for him.

"Yeah… which seems to confirm our belief that there's a leak somewhere in the system…"

"_Agreed, but it also leaves us wondering what his next step is going to be. Given that the use of the van as a mobile shooting stand was so successful, do we think that he'll try to acquire another, similar vehicle_?"

"Yeah… If it ain't broke, don't fix it!" Harm agreed, "But on the other hand, he did change his MO…"

"_Yeah…_" Gibbs agreed, "_But only if we stick to the belief that there's only one shooter_."

"A copycat?" Harm asked but then without giving Gibbs a chance to reply went on, "No, I don't buy that. Didn't forensics make all the retrieved rounds as coming from the same weapon?"

"_Yeah, but I wasn't thinking of a copycat. Look we know that snipers work best in pairs… maybe the shooters – if they are a team – are trading off shots, you go, I go, but each with a different favourite MO_?"

"Or… maybe junior is trying to show senior that he's just as capable?" Harm suggested.

"_God, I hope not! If that's the case then we can expect an increase on the rate of shootings as senior tries to keep ahead of junior's game… Umm… can you run that idea past your Lieutenant Commander… hell I can't remember her name, the profiler_?"

"Commander Manetti? Sure, I'll see what she thinks of it. But the good news is, bar any unexpected call backs I'm done with the current court martial, so you can expect to see us all back at NCIS tomorrow morning at zero eight, by which time maybe we'll have come up with some more ideas…"

"_Okay… Hell, I've got an incoming call, I'll see you tomorrow_…"

"Yeah…" Ham put the phone back on its cradle and sat back in his chair, thoughtfully rubbing his chin as he considered the short conversation he and Gibbs had just held. It seemed to him to be just too much of a coincidence that almost as soon as they had identified the vehicle they suspected the shooter – or shooters to be using it should turn up as a burned-out wreck. And Harm was rapidly coming to belief that there was no such thing as coincidence! But the theory that there now might be two shooters in direct competition with each other needed sounding out with Tracy Manetti. He heaved himself to his feet intending to walk across the bull-pen to her office but was stopped in the doorway by Alan Mattoni.

"Harm, I think you need to see this!" the African American officer said grimly.

"Why? What's…" The question died on his lips as Mattoni moved aside and nodded towards the ZNN feed monitor on the far wall of the bull pen where a TV reporter was facing the camera outside what Harm recognised was the main entrance to the Navy Yard, and speaking into her hand-held microphone.

"…_Navy authorities say that they can neither confirm or deny whether this latest victim is the most recent in a string of slayings of Navy and Marine Corps personnel at the hands of the individual that some segments of the media have dubbed the 'Beltway Sniper', all that is known so far is that a Marine was slain by a single shot from the North as he was working gate security at the M Street entrance to the Navy Yard, just behind me. The Naval authorities are withholding his name until the family have been informed._" She paused and looked over her shoulder, the camera following her line of sight to show blackout screens rigged in front of the gates and half a dozen armed, BDU clad Marines, taking up fire positions to the side of the gates. The reporter turned back towards the camera and continued, "_There is some speculation that as the three most recent shootings have been of static targets rather than at the moving targets posed by vehicles in traffic that were the hallmark of the earliest slayings, that the Navy may have a copycat shooter on their hands. ZNN will continue closely to monitor this story as it develops during what must surely be a worrying time for Naval and Marine Corps personnel in the DC area. This is Tina Hadley, for ZNN News at the Washington Navy Yard._"

Harm swore viciously and spun on his heel, returning to his desk he grabbed his phone. Punching the re-dial button he waited for Gibbs to answer.

"_Gibbs_!" Even in just saying his name, the NCIS agent sounded furious.

"Gibbs, this is Rabb. I take it you've seen the news?"

"_Yeah! The bastard's sending us a message! Back off or I keep shooting_!"

"I take it we're not backing off?"

"_Damn straight we're not_!" Gibbs said in a low, vicious tone, "_I am going to nail this bastard to the wall_!"

"Right, I'll round up my team and we'll be at the Navy Yard within the hour!"

"_No, don't do that. I'm going to be tied up at the scene for the next few hours. Leave it until the morning, as we arranged_!"

"If you're sure? Okay, but we'll put our heads together ASAP and see if we can't come up with something for the morning!"

"_Yeah… in the morning_!"

**Friday May 4th, 2001, 1330hrs EDT, Small Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (041528ZMay01)**

Harm let Meg and Tracy into the room before him and waited until they had sat down at the table before he took his own seat. "I take it you've seen the latest news from ZNN on the shooting at the Navy Yard?"

Meg and Tracy shared a look before they turned back toward Harm and both nodded.

"Well, what you might not know is that Gibbs and I suspect a leak, and that someone is tipping off the shooter. Three times now, he's been ahead of us, and the trail has suddenly run cold just as we thought we were beginning to get somewhere. This latest instance, of which I doubt you're aware, is that the van for which we were looking has just been found, burned out, on a vacant lot up in Middletown. The van was found just before the shooting at the Navy Yard. Gibbs seems to think that the shooter is sending us message, 'leave me alone, or I keep shooting'!"

Tracy almost immediately shook her head, "No… I don't think so. It's not a threat or a warning, it's a taunt. He's saying, that he's too good for us, and that he's adaptable and flexible, and that he'll continue to kill until he's tired of the game, and there's nothing we can do to stop him!"

"Until he's tired of the game…" Meg mused her eyes intent on Tracy, "Or until he's achieved his objective…"

"Which we think is to draw Gibbs out," Harm finished.

"M'mm… have you-all spoken to Gibbs since this latest shooting?" Tracy asked Harm, who nodded in response.

"How's he taking the news?"

"Not well," Harm admitted, "I don't think I've ever heard him be quite so angry."

Tracy nodded, "That may be the shooter's aim. This time he's pooped on Gibbs' front door step and he may be reckoning that if adding insult to injury makes Gibbs gets angry and impatient, he'll start making mistakes… and that could work to the shooter's advantage!"

Harm thought for a moment, "Gibbs was angry," he conceded, "but it was a quiet anger, focussed… not ranting and raving…"

"Doesn't mean that he still won't fly off the handle," Tracy said quietly.

Ham gave her words consideration but just as Meg was about to break the silence he shook his head, "No… Gibbs is also a sniper by training, he knows how to be patient and cool and to sweat out distractions and stay focussed. He might blow up and vent a little, but he's not about to be rushed into a nugget mistake!"

"So… where do we go from here?" Meg asked.

Harm looked across at her, "I don't anticipate either of us being recalled to the stand for Carolyn' case, so tomorrow morning we'll meet at the Navy Yard at zero seven thirty on street clothes, ready to carry on with the invest…" he stopped in mid word as the conference room door opened and twisted in his seat, ready to flay the unfortunate soul who had interrupted them despite the 'Do Not Enter' tag he had hung on the door handle.

Instead, all three Jags sprung to their feet as Admiral Chegwidden unceremoniously entered the room. "As you were people," he growled, "Just bring me up to date on what's happening in this damned shooter case!"

Harm drew a deep breath, "Well sir…" he began.


	67. Chapter 67

**Chapter 67**

**Friday, May 4****th****, 2001, 1943hrs EDT, Commander Megan Austin's Apartment, Cul de Sac off 4****th**** Street NE, Washington DC (042343ZMay01)**

Meg put down her half-eaten plate of spaghetti Bolognese and reached for the phone, "Austin!" she said tersely.

"_Good evening, Commander, this is Gunnery Sergeant Galindez_."

Meg's heart lurched, Victor's voice was unusually grave, "Is something wrong, Gunny?" she asked his formality meant that there was probably someone in hearing distance.

"_Uh… not really… uh… yeah… well… yeah, there's something wrong… I'm at Bethesda and…_"

"Victor, what's wrong?" Meg yelled, jumping up from her chair and sending the remains of her dinner flying.

"_Nothing's wrong in that sense, but I had to come in… there was a trace… just a trace of blood in my urine, Gunny Walters brought me in, and I'm fine now, it's cleared up, but I'm being kept in for observation until Monday, and I'm only calling to ask if you can bring some reading material in for me…_"

"Of course…" Meg glanced at the clock on the wall, "It's too late tonight, and I'm on duty tomorrow, but I'll try to get to see you tomorrow afternoon, and if not then, definitely tomorrow evening!"

"_Thanks, Commander… uh…?"_

"Yes, Gunny?"

"_That detective novel, the funny one about that PI in ancient Rome… you got any more like that_?"

"You enjoyed that one?" Meg asked in some surprise.

"_Yeah, it was pretty light-hearted, and the story was pretty good. A bit dark in places, and a lot of parallels with the States, but yeah, I liked it_!"

"Oh… I just thought it might have been a bit too romantic for you," Meg smiled.

Victor heard the smile in her voice, "_Well, maybe I've been feeling more romantic ever since I met a certain rubia_!" he smiled in return.

"Oh, Victor! That is so not fair!"

"_¡Todo vale en el amor y la Guerra!_

Meg had to think hard for a second before she made the translation, then she giggled, "All's fair in love and war? That so does not translate well, Gunnery Sergeant!" Meg scolded him even as heart skipped a beat and she felt a glow suffuse her entire body.

"_Maybe not, but it made you laugh_!" Victor grinned.

"Yeah, but it didn't put me off! So, Victor Galindez, what's really happening?"

Victor sighed, "_The doc's not too happy, if the bleeding starts again, he wants to go back in and have another look. He says if he has to remove any more of the liver, then my days in the service are numbered. But the bleeding's stopped and I feel fine_."

"H'mph! We are definitely going to talk tomorrow Gunnery Sergeant! _Entiendes_?"

"_Yeah, I got it… and I'm kinda looking forward to it_!" Victor replied.

"You might want to reconsider that opinion tomorrow!" Meg warned.

"_Yeah, yeah, promises, promises, promises_!" Victor scoffed.

"Oh, that wasn't a promise, Gunnery Sergeant, that's just the way it's gonna be!" Meg retorted as she tried her best to keep hold of a degree of sternness in her voice.

"_Of course it is_!" Victor teased her gently and then the whole tone of his voice changed, "_Goodnight, querida mia_!"

"Goodnight, Victor," Meg breathed and waited for the dial tone to sound in her ear before she smiled damply, put the phone down and thought about the ramifications of Victor's news, until a growl from her stomach reminded her that she hadn't finished her dinner. It was only on seeing the spattered remnants of her dinner on the rug that she realised that she had at some stage during the conversation sent her dinner flying. With a half-laugh, half-sob she said, "Oh, Galindez! Look what you've made me do!"

**Saturday, May 5th, 2001, 0757hrs EDT, Bull Pen, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC, (051157ZMay01)**

A laconically spoken "Rabb," was Gibbs morning greeting before he returned his attention to the large Styrofoam cup in his hand.

Harm hitched his hip onto the front corner of Gibbs' desk, knowing even as he did so that it would irritate the other man, "What you got?"

"S'posed to be coffee!" the grey-haired NCIS agent said, dead-pan, "But my idea of coffee and theirs doesn't exactly match!"

Harm couldn't help a half-grin. The honours for that round definitely went to Gibbs. "Okay… but any progress on the van?"

"There are traffic cameras covering the street that fronts the vacant lot, and we've put in a further request to the Maryland Police, asking for copies of the tape… Is your computer wizard Commander coming in this morning?" Gibbs finished altogether too casually.

"Meg Austin? Sure, she should be here any min… no, belay that, here she comes, here they both come!"

Gibbs twisted his head to his right to see Meg and Tracy both exit the elevator and gave a grunt of approbation as he stood, "Let's head on down to the conference room," he suggested, "At least there are enough chairs there for everyone to sit! Let's go, people!"

The three JAG officers followed the three NCIS agents down the hall to the same conference room they had used before, where DiNozzo held the door for the visitors, his cockiness and _amor-propre_ apparently having recovered from the snubs dealt to him by Meg and Tracy.

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 0811hrs EDT, Conference Room, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC (051211ZMay01**)

Gibbs waved everybody to take a seat and then without any preamble look in turn at Tracy and Meg, "I take it that Commander Rabb has briefed you on the latest developments… the Navy Yard shooting and the fact that the van in which we were interested has been found, burned out, in the middle of a vacant lot in Middleton, Maryland?"

Both Tracy and Meg nodded in agreement.

"Good…Have you drawn any conclusions from these two events?"

"I think I can speak for all three of us when I say we suspect that somewhere in the pipeline is a leak. That information concerning any progress we make is somehow being got to the shooter."

Gibbs nodded, "Well, at least that's something on which we can agree! And Commander Rabb and I have managed to convince both the Admiral and the NCIS Director, to keep the purely civilian agencies at arm's length until we need to do otherwise!"

"Not quite, suh," Tracy interrupted, "While I don't discount the possibility of a leak, it is possible that we are merely looking at a coincidence, but I agree in the interests of security we keep what we find out to ourselves."

"No such thing as coincidence!" Gibbs snorted, but then looked more keenly at the petite brunette, "But you hadn't finished, had you?"

"No, suh.

"Go ahead," Gibbs invited her with a slight smirk, and relaxed back in his chair, his arms folded in front of him.

Tracy picked up on the scepticism evident in his body language, but continued, "This latest shooting, is so different in character from the earlier shootings, that I am now convinced we are looking at two different shooters. An alpha shooter, and a follower. There are just too many differences for the single shooter explanation to remain viable!"

Harm shot a warning look at Gibbs, the NCIS agent had a sneer on his face, and seemed about to say something, but after locking glances with Harm he gave a minute shrug and subsided. Harm then looked at Tracy more keenly, "Go on," he said.

"Firstly, this shooter has moved well outside of the first shooter's area of operations, what we might call his comfort zone. The first shootings were all on the northern section of the Beltway, but this latest shooting is right in the heart of the city, literally miles away from the first shooting. Secondly, he's not content to wait passively for targets to come into his sights, but he's gone out looking for them, stalking them! The navy officer, the Marine Corporal and now the Sergeant at the Navy Yard main gate… All stalked and shot."

"That's just probably because Navy and Corps personnel are avoiding the Beltway and he's having to look elsewhere for targets! I still don't see any reason for believing there are two shooters!" Gibbs objected.

"That may well be true, but I still feel that the methodology is so different that there has to be two shooters – at least!" Tracey retorted.

"At least?" Gibbs' voice almost raised an octave while the eyebrows of everyone else rose almost as if in sympathy.

Unabashed Tracy nodded, "Yes, suh. The first two shootings off the Beltway… the MO doesn't exactly fit either the first or the second shooter, so there is a possibility – a very slim one – that there are three shooters involved."

"I thought we'd established that snipers operate in pairs?" Gibbs demanded.

"We did, and that is why I say it is only a slim possibility that there are three shooters. But I reckon it's a possibility we can't afford to ignore!"

"What about if it's only one shooter, but he's changed his MO to send us a message?" Charlene Owens asked.

"Oh… the message has been sent, right enough," Gibbs answered, "It's 'I'll keep going and you can't stop me!'

Tracy nodded, "But if I'm right, and I'm pretty sure I am, the message in this latest shooting, has a sub-text and is from shooter junior to shooter senior, and it's, 'anything you can do, I can do better'. If that is the case, then shooter senior will have to act soon to maintain his alpha status, so I think we can expect an escalation in both the number and frequency of the shootings."

"In that case, let's hope you're wrong, because…" Whatever Gibbs was about to say was interrupted by a knock on the door and then the door opening, to reveal an attractive young woman, who nervously rubbed her finger tips together and looked at a suddenly irate Gibbs, who glared at her and demanded, "What?"

She offered Gibbs a slip of paper, "From the Middleton Police, Gibbs, they've released the traffic cam footage…"

"Thanks, Jardine," Gibbs grunted as he tweaked the paper from her fingers, "You can go now!"

He waited until the door shut behind the young woman and then turned to Meg, holding out the slip, "Can you make head or tail of this?" he demanded.

"I might, if I was asked," Meg responded coolly. She had noted how brusquely Gibbs had treated the young woman who had brought the message, and she was determined not to let Gibbs bully her in the same way.

Gibbs stared at Meg for a few seconds until the memory kicked in of her confronting him at the Quantico brig and remembering the chagrin he had felt at the time he bit back on his anger and asked, ignoring the looks of astonishment from DiNozzo and Owens, "Could you fire up the computer over there, and see if you can get a look at these tapes?"

Meg smiled, "Why I'd be delighted to, Agent Gibbs!" and sauntered to the window table where she sat and booted up the computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she gained access to the NCIS system.

Gibbs looked at her, "Don't you need a password?" he demanded.

Meg shook her head, "No. I saw you type yours in yesterday, and you don't type fast enough for the hand to be quicker than the eye! So… now you need to change your password."

Gibbs looked at her blankly for a second, "Well… I'll be damned…" he breathed.

Meg flashed a triumphant grin at him, "Probably! But here's the footage. From when do you want to scan it?"

"Uh… the van was found burning at about twelve thirty hours yesterday… vehicle fires don't burn for very long, but let's give ourselves the benefit of the doubt," Gibbs reasoned out loud, "and start at eleven thirty hours and quick scan forward, if you can?"

"Sure thing!" Meg answered, and a couple of key strokes later the monitor was filled with traffic camera footage of the far end of West Main Street, Middleton. The agents and JAGs eagerly watching the screen could see the street, a two lane black top with roadside parking on the right, together with buildings on the right, and the edge, just the edge, and the entrance to the vacant lot on the right hand side of the street.

Meg had the tape play at four times the normal speed and after watching for about five minutes, a silver-grey SUV, followed closely by the suspect grey van pulled off the road at the entrance to the vacant lot and disappeared off-screen. Slowing down to normal speed and re-winding the tape Meg squinted at the screen, trying for a glimpse of the SUV's licence plate, but the van was following the SUV too closely for the camera to get a shot of its licence plate. After several attempts Meg gave up with a sigh and let the tape run on. Three minutes after the two vehicles disappeared off-screen the SUV reappeared and made a right turn out of the vacant lot.

Gibbs' heart leaped, the vehicle was facing the traffic cameras, maybe the shooter and his buddy weren't quite as clever as they'd thought, "There! Freeze it!" he shouted.

The image stilled and was clear enough to see that there were two occupants of the SUV, but unfortunately both were wearing baseball caps and sunglasses, which did an effective job of hiding their faces from the traffic cameras.

An almost universal groan went up from the viewers, punctuated by a vicious "Shit!" from Gibbs, and for a few moments they stared glumly at the screen. The silence was broken by DiNozzo who after staring intently at the image asked, "Isn't that a bank just about opposite the vacant lot?"

All eyes focussed on the buildings on the right hand side of the screen,

"I think you're right," Tracy said.

"And most banks have an ATM out front, don't they?" DiNozzo asked with increasing excitement.

"And most ATMs have stop motion cameras…" Charlene Owens finished with a grin.

"Which in this case, might have enough of a focal length to see the vacant lot…" Meg finished.

Gibbs grinned wolfishly, "It might come to nothing, but DiNozzo, you and Owens, get down to that bank and retrieve that ATM camera footage!"

"On it Boss!" the two agents chorused and with grins nearly as broad as Gibbs, the two younger agents left the room.

"It'll take them a good hour, maybe as much as an hour and a half to get back with the tape," Gibbs announced, "So that gives us enough time for a coffee, whaddaya say?" he asked the three JAGs.

Meg shook her head, "I'm going to play around a bit, see if I can't get a reverse angle on that SUV as it leaves that vacant lot, but if one of you could bring me back a coffee, please? Harm, you remember how I take it?"

Harm nodded to Meg and then to Tracy, "Ready?"

"For coffee? Always, suh!" she grinned.

Receiving their nods of approval Gibbs led the way towards the break room, where with the reduced staff levels of a Saturday morning, he hoped to find the coffee machine empty so that he could brew what he thought of as 'real coffee', but the little caravan was interrupted by a shout from the mezzanine.

"Gibbs, get up here!""

Gibbs looked up to see NCIS Director Tom Morrow leaning on the mezzanine floor guard rails, "And bring the JAG officers with you – we've got another one!" Director Morrow said angrily.

Gibbs increased his stride and reaching the stairs almost bounded up them, "Director?" he queried.

"My Office, please Commander, ladies and gentlemen," Director Morrow said and turning led the way into his inner sanctum

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 0903hrs EDT, Director Morrow's Office, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC (051211ZMay01**

"Take a seat," he invited his visitors and waited until they had disposed of themselves at the mini conference table, before he turned to a TV monitor, "I missed the first few seconds, but…" he shrugged his shoulders as picking up a remote control he pressed the button.

The screen came to life to show the same female ZNN reporter who had covered yesterday's Navy Yard shooting, she looked into the cameras as she spoke into her microphone, _"… coming so soon after yesterday's shooting at the Navy Yard, this slaying was, so my sources tell me, unexpected. The authorities feared other shootings might follow, but I am told they had no suspicion of such a degree of escalation. Maryland State Police are busy at the scene of the shooting on the Beltway…_" she paused as the camera panned slowly past the reporter's left shoulder to show stalled traffic and flashing lights on the Beltway, and it was obvious from the camera angle that the camera and reporter were on an overpass above the I-495, "…_but a spokesman for the Maryland State Police has told me that the identity of the victim has been confirmed as a Marine. As is usual in these cases, the name of the victim is being withheld until his – or her – family can be informed. This increasing toll of our sailors and Marines, when they should be feeling safe in the very heart of our nation prompts the question, why have the authorities, military and civilian been unable to apprehend the Beltway Sniper? And how many more of our service people have to die before those authorities do the job for which they are paid!? This is Tina Hadley for ZNN News on the Capital Beltway!_"

Tom Morrow thumbed the off-switch of the remote and glared at the shocked faces in front of him, "I might add my voice to Ms Hadley's. Just what are you doing to catch this SOB?"

"If I might remind you, Director, we had a pretty good lead with the grey van, until it was abandoned and burned out yesterday – and I'm convinced, like I said yesterday, that the knowledge that we were onto that van was somehow leaked to the perp. Maryland State Police have had it towed to their garage where their forensics people are examining it. Other than that, we have, in the last hour, come across another possible lead, but we won't know for certain sure until Owens and DiNozzo get back with what we hope is ATM footage from a bank opposite the vacant lot where the van was dumped!"

Director Morrow continued to glare at his senior Agent. He knew that he was being unfair, as big a pain the ass that Gibbs could be he was a bulldog when it came to investigations, which was why he had promoted him to team leader when Mike Franks retired. The only problem was that sometimes Gibbs could develop tunnel vision and become fixated on one idea, and had a tendency to try to make the evidence fit his pre-conceptions. Hopefully time as a team leader would also lead to him becoming more open to alternatives. But for the moment the conclusion of the JAG team might bring a different perspective to bear.

"Commander Rabb?"

"At first sight, sir, it may not seem that we are making much progress. But this shooter – or shooters – are pretty damn good, and aren't leaving us much to go on…"

"Wait up a minute! Did you just say shooters, as in more than one?"

Harm nodded and turned to Tracy Manetti, "Commander Manetti's our profiler, she's best suited to answer that one! Commander?"

"Certainly, suh." Tracy paused in order to marshal her thoughts, "The two different MOs, the one lying in wait, the other actively stalking his – or her – victims suggest two different shooters, the second shooter being younger and more impatient. In addition to the change of MO, I have the growing conviction that shooter number two is pushing to show the first, the older, shooter that he is just as capable, and that yesterday's shooting at the Main Gate was as much that message to his – or her - partner as it was a dare to us."

"Or her?" Tom Morrow queried. "Aren't snipers usually male?"

"Indeed they are, suh, but until I get more information, I'm not counting out the possibility, no matter how remote, that we aren't dealing with a female."

Morrow nodded, this was exactly the kind of open minded thinking that he needed Gibbs to acquire, but he didn't need to look at his MCRT leader to see the sceptical look on the agent's face. "You have a problem with that, Gibbs?"

Gibbs shrugged, "It's all just guesswork, according to the Commander here, we're looking for two men – or women or a man and a woman – or for all we know a team of pointy-eared dwarves, who have a grudge against NCIS. And the guesses are based on nothing more than a string of shootings, and I'm not convinced that we're not looking for an old-fashioned serial killer who just likes killing sailors and Marines."

Harm bristled in defence of his subordinate, but before the discussion grew heated the group was disturbed by a knock on the door. Director Morrow frowned and sat up in his chair, "Come!"

Meg opened the door and walked into the office, a slight smile on her face. "Sorry to disturb you, but I felt this couldn't wait, and I had to ask around to find you, so I'm glad to see you-all are still coffeeless!" she drawled

Harm frowned, he was familiar with Meg's various gambits, and knew that when she adopted her native Texan drawl that she was fighting to keep hold of her excitement.

"Meg, this is NCIS Director Morrow, Director, Commander Meg Austin, our computer wizard!"

"Commander, a pleasure to meet you," Morrow greeted.

"The pleasure is all mine, suh!" Meg grinned widely, her smile seeming to light up the entire room and drawing answering smiles not only from Harm but also from Director Morrow and Agent Gibbs.

"So… what have you got for us Meg?" Harm asked, indicating that she should join them at the table.

"Just the licence plate for that SUV…I think. Whoever was driving it had made an effort to obscure the plate with mud – a pretty amateurish effort – and I think I got enough of it to make an ID. I asked one of your people to run it through the Virginia DMV for us, suh. I hope I haven't trespassed too far!" Meg smiled at Tom Morrow.

"No, that's fine; we are – for once – all on the same team!"

"Why, thank you, suh!" Meg continued to smile, and Harm realised to his astonishment that for some reason or other the tall, blonde Texan had set out deliberately to charm the NCIS Director. His frown deepened slightly, this wasn't Meg's normal approach at all. And as the realisation dawned on him he saw that Gibbs' grin also had acquired a slightly cynical quality, and once again was forced to reconsider his opinion of the NCIS man's mental acuity.

Tom Morrow gave Meg a measuring look, "Do you know who you gave the number to?" he asked.

"The same young woman who brought the news about the traffic cam web address," Meg said to Gibbs.

"Jardine, Director," Gibbs supplied the name.

"Well get hold of her and find out what the hold-up is!" Morrow exclaimed, "How long does it take to run a licence plate these days!?"

"On it!" Gibbs slid off the edge of the table where he perched but without much show of urgency left the room in search of Agent Jardine.

The room lapsed into silence until Meg broke it, "Director, where was this latest shooting?"

Tom Morrow smiled bitterly, "I'm waiting for confirmation, but from the angle of the shadows on the clip we've just seen, it's somewhere along the northern section of the Beltway!"

Tracy shot a glance at Harm, "Just as I'd feared!" she said.

"Just as you…?" Morrow interjected.

"The first shooter trying to re-establish his dominance over the younger, and if you-all will forgive me for a hint of I told you so, I did say we could expect an increase in the frequency of shootings, so I'm afraid that I am not surprised by this!"

"That's good enough for me," Director Morrow said, "Now, where's Gibbs?"

"Right here! And with an address to go with that SUV licence plate!"

"Which is?"

"The SUV is registered to a Paloma Reynosa, of seven fifteen Potomac Knoll Drive, McLean" Gibbs read the information from a slip of paper.

"Do we know anything about her?" Morrow demanded.

Gibbs shook his head, "Her name means nothing to me… but…"

"With respect, Director, if Commander Austin can have access to a computer, she might be able to find something?"

"Uh… I might not need it, sir," Meg's drawl was gone and there was a sharp glitter in her eyes, "The name means something to me, and although it might not be connected, I wouldn't mind betting…"

"What's the connection as far as you know, Commander?" Director Morrow asked.

"Reynosa is, or was, one of the drug cartels operating out of Tamaulipas and Chihuahua, they took their name from the town of Reynosa, which is right up on the border with _del Norte,_ drugs – mostly cocaine, illegal immigrants, gun running, smuggling, pornography, prostitution, extortion, protection, murder… you name it, they've had a hand in it, they've been causing problems for ICE and the Rangers for years. Recently they've moved into money laundering and the Rangers and the Secret Service suspect them to be moving into white-collar crime to facilitate that. They're like a hydra, cut one head off and they grow two more!" Meg said bitterly.

"Their original territory was in the Tamaulipas province, but a few years ago they started muscling in on Chihuahua, which was run by the Salinas cartel. The turf war with the Salinas lasted about three years and ended up with the Salinas cartel being wiped out. The Mexican authorities estimate that over two hundred cartel members died together with many more civilians who died as collateral damage. When the smoke cleared the Reynosas were the last ones standing."

"That's pretty full briefing, Meg," Harm remarked, "Where did you get all this?"

"A contact in the Texas Rangers," Meg said shortly, "I told you the cartels had been giving the Rangers problems."

"You keep in touch with your contact, Commander?" Gibbs asked as a suspicion began to gnaw at him.

"No." Meg said shortly, "And if you'll excuse, me gentlemen, I need to find a head!"

There was silence in the room until Meg left.

"Rabb?" Gibbs asked.

"Not a clue!" Harm replied, although from Meg's actions he was beginning to suspect something, and if what he suspected was right, it would go a long way to explain why a beautiful woman like Meg Austin was still on her own, and not dating.

Gibbs gave Harm a long, level look, almost as if he didn't believe the JAG attorney, but in the end let his breath out in a long sigh and settled back in his chair and like everyone else waited for Meg to return. The opening of the door however wasn't to let Meg into the room, but to admit DiNozzo and Owens.

"Got it, boss!" DiNozzo's grin bore testimony to the satisfaction he felt.

"Good work!" Gibbs grunted, "Have you seen it?"

"Yeah, we played it back down at the bank… They weren't too happy about letting us have it, but Owens played the obstructing a Federal investigation card, so…"

Tom Morrow held out his hand for the disc, and turning his computer monitor around to face the room inserted the disc and pressed 'play'.

The footage was in stop-motion, one frame shot every three seconds, and while the SUV's number plate was missed the eyes keenly watching the on-screen action clearly saw the van pull up slightly ahead of the SUV, and the driver of each vehicle dismount and then pour fuel from a jerrycan over the van, soak a rag in the fuel, light it and then from a safe distance throw the rag into the van which promptly burst into flames. The payoff came as the two men returned to the SUV. For an instant both their faces were in sight and Harm was not alone as he felt a surge of triumph, as Gibbs' exultant "Yesss!" was heard in the room.

"That's not a very clear image," Tracy said doubtfully.

"No… but I've no doubt that NCIS have a program that will enhance it!" Meg said from the door, "And if we're lucky, they'll have a facial recognition program too!"

"We do," Tom Morrow agreed with a nod of his head.

"Good! If you'll move over, Mister Director, I'll get started!" Meg agreed somewhat throatily. Harm shot a swift, sharp glance on her direction and wasn't surprised when he saw what he thought was redness in her eyes.

It took Meg very few minutes to find her way around the video enhancement program and for her to bring enlarged and enhanced images of the suspects' faces onto the screen.

JAGs and NCIS investigators alike peered closely at the screen. Harm and Meg failed to register the faces, neither did Owens or DiNozzo. Gibbs had a frown on his face, as if something was bugging him, while Tracy smiled in satisfaction at the two faces, one a middle-aged man the other a much younger man, but both obviously of Hispanic descent.

"Shooter senior and shooter junior," Tracy murmured, smiling sublimely and drawing a look from Gibbs that was a mixture of irritation and grudging partial respect.

"Anybody recognise 'em?" Morrow asked, and received a chorus of 'no' from everyone except Gibbs, who had fished in his pocket for his reading glasses and was paying particular attention to the image of the older suspect, a once physically powerful man, now running to fat, his face round and jowly.

"Gibbs?" Morrow prompted him.

Gibbs shook his head, "There's something about the older guy… I can't place him, but I get the feeling I should be able to…"

"Okay… let's run the facial recognition software, Commander?"

Meg nodded and uploaded the raw footage into the second program, tapped a few keys and sat back. "This could take a while…"

Gibbs nodded, "Okay… DiNozzo, whyn't you and Owens go get coffees for us all…"

"Aw, Boss…" DiNozzo began until his eyes met Gibb's steel grey gaze, "Uh… on it boss! C'mon on, Owens, let's go get some coffees!"

While DiNozzo and Owens were running their errand, Gibbs punched a number into his cell phone and waited for the answer, "Fornell, it's Gibbs… You're up to speed with the so-called Beltway Shooter, right?"

"_Yeah… why_?" Fornell's voice, laden with suspicion came clearly over the speaker on the cell phone.

"We've got a break in the case; we got a hit on a possible second vehicle and a name and address. The thing is the name is connected to one of the Mexican drug cartels, the Reynosa Cartel out of Chihuahua, and our source of intel leads us to believe they'll be heavily armed, so a couple of agents just walking up to the front door and politely showing their badges isn't likely to be effective. Can you get an assault team together today?"

"_Are you serious, Gibbs_?" The suspicion in the FBI man's voice had gone and had been replaced by suppressed excitement.

"Never more so. We've even got footage showing the faces of the suspects and we're running them through the Federal Facial Recognition data base right now!"

"What sort of address are we looking at?"

"Potomac Knoll Drive, McLean. Big houses, big yards, forested," Gibbs replied tersely, "Mebbeso twenty, thirty agents needed to provide three sixty cover?"

"_Okay… give me an hour to assemble the team, then I'll come over to the Navy Yard and we can plan the take down!_"

"Good!" Gibbs grunted with evident satisfaction, "See you in an hour!" and then snapped his phone closed. "Now we're cooking with gas!" he grinned.

"And here comes the coffee!" Harm added as a tray laden DiNozzo edged through the door Owens was holding open for him.

For the next twenty minutes the two teams made light conversation as the computer program ran in the background and Meg kept an eye on the screen, "Got a hit!" she cried and then, "Oh wow!"

Faces all turned towards the screen as Meg read the details that had come up, "Ramon Hernandez, born Reynosa, Mexico, August eleven, nineteen sixty-one, arrested multiple times for drug possession with intent to sell. Convicted in ninety-three for dealing, sentenced to five years in La Mesa Prison in Tijuana, he was released on parole after three years. He is suspected of involvement in at least thirty-four slayings during the turf war with the Salinas cartel. Known associates, Paloma Reynosa, sister, her husband Luis Reynosa, the jefe of the Reynosa Cartel..."

"Wait up," Gibbs interrupted her; "Did you say Hernandez? Is there any connection to a Pedro Hernandez?"

"Umm… yeah, yeah there is, Pedro Hernandez, brother, deceased, shot dead by presumed drug rivals in ninety-two…"

Gibbs pursed his lips and nodded silently.

"You got a connection now, Agent Gibbs?" Director Morrow demanded, fixing Gibbs with a stare.

Gibbs nodded, "I know the name."

Meg and Harm exchanged a loaded look, as Gibbs almost visibly shut down.

"I got things to do! I'll be back for when Fornell arrives!" he sprang to his feet and headed for the door.

"Boss…" DiNozzo got to his feet and started to follow Gibbs, who waved him off, "Stay here and make notes for when I get back!" he ordered.

"Gibbs!" Morrow yelled after him to no avail, and shook his head, "There's no getting through to him when he's like this!" he complained to the room at large.

Tracy cast a troubled look at Harm, "There's something he's not telling us!" she warned him.

"Hah! There's something he's always not telling us!" Harm snorted, ignoring the baleful glance from DiNozzo and the sharp look from Morrow, while both Meg and Owens just looked at him.

Harm thought for a moment and turned back to Meg, "See if you can come up with any details on the Pedro Hernandez slaying – search for Spanish and English sources!"

Meg nodded and her fingers flew over the keyboard, "Got it, an _El Pais _report… Hernandez was slain by a single rifle shot while driving his jeep. He was in Sonora hiding out from the _Federale_s who were supposed to be looking for him to return him to the US where he was wanted in connection with at least three homicides."

"A single rifle shot while he was driving… and Gibbs was a scout sniper…" Harm mused.

"Yeah, but at the time of the shooting he was in Kuwait during the Gulf War…" Charlene Owens protested.

"No… no he wasn't… Gibbs was injured by an IED and returned to the States for treatment, and then he was placed on hospital leave before he reported back for duty…" Morrow corrected his agent.

"So... he could have been in country when Hernandez was killed?" Meg queried.

Morrow nodded.

"And that could give us the reason why the shooter, or shooters were trying to draw out Gibbs… if he was involved in Hernandez death, or even if they just thought he was…" Meg added.

"He what?" Morrow asked.

"It was a bit of a reach, Director Morrow, but one of the theories that surfaced was that the shooters had, or thought they had a beef against NCIS in general, and Gibbs in particular, and they were picking Navy and Marine personnel deliberately using sniper tactics to draw out Gibbs…" Tracy told the NCIS crew.

"How is it that I'm only just hearing this now?" Morrow demanded angrily.

"Uh… Because Gibbs didn't believe it, Director," DiNozzo said. "He reckoned all this profiling was just so much bull… uh… so much garbage."

"Still?" Harm queried as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Tracy began bristle, "Despite that Commander Manetti was spot on about there being two shooters, one much older than the other?"

"Hey, I never said that I didn't believe in it!" DiNozzo protested.

"Yeah, but I never heard you defend her opinion!" Meg cut in with an icy glare.

"Okay everybody, let's just calm down, shall we?" Director Morrow calmly interrupted what looked like becoming an acrimonious argument. "All of you take a thirty minute break, go get some decent coffee, or a sandwich, or just some fresh air. And we'll meet again in thirty minutes in the conference room!"

Harm looked at Meg and Tracy and with a nod of his head in acknowledgement of Director Morrow, he led the other two Jags out of the office. "A breath of fresh air, sounds good to me," he grinned. "It gives us an escape from all that NCIS generated hot air! And before I forget, Bravo Zulu, you two! Meg that was excellent work on the computer, and an excellent background briefing you gave on the Reynosas. Next time you speak to them, thank your contacts ion the Rangers for me! And well done you, too, Tracy. So far, you're batting at about 80 per cent, that's pretty damn good, even in the majors!"

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 1117hrs EDT, Director Morrow's Office, NCIS Ops, The Navy Yard, Washington DC (051517ZMay01)**

"Everybody here?" Director Morrow asked, looking around the now crowded conference room. In addition to Gibb's team and the three JAGs, SAC Fornell was present along with four hard looking FBI agents in black fatigues and tactical vests, each carrying a K-pot helmet, cradling an M-4 carbine and with a holstered pistol strapped to their thigh.

"Agents McCarthy, Espinosa, Duval and Jorgenson," Fornell introduced them, "They're the team leaders, for today's operations. Espinosa's guys will provide long stop, McCarthy's are the breaching team, Duval and Jorgenson's men will provide fire cover if needed. Do we know exactly what we're facing?"

Morrow shook his head, "Commander Austin pulled photos and satellite images off the net," he passed the images around, "but as you can see the area is heavily wooded. The main is house is a big house, with a smaller, what looks like a guest cottage to the north-east. There is only the one driveway, but there's no telling if there are any tracks or paths leaving the property under the cover of the trees. Commander Austin is our resident expert on the Reynosa's… Commander?"

"If the occupants of the house are part of the Reynosa cartel, then you-all need to be extremely cautious. They have no compunction in slaying state or federal agents. Habitually they are very well armed, and they make extensive use of IEDs, so watch out for booby traps, command wires, trip wires, pressure plates, etcetera…"

"What about remote triggered devices?" one of the FBI agents asked.

"Yeah, they've been known to use those too. Now as far as we know there are at least two armed members of the cartel connected to that house. Both are to be considered to be armed and extremely dangerous, but then again so are all the Reynosas – including the female members of the family. If any of the women present an armed threat, do not hesitate, the life you save might be your own!"

Meg fell silent and the NCIS and FBI agents gathered around the maps and photographs that Meg had downloaded. A brief discussion followed and with a laconic "Let's go!" from Gibbs the teams left the conference room with Director Morrow's good luck wishes in their ears.

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 1203hrs EDT, Paloma Reynosa's House, 715 Potomac Knoll Drive, McLean, VA (051603ZMay01)**

Harm pulled the Lexus into the side of the road and watched as the lead FBI vehicle continued on around the curve, before he turned to Meg. That was a pretty comprehensive brief on the Reynosas, Meg, but I get the feeling that you don't like them!"

"They're cockroaches, loathsome and difficult to wipe out!" Meg said bitterly

"You study them or something? You sure seemed to know a lot about their methods, right down to them using IEDs!"

Meg shrugged, "Like I said, I had a contact in the Rangers, he told me a lot about them…"

Harm looked at her shrewdly, "What happened, Meg?"

"Nothing!"

Harm sighed, "Meg, you never could lie to me, so there's not much point in trying to start now. If you don't want to talk about it, fine, then just tell me. But I need to know that you're going to be all right when we go in there! If you can't promise me that, then I'll take your weapon now and you can sit here in the car until we're done!"

Meg sat silently keenly aware not only of Harm's eyes on her but also of the silent presence of Tracy Manetti in the rear seat. Twice it seemed that she was about to speak, before she finally said anything.

"Four years ago, the Rangers got a tip-off that three wanted members of the Reynosa Cartel were holed up on a shack on the edge of Brownsville, they surrounded the place and shouted for the cartel members to surrender. They were answered with a burst of automatic fire. The Rangers poured fire in, and then the breaching team went in. The door was trapped with an IED all four Rangers of the breaching team were killed." Meg drew a ragged breath and said so quietly that Harm nearly missed it, "One of the four Rangers was my Ranger."

Harm nodded, his voice softer as he asked, "Are you going to be all right? You can sit this one out if you need."

Meg gulped and nodded before saying firmly, "I'll be all right, Harm, I'll be fine!"

A flicker of movement caught Harm's eye and he looked in his wing mirror to see Gibbs and Fornell approaching the SUV, "All right then, gear up!"

The three JAGs dismounted from the SUV, tugging the Velcro straps of their armoured vests to ensure they fitted properly. Each of them in addition to the vests wore an NCIS wind cheater and ball cap, just as precaution, Gibbs had said, so the chance of friendly fire was reduced. He and his team were similarly dressed, while Fornell wore FBI versions of the same gear.

"Okay… the three fire teams are moving into position. We'll back up the breaching team…"

"Tell them to watch for IEDs!" Meg said urgently.

"They've been told, Commander," Fornell reminded her.

"Tell them again!" Meg insisted.

"Easy, Meg, I know where you're coming from, but I'm sure Fornell has fully briefed his men," Harm reassured her, his hand laid gently on her shoulder.

Meg fell silent, but even through the Kevlar vest Harm could tell that none of the tension had left her body.

Fornell gave Harm a short nod of thanks, "Okay… just a reminder, we will not be the first to fire, unless a definite threat is perceived, by that I mean a suspect aiming a weapon at a member of the teams. Just that he's holding a weapon does not make him a threat. Of course, once they start firing, all bets are off! So, if we're ready to move, let's move!"

The half a dozen non-FBI Agents moved at a trot around the curve to where the breaching team waited, concealed from view of the house by the thick foliage and sheltering behind one of the two black Escalades that had transported them from the Navy Yard.

"All teams, this is Fornell, move now!" the Agent in Charge whispered into his cuff microphone.

The two Escalades ground into motion and turned into the Reynosa house's driveway and then split, the lead vehicle , behind which the breaching team crouched, turning to the right and aiming for the front door, the second vehicle turning left. Gibbs and his team followed the first vehicle, while Fornell and the three JAG officers went with the second.

As the vehicle stopped and the driver slid out from behind the wheel, Tracy Manetti licked her suddenly dry lips, "I'm not sure I signed on for this! If I get hit, I'm gonna open a tort against the Navy for breach of contract!"

Harm turned, slightly surprised, until he saw the expression on the younger officer's face and realised that she had tried to crack a joke to ease the tension she was feeling.

Fornell had also heard and understood, "Good luck with that!" he grinned, and then took a deep breath. "Hello the house! This is the FBI! Come out, unarmed and with your hands in the…"

His sentence remained unfinished, but was punctuated by a long burst of automatic fire that riddled the Escalade. Miraculously no-one was hit, but they all instinctively moved as near to the wheel stations as they could as the incoming rounds penetrated the body if the vehicle through and through.

"Fuck!" Fornell yelled, "Anyone see where that's coming from?"

"Second floor, third window from the right!" the driver yelled from where he lay flat in the ground, peering around the front wheel.

"Gibbs, did you hear that?" Fornell shouted above the sound of another burst of fire.

Harm tried to count the number of rounds, but lost track after a dozen or so, but the burst continued as he hunkered down.

Gibbs waited for a pause, when Harm guessed the gunman was reloading, "I hear you Fornell!"

"Okay, when I give the word, suppressive fire on that window! As soon as he's neutralised, I want the breaching team to lob CS through the first floor windows, and then use HE rounds to open the door! Got it?"

A unanimous display of upraised thumbs greeted Fornell's instruction and with a look at Harm and the Escalade's driver, he muttered, "Here goes!" and raised himself above the hood of the Escalade, immediately drawing fire, which was the signals for Gibbs, DiNozzo, Owens, Harm and the two drivers to take aim with their M-4 Carbines and pour fire into the window.

The storm of incoming fire discouraged the marksman at the window and the two members of the breaching team who had underslung grenade launcher on their carbines pumped four quick rounds, each noticeable by their distinctive coughing discharge, at the first floor windows. The crash of breaking glass was followed by silence and the billowing of thick, grey fumes through the open windows. The grenade launchers coughed again and two explosive rounds arched through the air to impact and detonate on the house's substantial front door. The resultant explosion was far larger, louder and more devastating than could be accounted for by the two grenades and Fornell shot a quick glance at Meg, "Good call!" And then to the breaching team, "Go! Go! Go!""

The inhabitants of the house decided that there was a chance to make a getaway while the besiegers were distracted by the explosion and as the breaching team sprinted for the front door, two men in dark clothing erupted from a side door, sub-machine guns blazing as they ran towards the silver-grey Yukon. The second man, the younger, suddenly reared up on his toes and pirouetted before he was thrown back and down as several rounds from the left flank fire team tore into his body.

The leading figure made it to the SUV and with a roar the engine burst into life, as tyres squealing on the tarmac of the driveway, the fugitive gunned it towards the two Escalades. The vehicle came under a hail of fire from Gibbs' team and from the left flank fire team as Fornell, Harm, the escalade driver and the two female JAGs hastily rolled away from the Escalade as it became obvious that the Yukon driver's intention was to ram their vehicle and force an escape passage. Once again, however, escape plans were thwarted as a hail of bullets from both sides ripped into the vehicle. The Yukon crashed headlong into the Escalade, the improperly secured driver's door flying open on impact, and the bullet-riddled body of the driver slid out onto the tarmac.

The silence that fell over the scene lasted only moments as the sound of fresh small-arms fire drifted from the woods behind the house. Fornell cast a startled glance at Gibbs, and raised his cuff-mic to his face, "Longstop, this is Fornell, come in!"

"_Yeah, Fornell, this is Longstop, all well here. Two perps down, no casualties. One of the perps is moving – shit! It's a woman_!"

"Fornell, Secure her! Our two perps are down too. Stay in position while we check the house!"

"_Longstop, roger_!"

Fornell turned to Harm, "Uh… we're going to go tactical while we check the building, but I don't know if you have…"

Harm shook his head, "No, I've had some experience, but I'm not trained, and I don't think Meg or Tracy are trained either?" he paused and looked at the other to Navy officers, receiving shakes of their heads in confirmation of his guess.

"Okay… stay out here with the left flank squad while they check the bodies…" he took a breath and raised his voice, "Gibbs, breaching team, right flank team, move in!"

As people began to move, Meg raised her voice, "Fornell! Remember what I said about the Reynosa's liking big bangs. Just because there's been one IED, it doesn't mean there aren't others!"

Fornell nodded, "Thanks for the reminder, Commander!" He raised his voice to a shout, "Stand fast! There might be further IEDs, so no-one goes in, until we get an explosive dog out here! Andrews, call it in while we check the perimeter!"

One of the agents nodded, and raised his hand to his mouth, while Fornell, Gibbs and Harm congregated round the body of the Yukon's driver. He appeared to have been hit multiple times in the right arm, right leg and torso, and there was no doubt that he was dead. Harm fished in the pocket of his tactical vest and pulled out a photograph to compare it to the face of the body on the ground.

"That's Hernandez, all right," he ventured.

Gibbs looked a little more closely, but then gave a grunt of satisfaction, "Uglier than his brother, but yeah, that's a Hernandez!"

Tracy had deliberately not joined in the examination of the body, but had, with a face twisted in an expression of distaste looked into the Yukon's interior, "Gibbs!" she called out.

Gibbs turned towards her, "Yeah?"

"Weapon in the vehicle," she advised him.

"Don't touch it!" the NCIS Agent called out.

"I wasn't going to!" she assured him with a grimace.

Gibbs nodded, "DiNozzo, secure that weapon and make it safe!" at the same time as he dropped to his knee, pulled on a pair of latex gloves and started a search of the body, quickly finding an automatic pistol stuffed into the waistband at the small of Hernandez's back.

"Beretta!" he commented, as he removed the clip from the pistol and made it safe, picking up the round that had been ejected from the pistol's chamber. "What you got, DiNozzo?"

"Machine Pistol, a bit like an Uzzi…" a similarly gloved DiNozzo replied, holding the weapon in one hand and its clip in the other. "The clip's empty!"

"Yeah," Agent Duval, who commanded the left flank squad, commented, "He was firing as he ran towards the Yukon, must have emptied the clip on the way!"

"What about the other guy?" Gibbs nodded at the other body that lay unmoving, under the watchful eyes of two FBI agents.

"Yeah, he was firing too!" Duval said.

"That's not what I meant." Gibbs grinned, "He have anything on him?"

"Baker! What you got?" Duval shouted across the sixty or so feet that separated the two bodies, "He had him a nine mil Sig-Sauer on his belt, and a sub-machine gun!" Baker called back, "Both now secured!"

"Movement!" One of the agents called looking towards the right hand edge of the house and he and others raised their weapons to cover the area he indicated.

"Fornell! This is Espinosa! Keep your fingers off the trigger!"

"Stand down!" Fornell yelled to all and sundry, and then in a slightly lower voice called out, "What the hell, Espinosa, you coulda gotten yourselves dead!"

"Needed to bring her in!" As he and his team emerged from cover, Espinosa indicated one of his agents who had a grip on the left arm of a dark-haired woman, dressed in black pants and a white shirt, the right sleeve of which was soaked in blood, which despite a pressure bandage on the wound to her upper arm, continued to bleed enough so that the blood dripped from her finger-tips.

Meg stared at the woman, who was white-faced under her tan, "Paloma Reynosa, the head bitch herself!" she said with deep satisfaction.

"Hah! Be happy while you can,_ gring__a_! I'll be free in a matter of weeks, and then it will be your turn to be worried, bitch!"

"Get her out of here!" Fornell commanded. "Anything else, Espinosa?"

"Yeah, we recovered two hand guns, both Glocks, from her and the guy she ran with. He's dead, Reyes is watching the carrion!"

"Have respect you Americano bastard! He was my husband!" Reynosa screamed.

"And who were they?" Gibbs stood to one side so that Paloma Reynosa could see the two bodies on the ground.

If it was possible she went whiter than she already was, "Nooo!" she screamed, "_Mi hijo! Mi hermano_! I will kill you all!

Gibbs stared at her for a long moment, "The only thing you'll be killing for a very long time is time itself – other perhaps than the cockroaches in your cell!"

"And you are Gibbs, yes?" Paloma hissed "The next time, we will get you! And I am glad your wife and child died! They should have died much slower!" she spat viciously at Gibbs.

Gibbs eyed her coldly, "If you think I'm the one who pulled the trigger that sent a bullet between your brother's eyes, think on this: If he hadn't killed my family, I wouldn't have come looking for him, and you'd still have him – well, maybe. But if you and your brother hadn't come up here to look for _venganza_, to lure me into a trap, your brother, your husband and your son would now all still be alive." He nodded to the FBI agent who held her unwounded arm in a tight grip, "Cuff her and get her out of my sight!"

The agent hustled Reynosa away to one of the remaining Escalades, a quick inspection of the one shot at by the Reynosas and then rammed by the Yukon revealed that neither vehicle would be going anywhere unless they went on the back of a tow truck.

Gibbs nodded in satisfaction as he watched Fornell co-ordinate the clean-up and arrange for the FBI's coroner, a tow truck and an ambulance while he was waiting for the explosives sniffer dig and its handler.

Taking a break from his task, the FBI Agent crossed to Harm, "Well, you're just about done here, I don't think we'll need any statements from you, but if we do, we'll call you. Why don't you all head on home, and enjoy what you can of the rest of the weekend?"

Harm nodded, "I don't know about you two," he said in aside to Meg and Tracy, "But I'm inclined to take Agent Fornell's words at face value!"

Meg and Tracy exchanged a loaded glance, "Back at you, Harm!" Meg grinned. The first sign of any humour Harm had seen on her face since she had recounted the fate of her Ranger.

Harm turned back to Fornell, "Yeah, we'll do that!" Then he indicated the house and yard with an expansive sweep of his arm, "And congratulations on a sweet operation. With all the lead that was flying, I can hardly believe that you got off without any casualties!"

Fornell nodded and with a wry grin of his own, "Nice to be appreciated!"

Harm nodded in acknowledgement and with a last nod towards the FBI man he unslung his M-4 and walked across towards Gibbs, "Here, this is one of yours!" He made the weapon safe and showed the NCIS agent that the breech and chamber were clear.

Gibbs nodded and took weapon and clip from Harm. "You leaving us?"

"Yeah, Fornell doesn't see a need for us, and I've got a fiancée who's probably wondering where I've got to!"

Gibbs' face took on a faraway expression for an instant before his eyes focussed again on Harm, "Yeah, you get on back to her, Rabb, and be happy! But… before you go…" he turned to Meg and Tracy, "Ladies, we definitely owe you our thanks on this case, you Commander, for your computer expertise – even if I do have to change my password now, and you, Commander Manetti, we not only owe our thanks, but I owe you a personal thank you and a sorry for doubting your abilities. You pretty well called it, chapter and verse when it came to our shooters and their motives. So thank you too!"

"Why, thank you, suh!" Tracy smiled.

Harm gently nudged her as they walked back to his Lexus, "Well, he was either flirting with you, or you just made a convert!"

"I seriously doubt he was flirting with me, suh, Agent Gibbs prefers red-heads!" Tracy sighed.

Harm stopped walking and looked at Tracy in astonishment, "More of your profiling magic?" he asked in disbelief.

Tracy's answering giggle only deepened the look of surprise on Harm's face, "No, suh! Information received from Charlene Owens!"

"Well you don't have to sound so disappointed about it," Harm said, gently teasing her.

"Why not, he's pretty good-looking for an older guy!" Tracy shot back at him with a triumphant grin.

Harm laughed and shook his head in disbelief. He was still smiling when they reached the Lexus, but he noticed, with some concern, that Meg had only managed a weak smile in response to Tracy's sally.

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 1617hrs EDT, Parking Lot. JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (052017ZMay01)**

Harm braked the Lexus to a stop next to Meg's Mustang, smiling half-apologetically at Tracy as she climbed out from the rear seat of the SUV and made her way across to her Mitsubishi Eclipse but as Meg made to get out of the car, Harm said, "Wait up a minute please, Meg."

Meg turned her sapphire blue eyes on him, her eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Harm cleared his throat a little self-consciously, and staring out through the windscreen said, "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But it seems to me that today was pretty rough on you, for all sorts of reasons. So, if you want to talk, you know where to find me."

Meg smiled, although her eyes were still troubled, "That's very sweet and kind of you Harm, but I'll be all right. I'll see you on Monday morning!"

Harm nodded, "Goodnight, Meg, and if you change your mind…"

"Yeah, I know where to find you!" she grinned and then taking Harm completely by surprise, she stretched across the central console, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "That's for being such a good friend!" she smiled. "Goodnight!"

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 1904hrs EDT, Male Surgical Ward, National Naval Medical Centre, Bethesda, MD (052304ZMay01)**

Meg's heels clicked as she strode briskly down the hallway from the nurses' station towards Victor's room, pausing only briefly at the doorway to ascertain that he was, as the nurse had told her, alone.

Victor looked up from the newspaper that he was re-reading, and a smile lit up his face, "Good evening, ma'am!" he cried as he took in Meg's cream cardigan over a light blue, knee length cotton summer dress.

"Hello, Gunny," Meg smiled, "I brought you that book you asked for…"

"Thank you, ma'am…" but the as Meg's smile slipped he added hurriedly, "Meg… what's wrong, _querida_?"

Meg stood still and stiff by the door, "Gunny, it's been a hell of a day, and I could really use a hug right now, but before that we need to talk!"

"_¡a la mierda! ¡Al diablo con eso_! If you need a hug, then hug first, talk after!" Victor said, wincing as he swung out of bed, and careless of whomever might be watching swept Meg up into his arms and held her there despite her muffled protests for a good thirty seconds before he led her to the bed and sat down, gently tugging her hand to get her to sit down alongside him.

"¿_Mejor_?" he asked.

"_S__í__, gracias_," Meg smiled

"_¡Bueno! _Now you can talk!" he smiled.

Meg gave him a rather watery smile in return, "Well…" she took a deep breath, "About six years ago, I was at home in Texas, on leave and I met a guy. He was a great guy, a Texas Ranger…"


	68. Chapter 68

**Chapter 68**

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 1915hrs EST, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (052315ZMay01)**

Harm wasn't really surprised to find the apartment door locked, but as he disentangled his keys from his pocket, it reminded him of the reasons why he and Loren really needed to focus on finding a house. The realtor's listings arrived two days ago, but the need to concentrate on the shooter case has left little time for anything else. That was going to change – now.

In an effort to keep her mind occupied so that she wouldn't brood about feeling vulnerable in the apartment Loren had made the conscious decision to keep herself busy. As a result, once she had locked and dead-bolted the door behind Harm when he had left that morning, she had once again immersed herself in a frenzy of housekeeping. Starting with the bathroom she had thoroughly cleaned the entire apartment which was now redolent with a medley of the aromas of pine-scented cleaner, domestic bleach, and Apple-blossom spray-on furniture polish. Loren had checked her watch earlier, and at about six o'clock she had reluctantly undone the deadbolts. Not that she had wanted to, but she knew that if she left them secured until Harm returned home he would be troubled by her apparent retreat. That was all well and good, but since then she had felt the tension rise within her and had jumped at practically every sound in the hallway outside the apartment.

She was just contemplating the idea of a shower before she made a start on dinner when she froze as she heard someone try the door. Earlier, she had moved her desk to the bottom right hand corner of the room, away from its previous position between the windows on the far wall, so now anyone at the desk had a clear sight of someone entering the apartment, while they, as was natural would have their head half-turned away while their eyes automatically followed the door as it opened.

Moving quickly to the corner of the room she opened the roll top of her desk, where the already opened lockbox that contained her Smith and Wesson Sigma was ready to hand, only to let out in a long sigh the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding as she heard the key turn in the lock and the door swung open to let her recognise Harm's tall figure.

"Hi, sweetheart," she greeted him as nonchalantly as she was able, walking across the room towards him and straight into his arms, raising her face to his as she did so.

"Hi, boo'ful," Harm managed a tired grin, which brought a concerned frown to Loren's face.

"You sound tired," she commented as her eyes searched his face, "and you look it too… come and sit down while I get you a beer."

Harm gratefully dropped onto the couch but shook his head, "no, no beer thanks, I reckon just the smell of one would send me to sleep right now, but if there's a coffee going, that'd be great."

Loren nodded, but realising as she did so dinner was going to be be about twenty, maybe thirty minutes later than she planned, but in the scheme of things that was a small price to pay.

By the time the coffee was brewed Loren who brought into the lounge Harm looked to be in imminent danger of losing his fight against sleep, but roused himself with a grateful smile as Loren cheerfully called out, "Coffee's up!"

Harm struggled upright against the embrace of the couch and took the offered mug, "Thanks," he smiled, took an appreciative sniff of the coffee and then a cautious sip. Nodding his head in satisfaction at the strength of the brew, he then took a bigger sip, "Aaah… that hits the spot!"

Loren perched on the edge of the couch, half-turned towards him, a concerned expression on her face, "What's up, Harm? I've seen you after you've pulled all-nighters and you haven't been this tired!"

Harm took a further sip of his coffee, so he could defer his answer while he held a lightning-swift internal debate as to how much he could tell her. He had noticed the move of the roll-top desk, and although he had no proof, he had a feeling it was linked to her current feeling of being vulnerable while she was alone in the apartment, and he didn't wish to add to her worries. His conclusion was that a couple of little white lies wouldn't com amiss.

"Mostly it's caused by the frustration of having to deal with Gibbs! You have no idea just how close-minded, stubborn, blind and egotistical that man can be!"

"Well maybe not a very good idea, but I was exposed to some of his less than scintillating personality when Mac was injured, remember? He seemed determined from the very second he saw you that somehow or other you were guilty – and if I remember aright, he didn't even bother to ask if you had an alibi!"

Harm grinned, "That's true… and did I ever tell you that at one stage, Gunny was about ready to pull his sidearm on him to hold him off from Mac?"

"No!" Loren was torn between shock and amusement. Although partly scandalised by the thought, she couldn't help her eyes crinkling at the mental image Harm's words had conjured up.

"Yep, and that's God's honest truth! I don't what might have happened, but it seems like someone pushed a panic button and before things could get really tense, the Head Nurse arrived on the scene under full sail and gave both Gibbs and Gunny a broadside and threatened to have them both thrown out of the hospital!" Harm shook his head at the fond memory, and added, "That Head Nurse was one scary lady!"

"Oh… I wish I'd been there to see it!" Loren giggled.

"Yeah, well, it's all moot now," Harm smiled as the realisation finally sunk in, "Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I'm finished working with Gibbs and his crew. And they're nearly as bad. Oh, Owens is okay-ish, but DiNozzo… Now there's a prime piece of work!"

"Oh… Never mind DoNizzi, or whatever his name is, what's all this about not working with Gibbs any longer? Not that I'm complaining!"

Harm sat back with a smug expression on his face, "Just like I said. I don't need to work with him anymore. We wrapped up the Beltway shooter case this afternoon. That's why I'm a bit late, we had to have an immediate de-brief," he added by way of explanation.

"You did what!?" Loren demanded, bolting upright. "That's great!" But then she narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "Yeah… okay… that is great, but why do I get the feeling that there's much more to the story than you're telling?"

"Since when did you become so suspicious?" Harm asked, adopting a wounded expression.

"Well, first off, when I graduated law school and started practising as an attorney, and got into the habit of actually listening to what witnesses say. Remember, people lie! Then secondly, a few months ago when we first started dating, and you all so suddenly became hyper-protective of me! Now, I'm not saying that you're deliberately lying to me, but you're sure as hell not giving me the full story!"

"Damn," Harm muttered. He had hoped that he had managed to deflect the conversation, but it was evident that Loren wasn't having any of it.

He heaved a sigh and looked askance at Loren, "It's quite a complicated story, so you might want to sit back and relax," he warned her.

"Yes, I might," Loren agreed flatly, "but you're making it more complicated by dropping chaff, so why don't you do us both a favour and cut out the BS?"

Harm gave her a flat look in return, 'Damn, I'd forgotten one of the reasons they called her the pit-bull!' he said to himself, and said, "Okay… It was mostly due to Meg and Tracy… Tracy added up all the circumstances of all the shootings, and came up with a couple of theories. Firstly that Gibbs was the real target, and the shootings of Marines and Sailors by snipers was designed specifically to draw him into the investigation and make a target of himself. And second that there was more than one shooter. Meg used her computer skills to interrogate traffic cameras and came up with a licence plate. From thereon in it was easy. We visited the address, there was a brief exchange of shots, and Fornell, the FBI guy, arrested a Mexican woman who headed up the operation."

"An exchange of shots?" Loren demanded, turning pale, "Were you anywhere in the vicinity?"

"Meg, Tracy and I were in the general area, but we're not law enforcement, so we didn't get involved," Harm temporised.

Loren appeared to be satisfied with that, but after a moment or two, her brow creased in a frown, "You say that the FBI arrested a woman? I thought snipers were usually men?"

Harm nodded, "They were, two, maybe three of them, but they decided to try to make a fight of it; that explains the gunfire…"

"Just how brief was this exchange of fire?" Loren demanded, becoming visibly upset.

"It was all over in a few seconds. Fornell wasn't taken any chances. There were about two dozen agents there, all in body armour and helmets, all in fatigues, and armed with carbines, pistols and grenade launchers. As soon as there was any resistance, he ordered CS fired into the house, and when the bad guys tried to make a break, the FBI took them all down, except for the woman, and she was injured. Not a scratch on any of the FBI, NCIS or JAGs."

Loren appeared to be slightly mollified by the second half of the explanation, "Oh… okay, but I've had it with you putting yourself in harm's way! You've got to stop doing things like this!"

Harm realised that Loren's own fears were speaking to her as well as her fears for him and took a steadying breath, "Loren, sweetheart, it's not as if I do things like this deliberately, but I have to go where I'm sent, and do what I'm ordered to do. I do not go out of my way to put myself, my friends, or the people I love in danger. Hell, I'm even considering letting go of my flight status."

Harm's statement brought Loren up short, "But… but you love flying!" she protested.

"Yeah, I do, but I love you even more, and I definitely don't want to have some sort of flight mishap that's going to leave you alone, and maybe even with a child to bring up on your own! I am not going to do to you what my Dad did to my Mom, or what my Grandpa did to Grams!" Harm said firmly.

"That's as may be!" Loren said hotly, "But you're not taking one important factor into consideration, and that is I am not Annie Pendry or that shrink, whatever her name was, the pilot part of you is a part of you that I love just as much as the attorney, or the home improver. So, if you want to give up flying because it's something you no longer want to do, then I'll just have to accept that. But I will not accept you giving up flying because of me, or because you're afraid of what might happen to me! And besides, statistically speaking, flying is still a damn sight safer than driving, or even walking down the street and crossing the road. Besides, what was it you once said to me while we were driving down to Charlottesville? Something about flying being safer than driving because up there you could see trouble coming for miles, but while you were driving you couldn't see what was coming around the next corner!"

Harm threw up his hands in surrender, "I didn't realise you felt like that!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"That's because I love the whole of you! I don't cherry pick just the best bits!" Loren claimed, but then as she calmed down a little, she added with a sly grin, "Of course, just about all of you is the best bit!"

Harm blinked in surprise at what to him seemed Loren's mercurial change of mood, and then a broad grin spread across his face, "H'mm… and what particular part of me produces that smirk?" he asked gently.

But Loren wasn't falling for that, "The part of you that is going to jump in the shower and freshen up before it starts prepping dinner, while I jump into the shower and get rid of some of the sweat and grime that I've accumulated during a day's hard work, while you've been off enjoying yourself!"

"Two showers?" Harm asked dubiously, "Isn't that going to use an awful lot of water? Wouldn't it be better for the planet if we shared a shower?"

"It might…" Loren agreed thoughtfully, but with an imp of mischief dancing in her eyes, "If the shower cubicle wasn't so small that you risked bashing your forehead against the shower fittings! So… get going, Mister Ecology Man!"

**Saturday, May 5****th****, 2001, 2030hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (050030ZMay01)**

"What's so urgent?" Loren asked in aggrieved tone, "That you had to hustle us away from the table so quickly? I'd barely wallowed my last mouthful, and there you were whipping my plate away!"

"Come and sit down, I'll bring the wine through, and then I shall explain it all." Harm grinned.

"Okay, but this had better be good… Clarissa!"

Harm just smiled enigmatically and poured two more glasses of wine while Loren went through to the lounge and took a seat on the couch. Harm followed on, the stems of the two glasses of wine between the fingers of one hand, and the folder in the other.

Loren relieved him of the wine so that he could sit without risking spilling it, but looked in some suspicion that the folder, "What's that?"

"These are updated listings from three different realtors in Falls Church," Harm replied as he opened the folder and spread half a dozen illustrated brochures across the table. "They cover the area from Gainesville in an arc down to Woodville. Which is about as far out from Falls Church that we would want to be."

"H'mm… not so keen on Woodville," Loren mused, her glass of wine halfway between the table and her mouth… "that would mean either taking county roads, or the I-95 to get to Falls Church."

"Agreed!" Harm said enthusiastically, "Which is why I want to start our search in the Gainesville area!"

Loren took a sip of her drink and paused a few moments for thought, conjuring up a mental map of the country to the West of town. "H'mm… that wouldn't have anything to do with Gainesville being on the US-Twenty-nine, would it?" Loren asked, with a straight face, "The Twenty-nine being the road to Charlottesville and all?"

"Oh, that thought hadn't even crossed my mind!" Harm said innocently.

Loren took another sip of her wine and then gazed levelly at Harm, "Of course not," she said in a voice full of irony.

Harm had the grace to look a little shame-faced, even as he chuckled. "It's a logical location, even leaving aside the Twenty-nine. It's on a major route into Falls Church, only half an hour or so out, and in fact, once you get nearer to Falls Church there's a good choice of routes, to start with there's the US Fifty – the Arlington Boulevard, or the I-Sixty-six, and if the Fifty gets too crowded we can always split off on the Lee Highway…"

"H'mm… that's all true, but why not a bit nearer, say Centreville?"

"Because if there's a wind with any north in it, Centreville and Chantilly, before you get there, are right under the flight path for Dulles… and come to think of it the Virginia Two Three Four cuts across country from Gainesville practically to Quantico's main gate, and then it's a shorter hop down the Ninety-five for Norfolk, missing out the worst of the congestion around the Ninety-five and Beltway.

Loren nodded, much of what Harm was saying made sense, but, "A bit further out from Andrews though… Do you think you'd be up to a drive out to Gainesville after a twenty hour AMC flight from Italy?"

Harm shrugged, "It would be tough, yeah, but think about it, I've only been out to the Med, what, three, four times since I joined HQ? No, that's a minor consideration."

"Okay… but Italy was only an example, you do fly to other places!" Loren pointed out.

"Yeah, once in a while. But I drive to Falls Church practically every day!" Harm countered.

Loren sat back, nodding in satisfaction, "Okay… I 've done playing devil's advocate for the moment. You've obviously given this a lot of thought… without even mentioning it to me, I might add!" she finished in a slightly aggrieved tone.

"Hell, no! I wasn't going to mention it to you until I was good and ready! You're too damn good an attorney for me to give you an unnecessary heads up, and let you have time to marshal an argument!"

Loren tiled her head to one side, considering his words even as she blushed with pleasure at his praise, "Okay then Mister House Hunter Man, show me what you got!"

Harm shook his head, "Nothing yet. I thought we could go through these listings and rule out the non-starters, and then tomorrow, we could take a ride out to Gainesville and take a look at the possible and probable, and maybe thin the list out some more, before we get back to the realtor|!"

Loren smiled, "Sounds like a plan, but that's a lot of brochures to get through, so hadn't we best make a start?"

Harm nodded, "We had!"

For the next three hours Harm and Loren waded through the pile of brochures, eliminating from the listings those houses that were obviously unsuitable, until at last Loren gave vent to a mighty yawn, and threw the broad-tipped marker she had used to cross out the listings she and Harm considered had failed the test, she said, "Okay… that's it! I can hardly see straight, any more! And I can hardly keep my eyes open! Time this little girl was in bed!"

Harm looked at her and was surprised when, before he had a chance to say anything, Loren, who met his glance, suddenly burst into giggles.

"What's so funny all of a sudden?" he demanded, a reluctant grin growing across his face as Loren's amusement took its effect on him.

"You must be more tired than you think!" she chuckled, "You're blinking at me like a dazed owl!"

"Oh, wow… thanks for that image!" Harm grinned, as he realised that he had been completely unaware that he was blinking. "So I guess it's this big boy's bedtime too!"

"M'mm," Loren said as she stood up and stretched, "If you take the glasses through and rinse them, I'll lock up. I figure this stuff," she nodded at the pile of brochures, "can stay right where it is until tomorrow!"

"Works for me," Harm agreed as he stooped to pick up the empty wine glasses and carried them through to the kitchen, from where he heard with a grimace the key turning in the apartment door lock, and the chain and then the three deadbolts being engaged. He stood motionless for a moment or two, his hands gripping the edge of the sink and took a deep breath, slowly letting it out to release the tension that had suddenly risen within him. He still thought that Loren was being hyper cautious, but he really didn't want to fight with her again on the same subject, so he just prayed that if his plans for tomorrow worked as well as he hoped, that they would soon be setting foot on the path that led to their own house.

As Harm walked through the lounge towards the bedroom and bathroom suite he concluded from the lack of sound that Loren had finished in the bathroom and had already slipped into bed, so turning off the lounge lights he stepped into the bathroom and stripped off his T-shirt and jeans, dropping them into the laundry basket and then opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed hold of the mug containing his toothbrush and toothpaste. He was rinsing and spitting, when he felt a pair of gentle arms encircle his waist from behind, and two hands slide under the waistband of his boxers, and froze.

"I… uh… thought you were tired?" he commented.

"I am, but somehow or other, I found just a little spark of extra energy from somewhere," Loren's voice was soft and husky."

"I see," Harm said gravely, twisting around to face her, "But what happens now, when I say I'm too tired?"

"Well…" Loren's eyes were not only dark and smoky, but also danced with mischief, "Considering the nature of the evidence I'm handling, I'd have to conclude that the defence is perjuring himself!"

"Gee, ya think?" Harm grinned as his hands slid under the tail of Loren's t-shirt, his eyebrows rising in surprise as his hands clasped her bare buttocks instead of the boxer shorts or panties he had expected.

"Oh yes… I definitely think!" she breathed as she stretched up to kiss him, and then stepped back, releasing her grasp on her prize in favour of grasping hold of his wrists and towing him towards the bedroom.

**Sunday, May 6****th****, 2001, 0823hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (061232ZMay01**

Harm carefully put the mug of coffee on Loren's nightstand, kneeling by the side of the bed he leaned over and kissed her gently, "Hey, wake up, sleepyhead, we've got a busy day ahead of us! Rise and shine Sleepy Jo!"

Loren murmured and her lips twitched in a smile, but she seemed to sink deeper into sleep, breathing softly and evenly.

Harm smiled at he gazed at her, and if Loren had been able to see the expression on his face and in his eyes, it would doubtless have caused her to catch her breath, but as much as Harm would have loved to kneel by the side of the bed and watch her while she slept, he couldn't afford that luxury. They had, as he had said, a lot to do today.

"C'mon sweetheart, open up those beautiful blue eyes, please? Hey, c'mon, wake up and smell the coffee – really! I've got a fresh mug right here on your nightstand… Aw, c'mon cupcake, wakey, wakey…"

Harm was about to lean in and kiss Loren again when her eyes fluttered open and two small vertical lines appeared between the arches of her eyebrows, "Cupcake? Really?" she murmured.

"Um… yeah…" Harm acknowledged, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks, and he just knew the tips of his ears were glowing crimson.

Loren propped herself on her elbows, allowing the duvet to slide down to reveal her breasts "What time is it?" she asked blearily.

"Uh… just coming up to zero eight thirty… here, I made you a mug of coffee…" Harm answered with a feeling that he might just have gotten away with the unusual term of endearment, but he was doomed to disappointment.

Loren pulled the duvet back up and pinned it in place with her elbows while she accepted the mug of coffee from Harm. Holding it in both hands, she took a deep sip of the drink, "M'mm… s'good!" she closed her eyes as she gave it her seal of approval, but then opened them again and her frown deepened as she gave Harm a penetrating look, "Cupcake? You called me Cupcake? Where the hell did that come from?" she asked incredulously.

Harm knelt back on his heels, a look of surprise on his face, and his hands spread wide, "I honestly don't know," he confessed with a bewildered air, "It just kinds popped out of my mouth…"

Loren fought down the giggles that threatened to overcome her and managed to keep up a façade of sternness, "Well, let that be the last time it 'just kinda popped out', or the bull-pen is going to hear all about Popeye!"

Harm looked suitably abashed, but he had caught the tiniest hint of laughter in Loren's voice and eyes, "Yes, ma'am!" he said humbly.

Loren put the now empty mug on her nightstand and smiled, "Oh, never mind that! Good morning, sailor!" and reached out draw him in so that she could kiss him, accidentally on purpose letting the duvet slip down to her waist as she did.

"Oh… that is so not fair…" Harm complained, as Loren grabbed one of his hands and brought it up to cup her breast, "I really want… but, Loren, I wasn't fooling… we have got a lot to do this morning and…m'mph!"

It was nearly an hour later that Harm awoke from his doze. He lay flat on his back, his left hand firmly held in Loren's right. He rolled his head sideways on the pillow and squinted at her. "You, woman, are just about insatiable!" he said in mock complaint.

"Not true!" Loren denied, letting go of his hand so that she could roll onto her side facing him and propping herself on her elbow, while she idly twirled the index finger of her left hand through the hairs on Harm's chest. "I am now completely satiated!" she yawned, "Satiated, tired, but very, very happy!"

"Good, I am pleased about that, at least!" It was Harm's turn to roll onto his side and prop himself on his elbow so that he plant a gentle kiss on Loren's lips, "But just because you've tired yourself out, it doesn't mean that you can laze in bed all day! Come on, woman, up! I meant what I said earlier about having a full schedule!"

Even as he spoke, Harm sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, scanning the floor for his boxers.

Loren smiled and stretched lazily, "Slave driver!" she smilingly complained, as she reached for last night's t-shirt which lay in a crumpled heap on her bedside chair.

Harm pulled his jeans on and grinned back over his shoulder, "Go on, go get your shower, while I start breakfast!"

"H'mm… don't you think that you might be just a little bit stinky too?" Loren teased him, even as she eyed, with great appreciation the play of the muscles on his back as he buckled his belt around his waist.

"And if I am, it's entirely your fault! I showered before I dressed and made the coffee, so you're just going to have to suck it up, sailor, until I find time to take another shower!"

"An unkind slave driver too!" Loren grumbled as she sauntered into the bathroom, deliberately emphasising the sway of her hips, and giving a delighted gurgle of triumphant laughter as she glanced back over her shoulder, to see Harm's eyes glued, as she had intended, to her bare butt, the bottom of which just showed below the t-shirt's hem. "Drooling again, Harm?" she grinned.

Harm's answering grin was almost a mile wide as he replied "Damn straight!"

**Sunday, May 6****th****, 2001, 1017hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (061417ZMay01**

Loren blew on her fingertips to cool them as she plucked the last of the breakfast dished from the hot water. The right hand of the pair of rubber gloves she usually used to protect her hands from the hot water had snagged on a fork and the glove had immediately filled with near-boiling water. Investigation of the stowage under the sink revealed that she had just ruined the last pair, consequently her right hand had suffered.

"Uh…feeling the heat?" Harm asked innocently, a question that she wouldn't dignify with an answer, but that still earned a why-don't-you-just-curl-up-and die? glare from Loren, as she yanked the plug from the sink.

Loren tripped off the remaining glove and tossed it into the trash along with its mutilated other half of the pair. Continuing to give Harm a level look, she asked, "Okay, lay-off the smart-ass glove remarks! Now, we're up, showered, breakfasted and have swabbed down the kitchen. So what was so all fired important that you had to drag me out of bed so early?"

"I did not drag you of bed early! It was well past nine, when we rolled out!"

"Yeah, but you wanted to drag me out of bed a lot earlier than that!" Loren sniffed defiantly.

"True… but you kinda discouraged that idea," Harm grinned.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Loren said smugly, "But stop deflecting, why did you want me to get up so early?"

"Hey it wasn't that early! It was nigh on eight thirty!"

"Yeah, well, I didn't get much sleep last night!"

"And whose fault was that?" Harm challenged her.

"That would be your fault," Loren informed him gravely.

"Excuse me? You were the one who practically jumped my bones in the bathroom!" Harm defended himself.

"Yeah, well… you shouldn't be so easy!" Loren giggled at Harm's expression of outrage, but then added "And you're still deflecting! What's so urgent?"

"House hunting!" Harm declared. "We did a pretty good job on crossing the 'impossibles' off the listings last night, and I was hoping we might get down to a half dozen or so 'probables', so that we could spend the afternoon looking at them, but someone dragged their heels so much that I now guess we'd better three the limit for today!"

Loren nodded, "Okay… but to save time, gas and money, they'd better all be in the same area."

"Agreed," Harm said, "and I still favour the Gainesville area…"

"Okay, if you fix another cup of coffee, I'll start browsing!"

"Deal!" Harm agreed, picking up the kettle and hefting it towards the sink.

Forty minutes later, Harm dropped his pen onto the table, "This is impossible… these listings are… singularly uninformative… we have no idea what these properties are like, none of them, apart from a couple of 'townhouses' make any mention of a back yard, and I really don't like the idea of living cheek by jowl… what I want is a single family detached place…"

Loren sighed, "I'm tempted to agree with you, but we can't give up now! Why don't I fire up the computer and we could have a look at some satellite imagery?"

Even using satellite imagery it took another hour before Harm and Loren had identified three properties that fitted their ideas, weren't too rich for their pockets – although Harm hadn't yet mentioned it to Loren, he did have access to a trust fund – and were in reasonable neighbourhoods, and as an added advantage weren't too far from each other and were within a few minutes' drive of both the US-29 and the Lee Highway, and as Loren remarked, "Handy for the stores, too!"

"Okay… so Allaire Drive, Old Carolina Road and then, and only then if neither of those two strike a chord, Kensington Palace Court!"

**Sunday, May 6****th****, 2001, 1627hrs EDT, Allaire Drive, Gainesville, VA, (062027ZMay01)**

"Well, it's better than the other two places…" Harm said disparagingly.

Loren nodded, "Yeah, Old Carolina Road was just too open."

"M'mm… and Kensington Palace Court…" Harm broke off what he was about to say, and gave a crack of laughter, which in turn set Loren off.

"Oh, I know, I know… what a pretentious name for a street!"

"Yeah… matches the houses, though doesn't it?" Harm asked as he turned out of the court and right handed back onto Old Carolina Road

Loren nodded, her amusement fading, "You know it wouldn't have been so bad if the houses along that stretch were different, but they were all the same design!"

"Yeah, and all pretty soulless!" Harm added.

Loren gave a discontented sigh, "Well that was a wasted afternoon… how could anything, let alone three places, that looked so good on paper turn out to be such complete…"

"Crap?" Harm offered as Loren searched for the right word.

Loren giggled, "Not the word I had in mind, but it'll do – oh, stop!"

The sudden urgency in Loren's voice had Harm slamming on the brakes; fortunately he had been observing the 25mph speed limit, so no damage was done to car or passengers, but he turned his head to glare at Loren, who in turn had her head turned away from him as she craned her neck in an effort to see something behind her and to her right.

"What the…" he began, but was cut off by an excited Loren.

"Oh! It looks perfect – back up Harm! Quickly!"

"What looks perfect?" Harm demanded as he knocked the gear lever into reverse and looked back over his own shoulder as he manoeuvred the Lexus backwards down the road and in towards the verge.

"This'll do, stop here!" Loren said imperiously and then took a breath, "Look…"

Harm looked at a west-facing, timber-framed house, including a two-car garage and a wrap-around porch. Built on three floors, or so the windows in the third floor gable suggested, and hammered into the lawn out front was a hand-lettered sign, "For Private Sale, Enquiries to…" followed by a cell-phone number.

"H'mm… looks okay…" Harm agreed, but not quite as enthusiastically as Loren.

Loren wasn't deterred, "Yeah, and look! It's even got a basketball hoop on the drive!"

Harm looked again. Sure enough, off to one side where it wouldn't obstruct the view from the house or access to the garage, was a slightly weather-beaten basketball complete with backboard, and although the angle was slightly off, it looked from where he was sitting that there was a key painted on the asphalt, complete with free throw line and jump-off circle.

While Harm took-in the appearance of the place, noting with approval, that the building looked sound enough and that it had received a coat or two of paint in the not too distant past, Loren was rummaging in her purse.

"What are you up to?" Harm asked when he noticed her activity.

"Ha! Got it!" Loren said in triumph as she brandished her cell phone, before she started tapping in a number, "I'm calling that number, to make an appointment to view!"

"It's a Sunday, Loren," Harm pointed out, "You might not get an answer…" but he was silenced by Loren's raised hand cutting off whatever it was he might have been about to say.

"_Dickerson_!"

"Hello, yes, I'm calling about the property for sale on Old Carolina Road, Gainesville…"

"_Yes_?"

"Umm… we've just found the property, entirely by accident, and I was wondering if we could make an appointment to view?"

"_H'mm… are you the couple in the silver SUV, parked up right outside_?"

Loren shot a slightly surprised glance at Harm, "Uh… yeah… that's us!"

"_You got a half-hour, maybe forty minutes to spare right now_?"

"Uh… yes… I'm sure we have…"

"_Good, then why don't you just step up to the door, and we can talk face to face, and if everything is on the up and up, you could maybe have a look right now_?"

"Um… yeah… I mean, yes, that would be fine, thank you!" Loren closed the phone and turned to Harm, "He's prepared to let us have a viewing right now!"

"Wow! That's mighty accommodating… could be that he's in a rush to sell, that might work to our advantage!"

"Harmon Rabb, don't be so mercenary!" Loren protested, half-laughing and half-shocked.

But Harm shook his head, "Sweetheart, if there's one thing I learned from Frank over the years, it's that the property market is a cut throat business, and you wring every scrap of advantage you can until the pips squeak!"

"Oh… Harm…" Loren said in slightly disappointed voice.

**Sunday, May 6****th****, 2001, 1633hrs EDT, 7028 Old Carolina Road, Gainesville, VA, (062033ZMay01)**

Loren need not have worried, the door was answered by a man maybe ten years older than Harm with a pair of lively brown eyes set in an intelligent face. His sandy-brown hair was beginning to recede and although he just about six feet tall he had a slightly stooped posture that made him seem shorter, and when they shook hands, both Harm and Loren noticed the impeccably cared for nails, the long, strong fingers and the pleasantly firm grip.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them with a pleasant smile. "Ralph Dickerson."

"Harmon Rabb, and my fiancée, Loren Singer," Harm introduced them both as their temporary host directed an inquiring glance at him.

Dickerson gave them a careful but swift visual inspection and nodded, "Well, if that's the formalities complete, come on in!" and he stepped back, and then after closing the door behind them, he led them into the lounge.

"Take a seat," he invited them, but Harm delayed in doing so as a door in the back wall opened and a woman, slightly younger than Dickerson entered the room, a tray loaded with cups saucers, a coffee pot and all the necessary adjuncts entered the room. "My wife, Susannah; Suse, Mister Rabb and Miss Singer…"

"Ma'am," Harm stayed standing to acknowledge her, while Loren gave her a slight smile and a nod.

Susannah Dickerson busied herself with pouring the coffee for a minute or so, and then perched on the arm of the chair occupied by her husband.

"I was just about to tell them about the house…" he began.

"Well, don't let me stop you-all!" Susannah replied in a soft southern accent, as she wound the hair at the back of his neck, (slightly longer than the length of which Harm approved) around her fingers.

Dickerson smiled up at his wife before turning his attention back to Harm and Loren, "Well, starting on the first floor, this, as you can see is the lounge, there is also a kitchen slash informal dining area, utility room, formal dining room and a half-bathroom. The kitchen and the utility room have a door to the back yard, and the utility room also has a connecting door to the garage. In the basement is a family room… the kids used it as a rumpus room before they moved out, and my den cum office cum study cum library, there's also a third room that could be used as a wine cellar.

"On the second floor are three bedrooms, all big enough to take a king-sized bed, although you wouldn't get much else in the third bedroom. We had a set of bunks in their while the twins were young, but then of course they had to have their own bedrooms as they grew older. That's when we had the loft conversion done, so there are two good-sized bedrooms, a lumber room and a half-bath in the loft… oh… and there are two bathrooms on the second floor too…"

Loren nodded enthusiastically, "Sounds just about what we've been looking for, although maybe a little bigger…"

Harm shot her a warning look, he really didn't want Loren's enthusiasm undermining his bargaining position, "What's the asking price?" he wanted to know.

Dickerson reached down to the lower shelf of the coffee table and retrieved a note pad and ball-point pen. He quickly scribbled a number on the pad, tore of the top sheet, folded it once and passed it to Harm, who promptly unfolded the paper, read the figure and whistled softly, his eyebrows registering his surprise.

"Are you sure?" he asked passing the note to Loren, "It seems a pretty low figure!"

"Well, we're selling privately, so we can afford to cut out the cost of the commission that would normally go to a realtor, and Suse's brother is our pro-bono attorney, and then we need a fairly quick sale."

"And why are you selling?" Loren asked, "Oh… I don't mean to pry, but it seems such a lovely home…."

"Well, I'm changing jobs… I've been offered a post at Richmond University Hospital… I'm an orthopaedic surgeon, and the job is a promotion to Senior Physician, and as much as we love living here, it's an impossible commute on a daily basis, and even worse if I get called out during silent hours. I just can't afford to be living so far from the hospital, so we need to be moved to Richmond before Labour Day when the new teaching year starts. Richmond U is a teaching hospital," he added in explanation.

Harm nodded and drained his coffee cup, "That all sounds pretty reasonable…" he commented.

"Good!" Doctor Dickerson finished his coffee and stood, "So… why don't I show you around?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Loren responded enthusiastically, while Harm shot her a reproving look which glanced off her armour.

Despite Dickerson's forecast of Harm and Loren needing forty minutes to look over the property, it was nearly an hour and a quarter before Harm and Dickerson exchanged cards on the porch. "We'll certainly talk very seriously about this," Harm assured him, "I won't say it's ideal, but it comes very close!" he added with a grin.

Susannah, who had come to the door with her husband to bid the visitors farewell, smiled, "Ah have yet to find any house that a body could describe as 'ideal'" she smiled. "But this place has done Ralph and myself proud for over twenty years!"

**Sunday, May 6****th****, 2001, 1821hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (062221ZMay01)**

"I think we can allow ourselves a little licence this evening," Harm grinned as he closed the apartment door behind them.

"Oh… in what way?" Loren asked.

"I don't feel like cooking this evening, so I thought we'd order in," Harm replied.

"H'mm… I won't ask why, just yet," Loren smiled, but I will ask what you have in mind? Pizza?"

Ham shook his head, "Nuh-huh, I kind of fancy Thai… we haven't had any Thai food in the longest time!"

Loren thought for a moment or two, "No… we haven't… do you want to go ahead and order?"

"Yeah… anything in particular you want?"

"No… whatever you get will be fine – as long as it's got some real protein in it!"

"Okay… so if I get one portion of chicken and coconut curry for you, and a shrimp curry for me, and rice and noodles, as well as a couple of side dishes?"

"Oh… yeah, great!" Loren smiled enthusiastically, "As long as it's one of their milder curries!"

Five minutes later Harm put the phone back on its cradle and sat down on the couch, next to Loren. He fished into shirt pocket and pulled out Dickerson's card

"This is what we're celebrating! If the title search and the survey fall into place, I think we found our new home today! And all thank to my brilliant, smart, beautiful and very observant fiancée, who I don't think I've told, in the last couple of hours, just how much I love her!"

"No…" Loren said thoughtfully, "that's true, but you've made up for it now!" she finished, with a smile. "But what's with the change in attitude? You didn't seem too keen on the place while we were there!"

"I didn't want to seem too keen, or too desperate, that would have allowed Dickerson to put us over a barrel!"

"H'mm… okay, but I see your point. Well, I liked – no, I loved the place. Yeah it's a bit bigger than we had in mind, but those extra rooms will come in handy…"

"For our football team?" Harm teased her gently.

"No! No football team – I've told you that!" Loren chuckled, "But yeah, it is a family home, and it should be filled with kids laughing and playing…"

"And crying, and breaking curfew, and playing hookey from school, and catching measles, chickenpox, mumps… and that's not even counting the upsets stomachs, the infant colic, the teething the..."

"Hey! It was you who said he wanted lots of kids!" Loren protested.

"I do, you know that, but I'm not blind to the realities of family life!"

"Oh yeah, and who have you been listening to?"

"Well, Bud Roberts, for a start, that was the infant colic and teething… and the rest of it was my own childhood memories of being sick, and…" he added thoughtfully, "I'm still not sure which of those childhood ailments was the worst. I remember mom bandaging my hands so I couldn't scratch when I had chicken pox. Man, that really itched, but the mumps really hurt, especially first thing in the morning!"

Loren shuddered, "You know… I don't ever recall being sick as a child… I don't think we were allowed to be sick… measles, mumps or whatever, I'm pretty sure we were just packed off to school!"

"But what about the other kids, didn't they get infected?"

Loren nodded, "They must have done, but I have a feeling, maybe a dim memory, of people wanting their kids to get sick young, so they wouldn't have to face the worse adult versions of the disease. After all chickenpox in kids can turn into shingles in adults, and well… I'm sure you know about what mumps can do to grown men, and measles and rubella are pretty drastic for women, especially if they're pregnant. And most of the folks where I grew up couldn't afford medical insurance!"

Harm shuddered, "Ugh! Childhood immunisation by deliberate exposure! Thank God those days are over!"

"Amen to that!" Loren agreed whole heartedly, "but to get back to my original point… I meant the extra rooms will come in handy for when your parents and Grams come for the wedding and any other subsequent visits… they won't have to worry about finding hotel rooms…"

Harm blinked, "That thought hadn't even crossed my mind, but you're right of course. It's just that I wasn't thinking that far ahead. But if we want to move in by the end of June, we need to get moving on this. I'll start the ball rolling tomorrow and get CC to start the title search… she can handle the escrow and completion too… she owes me a big favour!"

"Who's CC?" Loren queried.

"Christine Carmichael, the brunette Lieutenant in LSO, I defended her in a civil case and traffic court last year, and proved that the wreck wasn't her fault, so she owes me!"

"My hero!" Loren mocked him gently, but then the smile left her face as she asked, "So you're going to call Dickerson tonight?"

Harm shook his head, "No… not tonight; that _would _make us look too eager. I'll call him tomorrow lunch time, on his cell and make him an offer."

"How much?"

"Well, you saw the asking price, it's almost a steal as it is, but I'll go down, maybe fifteen G."

"H'mm don't let it slip through our fingers by being too greedy!" Loren cautioned him,

"No, don't worry, I won't, I'll…" Harm was interrupted by the buzzer, "Ah, that'll be our dinner!"

Serious talk came to an end as they ate their meal, neither of them realising until they opened the containers and the rich aromas reached their nostrils, just how hungry they were.

At last Loren put her spoon and fork down and sat back against the squabs, "You always order way too much!" she said.

"And you're complaining?" Harm asked peering at her over a spoon loaded with fried noodles.

"No… just commenting!" Loren said as she sat up again and started closing up the cartons, most of which still held between a third and half of their original contents.

"But it won't go to waste, though, will it?" Harm asked pointedly.

"Not at all!" Loren confirmed cheerfully, "We can take it into the office tomorrow and nuke it for lunch!"

"So not just brown-bagging, but brown-bagging with left-overs!" Harm teased.

"Damn straight," Loren said composedly, refusing to rise to the bait. "After all, if we're buying a house, we can't afford to waste a single penny!" she said as she gathered up the plates and containers and carried them to the kitchen.

Harm's jaw fell open, "Oh my… we are… we are actually talking seriously about buying a house – not just in the abstract, but a real house that we saw with our own eyes!"

"Duh!" Loren grinned, but then immediately became serious again as she returned to the lounge "But what about the finances of it Harm?"

"Well, I've got a bit of a nest-egg. Some of it I inherited from my grandparents – mom's mom and dad, and that was the start of what was going to be my college fund, and that got added to over the years, and then when mom married Frank, he took over the running of the fund and made some damned good investments. Of course I went to Annapolis, so the college fund wasn't touched and I just left it sit. I'm not sure what the exact balance is, but I reckon I could raise about sixty per cent of the asking price and still have enough left over to start a college fund for our own kid or kids…!"

"Impressive, Mister Rabb! I didn't realise I would be marrying into money!" Loren grinned.

"Oh, you won't be! We'll still have to work... which reminds me… what are your career plans? Do you intend to go career, or just until you've fulfilled your obligation to the Navy? It's something we haven't really talked about."

"No… we haven't, have we…" Loren mused. "I was just going to fulfil my obligation… and I hadn't really thought about any effect of getting married would have on my plans. Harm, I like practicing law, and if I left the Navy at the end of my obligation I'd probably look for work on a civilian law firm. But if you were still in the Navy and I was tied to a desk here in DC, Virginia, Maryland or Pennsylvania, what would that do to our marriage if you get selected for Force JAG in Europe or Japan? I'd be tied to this area, maybe with a kid or two, to try to juggle with a demanding career – you know what sort of hours junior partners and associates have to put in to make their mark on a law firm! But if I stay in, and you get a PCS, then I could always apply for spousal co-location…"

Harm looked at Loren in mild surprise, "I thought you said you hadn't thought about it!"

Loren shook her head, "I hadn't… I was thinking it through while I was talking…"

"Oh, wow!" Harm said grinning.

"Hey, less of the surprised act!" Loren said and then gave him a long, level look, "And it had better be an act!"

"Or what?" Harm demanded with a smile.

"Or… or… Oh… I know… That photo of you I snapped… you know… the one where you were asleep, with your Pooky bear… How embarrassing would that be if it suddenly appeared on the galley fridge door?"

"You wouldn't!" Harm gasped.

"I would!" Loren contradicted him.

"It doesn't matter, if you did!" Harm suddenly decided. "Nobody would believe it, they'd all think it was something you'd set up – which it was!"

"Want to bet?" Loren challenged him, and spinning on her heel made for the bedroom.

"Hey!" Harm yelled in protest and lunged after her, catching up with her just as she reached the bed and was kneeling on it and leaning over to open the drawer of her nightstand.

"Hey, give me that!" Harm demanded as he tackled her onto the bed.

"Not a chance!" Loren giggled, as she squirmed underneath him to get her arm free.

Being careful not to hurt her, Harm took full advantage of his size and strength to pin her gently to the bed, and after a minute or so of giggle-filled wrestling, punctuated by Harm's cry of "Hey, not fair!" as Loren tried to tickle him they ended up with Loren flat on her back while Harm straddled her on his knees and held her wrists pinned down against the duvet.

"Well… now that you've got me here, what are you going to do with me?" Loren teased.

Harm looked down at her. With her face slightly flushed, her hair in disarray, her mouth slightly parted and her eyes shining with amusement and something else, she had hardly ever looked more beautiful to him than she did right at this moment.

"Oh… I could probably think of something…" Harm said suggestively, his mouth suddenly dry as he released Loren's wrists and cupped her face in his hands.

"I'm sure you could…" Loren's smoky eyes bored into Harm's as her hands came up to link at the back of his neck and draw his face down to hers.

**Monday, May 7****th****, 2001, 0600hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (071000ZMay01)**

The harsh ringing of the alarm clock dragged both Harm and Loren from the deep sleep into which their last night's exertions had plunged them.

"Oh God, does it have to be so loud!" Loren grumbled as she forced herself to sit up and swing her feet over the side, fumbling with her toe for her slippers while looking distractedly from side to side for something to wear or at least to wrap around her body.

"You chose the damn' thing!" Harm grumbled in his turn while he used one bare foot to hook his boxers up off the floor.

"Yeah, go ahead and blame me!" Loren replied, and then as her sense of humour began to wake up, she added slyly, "Pooky!"

"Damn straight!" muttered Harm, whose brain hadn't yet quite caught up with his ears, and with an offended sniff, he shuffled into the bathroom.

Loren took the next few minutes to find a t-shirt, straighten the bed and pick up around the room until she heard the hiss of water from the bathroom stop. Twisting her hair up into a roll, she secured it in place with a scrunchie and walked into the bathroom, to find Harm, as she had expected, with a towel wrapped non-too-securely about his hips, standing in front of the wash basin, his razor in hand, and the bits of his face that weren't covered in shaving foam set in a frown of concentration as he scraped twenty-four hours' worth of bristles from his cheeks and chin.

Harm, his face scraped and his teeth brushed was long gone from the bathroom by the time Loren, her hair freshly washed, was finished in the shower, and by the time she'd cleaned her teeth, dried her hair, applied her make-up and dressed Harm had cooked breakfast and with the best part of a pint and a half of coffee already inside him was beginning to recover his usual cheerfulness.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he stood to greet her with a soft kiss.

"Good morning you!" she replied, kissing him back. Both of them had learn by now to discount their first thing in the morning grumbles. Nothing really counted as being said until they'd showered and said good morning. Anything previous to that daily milestone was just noise.

"M'mm… maple syrup," Loren murmured as she sat down, "I thought I could smell cinnamon and pancakes."

"Yep," Harm turned back to the skillet and poured four ladles of batter into it, allowing each ladle-full time to form before he added the next.

Loren nodded and waited for her customary short stack of pancakes to cook, "How come we got to get a lie-in this morning?" she asked, as she realised that the alarm had been set a half an hour later than it had been recently.

"No Beltway shooter!" Harm grinned, "so the congestion getting to the bridge should be much less, and hopefully that much less again on the way home this evening!"

"Ah… so your last couple of days on the case did bring some material benefit then. So you weren't entirely wasting a perfectly good Saturday!" Loren commented as Harm pace her plate in front of her and she reached for the maple syrup.

Harm shot her a jaundiced look, "No, not entirely!" he said dryly and did his best to pretend he hadn't heard Loren's answering giggle.

**Monday, May 7****th****, 2001, 0927hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (071327ZMay01)**

Rear Admiral Chegwidden had finished hearing his staff reports on their ongoing cases, and had handed the team leaders a fresh batch of cases for investigation and subsequent raising or dismissal of charges, and the assembled officers expected him to rise to his feet, and bring the staff call to an end. However, this morning, he removed his reading glasses and looked around at the faces ranged down each side of the long, highly polished conference table.

"Before I dismiss you all, I just want to commend Commanders Rabb, Austin and Manetti on the excellent work they did the last week. Their efforts with IT, psychological profiling and marksmanship expertise, have been commented upon, in highly favourable terms by the Directors of both the FBI and the NCIS. So, congratulations to all three of you!" He took a last look at his staff and then he did stand, "Dismissed!" he commanded with a tight grin.

**Monday, May 7****th****, 2001, 1042hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (071442ZMay01)**

Harm looked across his desk at Lieutenant Commander Faith Morrison and Lieutenant Peter Barlow, the other two members, for the moment, of his team, "So… although we are pretty hard pressed at the moment, the Admiral has assured me that he is actively trawling for another Lieutenant with a proven track record to come and fill our team vacancy. In the meantime we do the best we can between us. I will continue to handle the more challenging cases, and might if I need to call upon either one of you to sit second chair, or accompany me on investigations. In the meantime, I shall allocate cases to you as I see them best fit your skills, experiences and strength. And that does not mean scut-work. Particularly you, Lieutenant. I've noticed that you have a tendency to check the stacks yourself… well, we've all done it when we are trying to trace an elusive reference, but for normal routine research and assistance, use the Legalmen, that's what they're here for, and some of the more senior among them have a goodly knowledge of not only the law, but where the bodies are buried!"

Harm was about to say more when the phone rang, with a silent curse, he looked firstly at the caller ID and then apologetically at the two younger officers, "I have to take this…"

He waited until his juniors had quit the office before he picked up, "Yes?"

"_Rabb, this is Fornell. Are your two ladies with you_?"

"No… but I can get a conference call rigged…"

"_No, don't bother, but please pass on to Commander Austin, my most sincere thanks. Thanks to her warning about the Reynosa Cartel's fondness for IEDs we held off entering the house until a sniffer team arrived. The team found IEDs rigged under the stairs and at the back door to the property. Anyone treading on the stairs would have activated a pressure pad connected a blasting cap in two pounds of C-4 and anyone opening the back door would have triggered a Claymore set at waist height…_"

Harm winced, he was no explosives expert, but he knew just how lethal those two devices would have been.

"_We also discovered the weapons in the house. In the second floor room we found a German MG-Three. That's what they used to fire on our SUV, and we found the British Army Sniper Rifle in the same room. We also recovered three Mendoza Cobra SMGs. They're supposed to be restricted to the Mexican military, so we're currently checking their serial numbers with the Federales, and there were the four automatic pistols of varying makes that we removed from the suspects_!"

"Oh, wow! Loaded for bear!" Harm whistled.

"_Yeah, and if it hadn't been for your Japanese American Commander, we wouldn't have expected more than one shooter, so our thanks to her too! Those two young ladies definitely saved lives on Saturday_!"

"I will definitely let them know! Thanks, Agent Fornell!"

"_Hell, no. Like I said, the thanks are all on our side_!"


	69. Chapter 69

**Chapter 69**

**Monday, May 7****th****, 2001, 1823hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (080023ZMay01)**

"So… how did it go? Loren persisted, carrying on the conversation that had begun in the car on the way home. A much shorter journey now that people were regaining the confidence to use the Beltway again.

"It went okay, I guess," Harm replied, hanging his cover on the hat stand just inside the door.

"Just 'okay' you 'guess'?" Loren queried sharply, balancing on one leg at a time, as she eased her shoes off and then wriggled her toes against the carpet pile. "Oooh! That's better," she sighed.

"I don't know why you don't buy comfortable shoes," Harm commented.

"Because the sealed pattern for uniform shoes was obviously designed by a man who didn't know the first thing about women's feet!" Loren snapped. "Women in the Navy are caught between a rock and a hard place. If we buy comfortable shoes, we are out of uniform, and if we buy approved pattern shoes, then by the end of the day, our feet are killing us! No wonder so many of us have got a reputation for having short tempers!"

Harm opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Loren's glare as she read his expression, "Don't go there! Don't say it! In fact, don't even think it!"

"Oh… all I was going to say is that CC has agreed to do the title search for us, and I've arranged a meeting with the bank manager for fifteen hundred hours tomorrow. You need to be there, and you'll need to bring your statements of leave and earnings," Harm said innocently.

Loren gave him a narrow-eyed stare as she turned towards the bedroom, her fingers already working at her belt buckle, "Riiight," she drawled sardonically.

"Honest Injun!" Harm quipped as he turned to follow her, a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth expression on his face.

"Yeah!" Loren sniffed, and then she broke into a grin of her own, "I cry dibs on the shower!"

It was almost an hour later that Harm emerged from the bedroom, his still damp hair standing up in spikes from his head as he tugged the belt of his jeans tight around his middle and sniffed appreciatively at whatever Loren had on the stove. "Nearly done?" he called.

"Just about, can you set the table please? Oh… and open a bottle of red?"

"Sure thing," Harm grinned to himself behind Loren's back, relishing the bomb he was about burst, "Oh… by the way… I nearly forgot…"

Loren stopped stirring whatever it was she had on the burner for an instant and glanced suspiciously over her shoulder, "What?" she asked.

"Oh, it's just that Dickerson accepted an offer of his asking price less ten thousand!"

"He… You… what? Ten? I… Ooh! You!" Loren stamped her foot in exasperation and then took a deep breath, "You bastard, like hell you forgot! But…" her grin broke through, "But you're forgiven, although if you ever try to do anything like that again…!" she broke off and brandished the dripping wooden spoon in his direction.

Harm stood silent watching her performance, but with a smug, superior smile on his face.

**Tuesday, May 8****th****, 2001, 0957hrs EDT, Admiral A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (081357zMay01)**

A J Chegwidden leaned back in his chair and peered at his visitor over the top of his reading glasses, "What can I do for you, Commander?" he asked.

"I'd like permission to secure at lunchtime today, sir, for both myself and Lieutenant Singer."

Chegwidden raised his eyebrows slightly, "Any particular reason that you'd like to tell me about, Commander?"

"Uh… yes, sir. Since the attempted burglary and the shooting, Lieutenant Singer has remained very uneasy at being left in the apartment on her own…"

Chegwidden nodded, "Understandable, but she could be receiving treatment for her fears."

"Agreed, sir, and that is in train. But the bones of the matter is, and taking into account our upcoming wedding, that she and I have been looking for alternative accommodation… for a house to buy."

"A big step Commander," Chegwidden remarked mildly enough while thinking, 'I don't believe it! He's finally growing up!'

"Yes sir. And while we believe we may have found a suitable house, we do need to talk to our bank managers about financing the deal. I spoke to my bank manager yesterday evening, and he can fit us in at fifteen hundred hours today, but here's the thing sir, unless we attend in uniform, we'll need to take the whole afternoon off…"

"Very well, Commander. Permission granted… and… keep me informed, please!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm replied and turned to leave, but was stopped as Chegwidden spoke again.

"And… Harm… good luck with the house, son,"

Surprised, Harm blinked away his astonishment, "Yes, sir! Thank you!"

**Tuesday, May 8****th****, 2001, 1627hrs EDT, PNC Bank, H Street NE, Washington DC, (082027zMay01)**

The heat bouncing of the street and walls of the buildings made both Harm and Loren gasp as they emerged from the air-conditioned comfort of the bank that held Harm's account. And for an instant Harm regretted the impulse that had made him drive home at lunchtime so that he and Loren could change out of uniform. Loren, at least looked fairly cool in a lightweight, light tan skirt suit, while Harm was already regretting the impulse that had made him don one of his Italian business suits.

But despite the discomfort Harm couldn't help the broad grin that spread across his face as he looked at Loren, and she was similarly helpless as she met his eyes. "We did it!" he exulted quietly.

"Yeah, we did!" Loren beamed, taking him by surprise as she slipped an arm around his waist. For all her passion in private, Loren was still not comfortable with public shows of affection, and neither really was Harm, but in his case the discomfort was due more to long-instilled habit from years of wearing uniform. But this time he couldn't have cared less, and responded in kind, as he guided Loren towards the edge of the sidewalk, keeping an eagle eye open for a cab. It was far cheaper to take a cab for the ride back to Georgetown than to pay the exorbitant parking charges in this area of DC, and which would still have left them with a twenty minute walk in the stifling heat to and from the bank.

**Tuesday, May 8****th****, 2001, 1727hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (082127ZMay01)**

Harm gratefully stripped off his suit, shirt and necktie, even as Loren as gratefully slipped out of her suit jacket, and grimacing at the creases carefully placed it on a hanger, "Do you think the creases will drop out?" she asked doubtfully.

Harm pulled a face, "Probably not, but a trip to the cleaner's will most likely deal with that problem!"

"Oh, I know," Loren said, her fingers already busy with the fastening of her skirt, "But it's just one more errand to run… oh… and talking of which, I'll be taking the Miata in tomorrow. I need to go over to the Navy Yard tomorrow afternoon. I've got an interview scheduled with my drunk and disorderly sailor, and I might as well take the chance while I'm there to call in at the BX, so can you make sure you drop our whites off at the cleaner's on the way in, tomorrow?"

"Sure," Harm agreed, pulling on a pair of jeans but adding with a sly smile, "As long as you remember to remind me!"

"I'll do better than that!" Loren promised, "I'll go hang them on the back of the door right now!"

"You're really going to walk around the apartment like that?" Harm asked, pointedly looking at Loren's now bare legs from where they appeared under the hem of her top.

"Why? You're not suddenly turning prudish, are you?" Loren grinned wickedly.

"Uh… no… In fact I'm beginning to have some decidedly un-prudish ideas," Harm smiled wickedly.

"Oh, in that case, I'll put some pants on!" Loren replied, and then as she saw Harm's expression she added innocently, "What? I'm hungry, and I don't want dinner to be late this evening!"

"So what's with the trip to the BX?" Harm asked forty minutes later as he wound a few strands of pasta around his fork.

"M'mm?" Loren asked, her mouth full, and then swallowing, "BX? Oh… yeah… Nothing major, it's just that Carolyn noticed that my left rank slide is looking a bit shabby. They get that way, you know, from the rubbing of the purse strap. The annoying thing is we can only buy them in pairs, and by the time we need a replacement, we can't even wear the undamaged ones as a pair because they show their different ages!" she grumbled.

Harm looked – and felt – stunned, "Let me get this straight… You need to buy new rank slides because of uneven wear, one of them gets rubbed shabby by your regulation purse strap?"

Loren nodded, her face puzzled, it was so obvious to her, that Harm's question was a total no-brainer.

Harm decided that from here on in he needed to pick his words carefully, because it was blindingly obvious to him that Loren hadn't even conceived the idea that had acted upon him like a slap to the back of the head. "You… uh… always put the rank slides on the same shoulder?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course, I take them off the dirty blouse and then put them on the clean blouse one at a time and…" even as she spoke Loren suddenly realised what she had missed all the years she had been in uniform and that Harm had seen in less than a minute. All she needed to do to even out the wear and tear on the slides was to place them alternately on the left and right shoulders of her blouses. "Oh… Damn you, Harmon Rabb! Now I feel really stupid!" she complained

Harm shook his head, "No, not stupid, just too close to the problem to be able to get perspective."

"Which is just a polite way of saying I was stupid!" Loren accused him.

"No, if anything it's a polite way of accusing you of acquiring the pilot's curse!"

"And what's that?" Loren demanded pugnaciously.

"Tunnel vision, target fixation, loss of situational awareness, there are lots of names for it. An inability to see the forest because of all the trees in the way," Harm supplied his list of alternatives with a spuriously helpful air.

"H'mm…" Loren contented herself with the non-committal sound but continued to eye Harm suspiciously across the table.

"But talking of the pilot's curse, now that life is returning to normal, you need to get back into the air, so we need to be thinking about getting down to Charlottesville this weekend!" Harm said decisively.

"Oh, yes, I'd love to!" Loren's face lit up in a smile of delight which however only lasted for a few seconds, "But with buying the house, can we afford to keep flying on a regular basis?"

"I don't see why not," Harm argued, "Of course we do need to economise, but the move to Gainsville will cut fifty, fifty-five miles off the return journey and maybe we ought to look at not staying at the Boars Head so often. But, if we take the Indian instead of the Lexus, that'll be a saving on gas too. So I could go over to the lock up tomorrow or Thursday after secure, get our leathers and bring them back here. Then on Friday evening, you give me a ride over to the garage, I get the bike, and we'll be ready for the off bright and early on Saturday morning…"

Loren hesitated before she answered, but Harm guessed that he had won the argument by the light in her eyes before she even opened her mouth

**Wednesday, May 9****th****, 2001, 1806hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (022206ZMay01)**

Loren had called earlier from the Navy Yard saying that she'd had enough for the day, and was going directly home. Harm had heard the weariness in her voice and guessed that she'd had a difficult afternoon, and had agreed that it sounded like a plan. He had also taken the opportunity to remind her not to expect him home any time before eighteen hundred hours as he was still intending to go across town and collect their leathers from Meg's garage.

Now, Harm winced as he parked the Lexus in a fortunately vacant space practically outside the buildings door, he could hear the heavy thump-thump-thump of rock music and he hoped devoutly that it wasn't coming from Loren's apartment, especially as looking up he could see that the lounge and kitchen window, visible from the street were both fully lit.

Taking the stairs as a partial antidote to having been sat down most of the day, even while loaded down with both sets of leather and both helmets, he made it up to the second floor and into the hallway, but even before he exited the stairwell he could hear the sound of angry voices and then a hammering sound, as if of a fist on a door. Bracing himself he opened the door and peered into the hall, where to his infinite relief he saw that the small crowd, including Loren, were gathered around the door diagonally opposite Loren's and his apartment.

As he approached the noise and the vibration of what he recognised as Steppenwolf's 'Born to be Wild' became so loud that it was almost painful. He shouldered his way through the gathering until he reached Loren and tapped her on the shoulder, "How long's this been going on?" he shouted.

"Over an hour!" Loren yelled back, "The same track over and over again!"

"Has anyone called the supervisor?" Harm asked, but Loren could only shrug.

Harm tried again, "Has anyone called the supervisor?" he yelled in an effort to be heard by more than just Loren.

A skinny younger man, with a scraggy beard and a vaguely beatnik air about him, and whom Harm just about recognised as living on the first floor called back, "Yeah… but he's not answering his phone or his apartment door…"

Just as he finished speaking the music stopped, but rather than any sign of relief the crowd tensed as if waiting. They waited in hopeful anticipation for no more than two seconds before the opening bars of the rock anthem once more reverberated through the door. Some people might have groaned, but if they did, the groans went unheard among the crashing guitar chords.

"Who lives here? I thought this apartment was empty!" Harm yelled at beatnik guy.

"Dunno… some blonde chick… moved in over the weekend!" he shouted back.

Harm gazed doubtfully at the door, like all the other apartment doors it had a wood veneer, but he was pretty sure that it was of the same timber and steel sandwich construction as the door to Loren's apartment and with at least one deadbolt fitted, if not more, and would be impervious to a shoulder charge, or a stamp kick to the lock, a favourite TV cop show method of gaining entry that he had yet to see work in real-life. Besides he had a sneaking suspicion that either method would lead to badly bruised, if not broken, bones.

Harm had had enough. Although his ears had been subjected to the ridiculously high volume of sound for the shortest time of all present, he'd already had a long day. Taking Loren by the elbow, he indicated with a jerk of his head that should retreat to their own apartment.

Safely behind their own closed door, the heavy base still audible, but reduced by distance and construction to a level where normal conversation was just about possible he asked Loren, "Can you remember the name of the detective who came out when you called in the shooting?"

Loren thought furiously for a few moments but then shook her head, "No… sorry… I was kind of… I mean I had other things to think about…Oh! Wait up! I think one of them left me his card! Loren hurried across to the desk and rummaged in the top drawer where amongst the litter of pens, pencils post-it notes, paper lips, stapler and loose staples, she found the scrap of pasteboard for which she was looking. "Yes!" she exclaimed triumphantly, "Got it! Detective Walsh, Second District! Aren't you glad I'm such a pack-rat now?!"

"Okay…" Harm picked up the phone, held his hand put for the card and dialled the number printed on it.

"_Richardson_!"

"Oh… Hi… I… uh…was expecting a Detective Walsh?"

"_He's my partner, can I help you_?"

"Well… probably… My name is Rabb, Commander, US Navy JAG Corps, I'm at ten fifty-four Canal Street NW, and I want to report a suspicious circumstance."

"_I know that address…"_

"Yeah, you should, you recently attended a shooting here."

"_Yeah, that was a Navy JAG too… a Lieutenant…"_

"Yeah, but that's not why I'm calling. A new tenant moved in over the weekend. Her music system has been blasting out the same tune for over an hour. There's no response to repeated attempts to get her attention, and the supervisor has gone UA…uh… AWOL"

"_You're calling the cops because your neighbour has lousy taste in music_?" Richardson asked incredulously.

"No, I'm calling because whoever's in that apartment may need help. Of course, if you don't want to come out, I could always get my boss to call your boss. I understand they go running and play golf together."

"_Your boss plays golf with the District Commander_?" Richardson sounded as if he didn't believe a word.

"No," Harm said patiently, "My boss plays golf with the Mayor and goes running with the Chief of Police."

"_You're bluffing_!" Richardson said confidently.

"Hey, if you think I'm bluffing and you want to call me on it, just put the phone down right now," Harm said.

"_Hey, all right, all right, don't get your panties in a wad! I'll get a mobile unit to you ASAP_!" The confident note in Richardson's voice had diminished and Harm thought he could hear a note of desperation creeping in.

"Thanks, we'll be waiting!" he replied and hung up.

Loren who had been listening while she made a pot of coffee came out of the kitchen area with two steaming mugs, "Does the Admiral really go running with the Chief of Police?" she asked curiously.

Harm took a sip of coffee, "I have absolutely no idea!" he smirked, "But I knew that asshole of a detective wouldn't risk that he did!"

Loren grinned in return, "You're bad!" she said.

"I try, I try," Harm agreed complacently.

Trying to ignore the noise still filtering through the wall Harm and Loren sat on the couch to drink their coffee, but the noise was impossible to ignore completely, "What do you think's wrong in there?" Loren asked after a short pause.

Harm shook his head, "I don't know, but I do know that we can't get an answer, the CD is stuck on that one track on continuous playback and we can't get hold of the super and that worries me. It may be nothing, it may just be that she's passed out drunk, or she went out and left the music not realising it was on a loop, maybe lots of things, but…"

Loren nodded sadly as thoughts of what might behind the locked apartment door outweighed the annoyance she felt at the noise intrusion.

Five minutes later the glow of red and blue flashing lights came through the window and Harm stood and peered through the window, "Yep, a patrol car," he confirmed to Loren and draining his coffee cup, put it on the kitchen draining board and then with Loren stepped out into the corridor where the angry crowd still milled impotently in front of the other apartment door.

A stir at the far edge of the crowd and a gruff, "Hey, c'mon people, let us see what the problem is…" announced the arrival of two uniformed officers. One in his mid-thirties gave off the aura of a long service veteran cop, while the other appeared to be in his mid-twenties at the latest.

The older of the two cops shouldered his way through the press and then turned, standing with his back to the door, "Okay people," he yelled, "There's nothing here to see. The resident isn't going to open the door to a mob, so everyone, back off, go to your apartments and leave this to us!"

Nobody moved.

"I said go home, and leave this to us!" he repeated.

Beatnik guy raised his hands, "Okay, okay, you don't have to yell!" he yelled to make himself head over the music. A chuckle ran through the crowd and it began to disintegrate as people shrugged their shoulders and started drifting back towards their own apartments.

The older cop turned to look at Harm and Loren as they stood just outside their apartment door, "You Commander Robb, the guy who called this in?"

"That's Rabb, but yeah I called it in."

The younger cop half-grinned, "Can't say as I blame you. That's a rock classic, but it's pretty loud!"

"Yes and it's getting old pretty fast, considering it's been playing for over an hour!" Loren said.

"So let's see if we can get an answer, now the mob's gone!" the older of the two cops grunted, and turned to his partner, "Go get the enforcer from the car!"

The junior partner was gone and back within three minutes, hefting the handy-sized battering ram expectantly in his hands.

"Wait up a second, Junior! Let's try one more time!" And once more the older officer hammered his fist on the door, "Metro Police! Open up!" but again there was no answer. Gently rubbing the side of his fist with his left hand, the older cop stepped back, "Okay, Clyde… hit it!"

With an almost feral grin the younger man swung the ram forward to find to his surprise that although the door sagged it didn't as he had expected flown open. "Once more!" he grunted and swung an even more forceful blow against the stubborn construction. This time to the accompaniment of shrieking metal and splintering wood the door burst open.

His service pistol in hand the older officer burst in through the doorway looking to his right, while, the younger officer followed, his own weapon in hand and looking to the left. There was a moment's silence and then the older officer yelled "Gotta body – no – two bodies!"

Both cops moved swiftly through the apartment checking the bedroom and bathroom, punctuating their efforts with cries of "Clear!"

Harm in the meantime, in a reflexive movement had stepped in front of Loren to prevent her seeing into the apartment and a grim expression settled on his face.

The two officers reappeared, holstering their weapons as the tension oozed out of them, the older of the two using the tip of his pen to press the power switch on the music centre, bring blissful silence to the apartment, while the younger officer kneeling by the bodies checked each in turn for a pulse, but then looked up at his partner with a bleak expression on his face as he shook his head.

The older cop nodding his acknowledgement of the other's unspoken message but then looked at where Harm was standing, a scowl of annoyance on his face, "Hey, you shouldn't be in here…" he began, but then some street cop's instinct kicked in as he noticed the way Harm was staring at the two bodies lying in a large pool of blood. "You know these folks?" he asked, his tone gentler but still slightly suspicious.

Harm indicated the man's body, the hilt of a knife visible against his blood-soaked t-shirt, where the blade was lodged in his chest, "that's the building super…" he began.

"Walter Simmons," Loren supplied the name that Harm had never learned.

Harm flashed a quick, weak smile of thanks at Loren and , and then turned his attention to the woman's body, her blouse ripped open, and her skirt hiked up to her waist, her underwear also partially removed, but her head twisted on her neck at an impossible angle.

"But as for her, no, I don't recog… oh… oh shit! Yes, I do recognise her… I don't know her real name, but I defended her at a court martial five, six years ago. She was using an alias at the time, Beth Lane… she was posing as an Ensign USN, but she's, or she was an ONI Operative…"

"She's Navy?" the younger cop asked.

"Yeah, or she was," Harm agreed, and then took a deep breath, "I think that you ought to call NCIS in on this one… I have a feeling that we're on the edge of something that could turn very complicated very quickly."

"Oh… why is that?"

"Because, without going into classified details, my fiancée shot an intruder in our apartment who turned out to be another naval officer attached to ONI, and I was involved in an investigation which resulted in the Head of the ONI resigning, and this apartment was empty until this past weekend… I reckon there's just too many tie-ins for this to have been all coincidence…"

"That's not our call… but we'll let homicide know of her suspected military status. Now you folks live opposite, right?"

Harm nodded.

"So why don't you and your fiancée, you say? Why don't you and she go back inside, and if the homicide detectives want to speak with you they'll let you know."

Harm nodded, "In the meantime, I have a duty to call this in to NCIS, and try to at least get conformation that she was still navy."

The cop looked bleakly at Harm and then sighed, "I guess you gotta do what you gotta do," he conceded and with a nod of dismissal he raised his radio microphone to his mouth, "Despatch, this Mike Charlie Two-Two-Four, requesting back-up at apartment two Romeo, ten fifty-four Canal Street, suspected double homicide…"

Recognising their dismissal Harm and Loren turned and walked back to their own apartment, and as soon as they were inside, Loren flung herself down onto the couch, "God, what the hell's happening here! This used to be a place where I felt safe, now two deaths inside a month! And both ONI? Harm, what the hell's going on?"

"I don't know," Harm said grimly, "but I intend to find out!" and he strode angrily across the living room to snatch up the cordless phone. For a moment he stood with phone in hand trying to remember the number he wanted, and then savagely punched it in, and waited for the ringing on the other end of the line, giving a grunt of satisfaction.

"I need to report a probable murder of someone I know to have been a Navy officer, and who might still be one!" Harm snapped into the phone.

"_Yes, sir. Might I have your name and location, and the location of the alleged homicide_?"

"This is Commander Harmon Rabb, Navy JAG Corps, I'm at ten fifty-four Canal Street North West in DC, and the homicide is in the apartment opposite."

"_Thank you, sir. A team will be with you shortly_!"

Harm grunted and broke the connection, before with a sigh he punched in another number and casting a resigned look at Loren said, "I am not looking forward to this call at all!" as once again he waited for an answer.

"_Chegwidden_!"

"Sir, this is Rabb…" Harm paused for a second trying to figure out the best way to break what he was certain was news that was going to unleash a shit storm.

"_What is it Rabb_?" the admiral snapped impatiently.

"Sir… Sir… there's been a murder, well, two murders…"

"_Where?"_

"Uh… in the apartment building where Lieutenant Singer and I live, sir. In fact in the apartment opposite…"

"_Go on, Rabb…"_ Chegwidden's voice suddenly sounded very weary, "_This affects you how_?"

"I don't know that it does, sir, although I do suspect that Lieutenant Singer or I, or both of us are tied up in it somehow."

"_Why would you suspect that, Mister Rabb_?"

"Admiral, sir, do you recall a court-martial from a few years back, the one I was supposed to lose? Ensign Beth Lane, the officer who was accused of…

"_Murdering the Turkish military attaché? Yes, of course I remember that case, but what's it got to do with this murder_?"

"Possibly nothing, sir, but I recognised the female victim of today's murders, I knew her as Ensign Beth Lane, sir. And if you recall that was just her alias, and she was an undercover operative for the ONI… not to put it…"

"_ONI? Again? Oh… shit_!"

"My words exactly," Harm said feelingly.

"_Alright, Commander, I take it you're at home? Well then, don't move, don't speak to anybody, not to the police, not to NCIS… I supposed we'd better get them involved…_

"I already put a call in to them, sir! First thing I did after recognising the body."

"_H'mph, you'd probably have been better off leaving that to me! Well, there's no help for that now. What's your address_?"

"Ten fifty-four Canal Street North West, that's in Georgetown, sir… and sir, I think after this past weekend my stock's pretty high with NCIS, so…"

"_So nothing, Rabb! Stay put and speak to no-one. I'm on my way_!"

"Sir, I don't thinks that's really necess…"

"_Mister Rabb, right now, I don't give a rat's ass what you think or do not think! Do I make myself clear_?"

"Sir, yessir!"

"_Good_!"

The slamming down of the admiral's phone made Harm's ears ring for a few seconds and he looked ruefully at the now silent phone in his hands before turning to Loren, "That went well, I thought!"

"Gee… ya think? Oh, Harm… what's happening to us? Yesterday everything looked so good, and now this…"

Harm crossed to the couch and sat next to Loren, his arm looping around her shoulder in a familiar caress as she nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. Harm bent his head a laid a soft kiss on her sweet-smelling hair, and closed his eyes in pleasure at her nearness before he spoke. "I don't know what's happening, sweetheart, I don't know why my former client took that apartment, and even though she was, maybe still is, ONI, it might all be coincidence…"

"I thought you didn't believe in coincidence…" Loren objected.

Harm sighed, "Usually I don't… but this is all so weird, it might just be an unconnected series of circumstances,"

"But you don't really believe that, do you?" Loren asked shrewdly.

Harm shook his head, "No," he said regretfully, "No, I don't really believe that!"

**Wednesday, May 9****th****, 2001, 1857hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (UH) Norman Wishart's House, 7705 Persimmon Tree Drive, Potomac, MD (092257ZMay01)**

Norman Wishart had barely taken his cover and jacket off and exchanged a greeting kiss with his wife when the house phone rang.

With a smile and an exasperated roll of her eyes Melanie Wishart crossed to the phone and picked up, "Wishart residence," she said in her light, cheerful voice,

"_Mrs Wishart, good evening, this is Rear Admiral Chegwidden, I would like to speak with your husband if he's at home, please_?" Chegwidden's voice was less terse than usual, just the sound of Wishart's wife's voice had affected his mood.

Melanie Wishart smiled, despite her disappointment at yet another disrupted evening. Their dinner was in the oven, almost ready to serve, and now it looked as if the navy was demanding more of her husband's time, as if he didn't work long enough hours already. Still, more than thirty years of being a naval wife had taught her to disguise her feelings, especially when dealing with senior officers she didn't know, and were probably, very probably in her newly promoted husband's case, senior to him. "If course, Admiral, I'll call him for you!"

She placed her hand over the mouthpiece of the retro-style phone she loved and called softly, "Norman, there's an Admiral… Admiral… Oh… Admiral Chuckwagon, I think he said his name was?" She gave a smile and a helpless shrug at her inability to remember the caller's name properly, and held the handset out towards her husband.

Admiral Wishart frowned and took the phone from his wife's hand, "Wishart," he said curtly.

"_Admiral Wishart, this is Rear Admiral Chegwidden, the JAG…_" A J paused to let the import of his identity be recognised by Wishart. He needn't have worried. Wishart had been promoted from Rear Admiral Lower Half and parachuted in to take over ONI in the wake of the Harding and Turlington debacle and the 'resignation' of Rear Admiral Scott, and he was under no illusion as to the identity of A J Chegwidden, nor of the part JAG had played in the downfall of his predecessor.

"What can I do for you, Admiral?" he said cordially enough, but with no intention of meekly knuckling under to the more senior officer.

"_I realise that you've only just taken office, and I don't expect you to know the names and aliases of all your people yet, but I thought I had best speak to you directly on this occasion._" Chegwidden paused and took a breath, "_A woman, identified as having been an ONI agent in the past, has just been found, apparently murdered, in a Georgetown apartment building. The officer who identified her knew her only as an Ensign Elizabeth or 'Beth' Lane._"

Wishart blinked, the name was unknown to him, but as his caller had just said it wasn't reasonable to expect him to know the names, and particularly any aliases they might use, of his operatives. "Thank you for calling me, Admiral, but I don't quite understand why you felt it was necessary to call me direct at home?"

"_Well, I thought you might enjoy hearing the news from a friendly voice_!" Chegwidden said sarcastically before he continued in a rather more neutral, but still urgent tone. "_The officer who recognised her defended her at a court-martial for murder a few years ago, and unfortunately he and his fiancée have had some more recent, rather unpleasant dealings with ONI. That officer's name is Commander Harmon Rabb. I'm sure you realise the sort of shit-storm that will burst over your head if one of your officers, in light of those recent events, was engaged in any further operations that had either Commander Rabb or Lieutenant Singer as its focus_?"

Wishart nearly groaned aloud; the names of Rabb and Singer had featured prominently in the Harding and Turlington clusterfuck and were well at the forefront of his mind. "Why would Rabb be involved in identifying this woman?" he asked.

"_Probably because she had just moved in to the apartment opposite his, last weekend_." Chegwidden spoke mildly enough. "_And that in itself runs all sorts of warning flags up to the yard-arm_!"

Wishart gulped, Chegwidden was right, if elements of ONI were still probing Rabb and/or his fiancée, then the shit was definitely about to hit the fan, big time. "Well, you are right about one thing, Admiral, and that is I don't have the names and aliases of my operatives at my fingertips. But I know a man who does, and the instant we finish this conversation he will be under orders to meet with me back at ONI! Can you give me an hour try and make some sort of sense out of this?"

He didn't actually add the 'please' and although both Flag Officers knew it was there, Chegwidden although annoyed was not vindictive enough to take his anger out on a man who was still reading himself in to a horribly complex and complicated hierarchy, and was, for a while, prepared to be magnanimous.

"_I'll do more than that Admiral, you call me if and when you can tell me anything, my cell number is…_"

He read the number off while Wishart frantically jotted it down on the telephone message pad, and then tearing off the top two sheets he hastily folded them and tucked them into his shirt pocket as Chegwidden put the phone down at the other end. Then drawing a deep breath Wishart dialled a second number, barely waiting for the phone to be lifted at the other end of the line before he snapped, "Carlisle? This is Admiral Wishart, get your six back to ONI now, I'll be waiting for you there. We have got another mess on our hands!"

He slammed the phone down and turned towards the coat stand by the door, reaching for his jacket. Melanie looked at him in dismay, "Oh Norman, you're not going out again, are you? Can't it wait? Dinner's almost ready!"

"Sorry, darling, I do have to go," Wishart grimaced, "What was for dinner?"

"Beef pot roast," Melanie said disconsolately.

"You go ahead and eat yours, don't wait for me, just serve mine up and put it on a plate and then put it back in the oven to keep warm for me… but in the meantime, cut me a couple of slices and make up a sandwich I can take with me to tide me over!"

"Yes, dear."

**Wednesday, May 9****th****, 2001, 1943hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Washington DC (092343ZMay01)**

Harm and Loren sat quietly together on the couch while Detectives Walsh and Richardson from the Metro PD Homicide squad eyed them dourly from the two armchairs. Not only had Harm and Loren refused to say anything other than "Lawyer" to the two, but within minutes of their arrival, the NCIS crew bus had pulled up, closely followed by the NCIS ME's truck, disgorging Gibbs' crew who lost no time in running up to the second floor and asserting their claim to the case. Now the two teams of investigators were waiting for a directive as to whether Metro PD or NCIS were to handle the investigation.

In the meantime, in an effort to preserve some peace, Doctor Mallard, the NCIS ME had gently but firmly banished both sets of investigators from the crime scene saying in his soft Scots accent, "I don't really care who investigates these deaths, but give me some peace to carry out my initial investigation, and please leave us while we do… leave the poor young woman some dignity…" referring to the semi-clothed state of the body.

Now the detectives sat in Loren and Harm's lounge while Gibbs, DiNozzo, Owens and a new female agent waited in the hallway.

"Well, Ducky?" Gibbs demanded as the ME and his powerful looking assistant exited the apartment, gently closing the door behind them

"Well what?" the Scottish doctor demanded acerbically.

"Time and cause of death?" Gibbs prompted him.

"Time of death based on liver temperatures of both victims was, I would say, somewhere between four and five thirty this afternoon…" he paused and looked severely over the top of his glasses at the senior NCIS agent, "How many years have we worked together Jethro, and how many cases? Yet you still haven't learned. Every time we get a corpse you ask me the same question, and I give you the same answer: I can't tell you the definitive cause of death until I get the body or bodies on my examination table!"

"A guess Ducky?" DiNozzo interjected. The younger agent was bored with standing around, he wanted to be getting on with the investigation.

Doctor Mallard looked at him severely, "Anthony, I am a scientist, we do not 'guess' we make informed decisions based on the scientific evidence!"

"Not much science needed in there, though, is there, Ducky? I mean, after all it's pretty obvious what happened to them, he obviously got stabbed in the heart and bled out and her neck's obviously broken!" DiNozzo said while Gibbs' eyes narrowed at the younger man's tone, which sounded perilously close to a taunt. He needn't have worried, his old friend was more than capable of taking down the cocky youngster without Gibbs needing to intervene.

Ducky said nothing for long second and when he did finally speak his voice cut like an arctic wind, "And that my dear boy, is obviously why I am the ME and you are but an investigator!"

Both Owens and the new female agent stifled giggles while DiNozzo went crimson with embarrassment and then uttered a sharp "Ow!" and his hand went up to rub the back of his hand.

"What was that for boss?" he whined.

"Just showing you that arguing with Ducky gets you nothing but a headache." Gibbs said nonchalantly.

Gibbs retort brought a wide grin to Gerald's face, and even a slight smile to Ducky, while the two women fought desperately against bursting into giggles, not daring to look at each other, lest they succumb to the urge to laugh out load.

But smiles were wiped off faces and the urge to giggle disappeared as a somewhat cold voice form the end of the hallway behind them reached their ears, "I glad to see that a double murder invokes so much amusement in your team Agent Gibbs!"

DiNozzo and the two women almost dislocated their necks as they spun around in an effort to see who had spoken, but Gibbs just cracked one of his world-weary smiles and turning casually nodded his recognition of and a greeting to the interloper, "Admiral," he said gravely.

A J Chegwidden nodded and turning his head slightly he looked squarely at Doctor Mallard, "Doctor, it's good to see you again!"

"And you A J," the ME replied, adding with a sigh, "I just wish it could be under better circumstances."

"Better than the first time we met!" A J said enigmatically with ghost of a smile.

"Indeed, indeed," the Scotsman said softly.

DiNozzo's ears pricked up at the hint that Admiral and Doctor knew each other and opened his mouth to say something, but then catching a glare from Gibbs, and still feeling the smart of that last head-slap, he thought better of it."

"What are you all doing just standing around?" A J demanded, "Don't you people have work today?"

"We do! And we don't like standing around either!" Gibbs retorted, "The thing is we're still waiting for someone to decide jurisdiction. If that is a naval officer in there, it's still a moot point, because the other body is a civilian, the building supervisor!"

"If the body in there is that of a naval officer, then it's a federal case, and federal trumps local law," A J declared. "If Commander Rabb is correct in his identification of the body, and I have no reason to doubt him, then the case is all yours. Now, as I also knew the alleged deceased, let me take a look at her face, and I'll be able to say whether or not she is or was a naval officer, and that being the case, I might be able to light a fire under someone's butt at Metro PD and get them to relinquish the case to you. Speaking of which, where are the Police?"

"In Rabb's apartment, that blonde spitfire told us in no uncertain terms that we weren't particularly welcome," Gibbs grinned.

"Probably because she's seen you in action, before!" A J returned. "Okay, I'll deal with that. Now, how about letting me have a look at the bodies?"

Gibbs thought for a moment and then nodded, "Can't do any harm," he judged and opened the apartment door.

A J stepped into the apartment, took a long, sober look at the dead woman's face and finally nodded, "That is the woman I knew as Ensign Beth Lane…" he said sadly and stepped back, allowing Gibbs to close the door again.

Squaring his shoulders, A J crossed the hall and rapped on Loren and Harm's door.

"Admiral!" Loren said in surprise at the sight of A J Chegwidden in faded jeans cinched around his waist with a wide leather belt fastened with a large rodeo-style buckle and a black sweat shirt that seemed moulded to his torso, worn under a lightweight leather jacket, when she opened the door, "I… uh… I mean… Good evening, sir, won't you please come in? Harm didn't… oh… yes, he did!" she stepped back to allow her CO entrance.

AJ stepped in a half smile on his face, "Good evening, Lieutenant. Relax, this is your home, and although I am here on business, I am still, in some sort, your guest." As he spoke his eyes made a quick visual inspection of the apartment noting the clean and tidy nature of the place and the general air of it being a well-loved home, the place seemed so much more relaxed than he had expected, at total variance, but still neat and tidy, without the near obsession for tidiness that characterised Loren Singer's office at Falls Church. He jutted his lower lip thoughtfully; it looked like Rabb was working an even greater miracle than that for which he previously given the young officer credit... But the former Seal also took in the number and quality of the security locks on the door and pulled the corners of his mouth down into an unhappy grimace as he turned to Harm and then the two strangers in the room, "Rabb," he acknowledged his subordinate, almost in passing, "And you are?"

The two men rose to their feet in silent and unconscious recognition of AJ's presence, "Detectives Walsh and Richardson, Metro PD Homicide," Walsh said flashing his badge.

A J nodded, and firmed his lips, "Okay gentlemen, I've seen and identified the female body as being a naval, or at least a former naval officer, and I'm waiting to hear confirmation of her status. But as the other body is that of a civilian, it seems we have a cross jurisdictional case. Now, the Navy's ME is already here, and I understand it usually take quite a time for the District coroner's office to respond to get a crime scene. Now, I'm pretty sure that you people have plenty on your plates as it is, so in the interests of speed, why don't we move it along, and suppose that the young woman across the hall is still Navy, and you hand the case over to NCIS, and if we're proved wrong, then we'll hand the case, all our notes and all the evidence back to you. Okay?"

Richardson and Walsh looked at each other for a long moment before Richardson looked back at AJ, "You this feller's boss?" he asked jerking a thumb in Harm's direction.

"I am. Rear Admiral A J Chegwidden, the Navy JAG." AJ agreed.

"And you play golf and go running with the Chief of Police?"

"No, I play golf with the last mayor, but yes, I still run with the Chief of Police." A J bit down on a grin as he could almost see the thoughts running through the two detectives' minds.

Once again the two detectives exchanged glances. This time it was Walsh who spoke, "Not that we doubt your word, sir, but do you have any ID to verify who you are?"

A J dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced his Navy ID, "This do you?"

The two Metro PD Detectives gave the ID only a cursory glance before Richardson nodded, "That's fine, Admiral, thank you. I guess we'll leave it to your guys now. Commander, Lieutenant," Richardson nodded gravely at Harm and Loren and moved towards the door which an obliging A J held open for them. A grin spreading across his face as Walsh turned towards Gibbs and with a creditable attempt at politeness said, "They're all yours, Agent Gibbs – for now!"

Gibbs grinned and sprang into action, barely bothering to acknowledge the other man's courtesy as he yelled, "Okay, let's move it people! DiNozzo, sketch and shoot! Blackadder try and find some kind of ID. Owens, general search! Move it! Move it!"

A J closed the door and looking at Harm and Loren gestured towards one of the armchairs, "May I?"

"Of course, Admiral!" Loren said aghast at her breach of manners, "Please sit, can I get you a coffee? It won't take a minute…"

"Thank you, Lieutenant, a coffee would go down right well just about now!" He said, resigning himself to luke-warm dishwater that the younger generation seemed to prefer, or maybe they just forgotten how to make real coffee, what with their lattes, half-fat soy creamer cappuccinos, hazelnut and hickory flavoured milk crap and other abominations. Suppressing a sigh of regret he took his seat and bowed his head resting his elbows on his knees and pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to hold off what he knew was going to be a particularly vicious headache.

Looking up he sighed and shook his head, "Why you, Rabb? I know you had nothing to do with that… that… thing across the hall, but why does it have to be you that gets involved." He shook his head wearily, "You're just a trouble magnet, aren't you?"

"That's not fair, sir," Loren defended Harm as she placed a large mug of steaming, and to A J's surprise, very black coffee on the end table beside his chair, "Careful, that's hot," she cautioned him, and then went on with a pause, "Harm did what any sensible homeowner did when confronted with a problem like that, he called the police. It wasn't his fault, and if I'd had my wits about me instead of joining the crowd in the hall, I should have done the same thing before Harm got home! As it was, my brain was dead from the noise!"

"Noise?" A J asked and took a tentative sip of the coffee, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the taste of it, "M'mm, good!" he endorsed the drink and Loren blushed with pleasure at the faint praise.

A J looked at her, maybe he'd been a bit too hard on her in the past if a simple word of appreciation could cause her to colour up like that, but, "Noise?" he said again.

Harm nodded, I could hear it on the street half a block away when I parked up!" He took a breath and started to explain the circumstances that had led to the discovery of the bodies.

He had just gotten to the part about calling the police, Loren interrupting with a smile, "And they wouldn't come out until Harm threatened that his boss ran with the chief of police and dared them to call his bluff!"

"Uh… yeah, I did kind of drop your name and connections into the conversation," Harm admitted somewhat shamefacedly.

"H'mm… well no harm done this time, but don't do it again!"

"No, sir!" Harm replied thankful that the Admiral seemed disinclined to make an issue out his name being used as leverage, and even more thankful that a further interruption in the shape of the insistent ring of the Admiral's cell phone distracted the senior office even further.

"Chegwidden!"

"_Admiral, this is Wishart. I'm sorry it took a little longer than I'd hoped, but 'Ensign Lane' was such a long time ago we had to do some deep mining. But I do have some news for you. Ensign Lane's real name is Lieutenant Commander Mary Martha Fields, better known as 'Gracie'. She's just returned to DC after a prolonged TAD to our Embassy in Ryadh, Saudi Arabia, where she was working counter-intelligence. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that. She was staying in VOQ at the Navy Yard until last Friday, when she took out a lease on her apartment in Georgetown. As far as this office is concerned, there is absolutely no reason for her to be investigating Commander Rabb nor his fiancée. Is that any help_?"

"Yes it is, Admiral, thank you, if nothing else you have confirmed her active duty status and her rank and name. That's a huge improvement on the groping in the dark we've been doing all evening!"

"_Thank you for that, Admiral_," Wishart's voice was heavy, "_I suppose I'll have to have the body formally identified, and then inform her family…_"

"Yeah," A J's voice was grave, "That's always the worst part… But once again Admiral, my thanks, and I'm sorry this has turned out the way it has."

"_Thank you, Admiral_."

The line went dead and A J let the phone buzz for a second or two before he closed it and slowly put it back in his pocket. Raising his eyes he looked at Loren, "I understand that you were reluctant to let Gibbs in earlier, but do you mind if we have him on now? It will save time and duplication of effort."

"Of course, Admiral. If we need him, we need him, and anyway, keeping him out earlier was more to prevent Harm and I from having to listen to him and the PD snipe at each other!"

Harm had already stood and he crossed to the door and opened, "Agent Gibbs, could you come in please, Admiral Chegwidden has some information you might want to hear."

Gibbs strolled in, his hands shoved into his jean pockets, and eyebrow lifted in a cynical sneer and with what all three naval officers considered a completely unjustifiable swagger in his step.

Chegwidden looked at him and thought, 'How did I ever come to view Rabb as being cocky and arrogant?'

"Please, take a seat, Agent Gibbs," Loren was on her feet, smiling coolly and perfectly in command as she indicated the empty armchair, "Can I get you a coffee?"

"Uh…" for a second Gibbs was rocked off-balance, but made a swift recovery, "Uh… no, no thank you Lieutenant. Well, Admiral?"

"I've just had Admiral Wishart, the new head of the ONI on the phone. He has confirmed that the woman known to JAG as Ensign Lane is in fact Lieutenant Commander Mary Martha Fields. Her presence in this apartment building is pure coincidence, ONI have no current interest in either Commander Rabb or Lieutenant Singer."

"That must be a relief," Gibbs acknowledged, and having her real name helps us – we found eight different sets of identity documents in a lock box in the underside of her bed, nine if you include the naval ID in the name of Fields we found in her purse on her bedside table." Gibbs frowned, "Was it you Lieutenant who identified the male body as that of Walter Simmons, the building supervisor?"

"Yes, that was me," Loren said.

Gibbs nodded, "Well as Metro have handed the case to us, Doctor Mallard will perform the autopsy on both of them, but at the moment it looks like Simmons attacked Fields – there are plenty signs of a struggle – who stabbed him, but before he bled out he found enough strength to break her neck. It's not much consolation to anyone, but it would have been over in an instant for her. But I reckon we ought to investigate Mister Simmons, there aren't many men without military training who have the knowhow to break someone's neck with their bare hands. Oh, the weapon used to stab Simmons was a British Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife – an original if the British broad arrow mark is any guide. The sheath was found under his body as were other bits and pieces that seem to have been emptied from the drawer that fell or was pulled out of the hall table just inside the apartment door. But as I say," he shrugged his shoulders, "We'll know more once Ducky has carried out his autopsies. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

"Of course," Loren smiled, got to her feet and walked Gibbs to the door.

She was just about to close it behind him when A J pulled himself to his feet, "I ought to be going too…"

"But you haven't finished your coffee yet!" Loren objected, "And besides, given the timing of this evening, I guess you haven't eaten yet, either!"

"I'll pass on the food, thank you Lieutenant, but you're right, it would be a sin not to finish this coffee!"

Once again a faint flush of pleasure appeared on Loren's cheeks as she retook her seat next to Harm, her hand unconsciously finding his as she stared into his eyes, which seemed to be fixed on some point in the distance.

"Harm?" she asked in a slightly anxious vice.

"Huh? Oh… no… I'm fine… I'm just wondering what life would have been like if we had made that date all those years ago…" his voice tailed off as he looked across at the Admiral, "Mary Martha Fields, huh?" he mused.

"Yep, better known apparently as Gracie," A J grinned.

"Gracie?" Loren asked her brows wrinkled in a puzzled frown.

"After a British Singer from the thirties, Lieutenant," A j began and the saw the laughter leap into Loren's eyes, "Before your time, and no!" he added sternly, "I was not around at the time!"

"Of course not, sir," Loren agreed demurely, so demurely in fact that A J could do nothing but grin and look at Harm who just shrugged helplessly.

A J shrugged in return and finished his coffee, and then bidding his two subordinates a good night, he left them to their own company, and looking in on the apartment opposite where Gibbs' team were still at work, he nodded a casual goodnight to them and headed for the elevator, wondering as he rode it down at just how different Loren Singer was, and how much she had changed from the acerbic, abrupt and short tempered Lieutenant Witch who had been so detested by everyone at Falls Church just six short months ago!

Later, after a hasty dinner of vegetable stir-fry and plain boiled rice, Loren lay in bed, her head resting against Harm's shoulder. "You know, I never expected the Admiral could be so… so… human… He was almost joking with us there at the end"

Harm nodded, realising as Loren spoke that the Admiral had, back in the day when he had first assumed his appointment, been a damn' sight more approachable than he had been of late. "Yeah he was like that at first, but he changed, and I guess he changed so slowly that we didn't notice it until…"

"Too late?" Loren queried sleepily.

"Yeah, maybe," Harm agreed, as he stretched out a hand to switch off the bedside light.


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter 70**

**Thursday, May 10th, 2001, 1013hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (101413ZMay01)**

"So… That should be the last of it. Commander, you've now got the Lennox fraud case and the Wilson slash Canning fraternisation case. How does that stack up with what you've already got?"

Faith Morrison grimaced, "I'm in court on Monday on the Harwood DoD, other than that, I think I'm just about ready to take a plea bargain proposal to Commander Imes on the Featherstone damage to US property, but whether or not we can come to an agreement, I'm not sure. Wheeler refuses any idea of a plea bargain on the burglary charge. He swears he's innocent and that the witness had mistaken his identity."

"Does he have an alibi?" Harm asked.

Faith shook her head, "No… he lives off-base with his partner, a Senior Airman based at the Pentagon, and she was on watch at the time of the offence. He says he was at home watching TV."

"Does his claim check out?" Harm asked after a second, once he had finished making a note on the legal pad in front of him.

"His neighbours aren't sure whether or not his car was parked in its usual spot that evening, and unfortunately he can't count on what he was watching as an alibi, it was a re-run of 'The Hunt for Red Oktober'."

"Excuse me, ma'am why should that be a problem for him?" Lieutenant Barlow asked.

Harm sat back and cocked an eyebrow at Faith Morrison, as interested as Barlow to hear her explanation as to why Wheeler's alibi wouldn't hold water.

"Because it's not a new film. ITS Two Wheeler may be able to quote from the film, and say – for example – that at twenty eleven hours he was watching Alec Baldwin and Sean Connery have a verbal disagreement in the control room of the boat, but the film is so old, he may have seen it on any number of occasions before. Hell, he might even have it on DVD!" she shrugged.

"I see, ma'am, thank you."

"What's your feeling about this one?" Harm asked the dark-haired commander.

Faith bit her lip and shrugged, "I don't know why, just instinct I guess, but I don't think he is guilty. He was too surprised when NCIS arrested him and from listening to his interview tape, he was open, frank and above board when questioned. He was puzzled, but he sounded confident… it was only when Agent Barrett charged him that he asked for a lawyer, and even then he sounded more bewildered than truculent. You haven't met him sir. This kid, he could be the poster boy for the All-American College Kid. I don't think he's got a single vicious bone in his body. His SRB is clean, there's no mention of him having a temper… and he'd have to be pretty angry to beat up someone like that. No, I don't buy it. NCIS have got the wrong man!"

"Wouldn't be the first time!" Harm mumbled to himself, as he again scribbled something on the legal pad.

"Sir?" Faith Morrison and Lieutenant Peter Barlow asked in chorus.

"Oh… nothing! Now, Mister Barlow, how are your cases?"

"The Clarke UA is a foregone conclusion. He admits to being absent, but wants to go to trial so his plea in mitigation can be heard."

"What's his plea?"

"Pregnant girlfriend rushed into hospital with early labour. He asked for leave, he was told 'no' by his Petty Officer, because the watch was already short-handed. He asked about emergency leave, and was told, again by his Petty Officer, that because he wasn't married and the girlfriend wasn't down as his emergency contact that he couldn't have leave. So… he went UA. He arrived at the hospital in time for the birth, saw his son, kissed his girlfriend and reported back to his billet.

"How long was he UA?"

"Just under eighteen hours, sir."

"Why in God's name has this gotten this far? Why wasn't he dealt with at NJP?"

"He has refused all proposals to be dealt with by NJP, or even at a Captain's Mast, sir. And is insisting on a court martial!"

"What the hell is he thinking? Try to get him to agree to a plea bargain, at least!"

"I'll try sir," but Barlow sounded doubtful at best.

Harm shook his head in disbelief, "All right, do what you can. Now… what else have you got?"

"Apart from these two, you've just given me, sir, there's the Forester DDO and the Batchelor shooting."

"Remind me of that one?" Harm asked.

"He shot the clown on an ice-cream truck, sir."

"Oh yes, the coulrophobia case!" Harm grinned, "Or more accurately, the damaging private property case!"

"That's the one, sir." Barlow agreed.

"And?"

Forester should go to trial next week, and I'm waiting for the results of Batchelor's psych eval."

Harm nodded, and made a couple of more notations, "Good, we seem to be making progress on all cases. Thank you people. All things being equal, I'll see you at sixteen hundred on Friday, dismissed!"

Harm grinned as his two juniors left his office, he could get used to this! Then his face fell as he reached for the Richardson file from his in-tray and started reading Loren's analysis of the case, but as he read his mind drifted back to the murders in the apartment building and he wondered if ONI was still trying to get their hands on the file. It didn't seem likely, but just in case, it might better if he'd hand the file back to the Admiral and ask him to keep it secured in his safe.

The shrill of his phone broke his concentration, and with a grunt of annoyance he picked up the handset, "Rabb."

"_Rabb, this is Gibbs_."

For some reason Harm wasn't surprised, "What can I do for you Agent Gibbs?"

"_Nothing. The boot's on the other foot. Ducky Mallard, our ME, has come up with the preliminary findings from the autopsies on Lieutenant Commander Fields and Walter Simmons_."

Although he knew there wasn't likely that a case would be made out this, Harm still felt a proprietary interest, "Go on," he invited Gibbs.

"_Commander Fields died to a dislocation of the cervical vertebrae, in other words her neck was broken. Simmons died of a single stab wound that transected, that is cut through, the superior vena cava, in other words he bled out. Ducky estimates that he would have lost consciousness within a minute and would have been dead in two._"

"But would he still have been strong enough to break the girl's neck?"

"_Oh yeah, he would have been at full strength for a short time, certainly long enough to kill her like that._"

"Anything else?"

"_Very little doubt that they were alone at the time, his skin cells were found under her finger nails, and his DNA was all over her clothes and her body. Oh, and it looks like he tried to strangle her into submission before she got her hands on the knife, there was evidence of manual strangulation – finger and thumb bruises on her throat and __petechial __haemorrhaging in her eyes. But here's the real kicker…_" he paused, teasing Harm with the silence.

"Get on with it," Harm sighed and frowned as Gibbs quiet chuckle came over the line.

"_Walter Simmons doesn't exist in any data base anywhere, so Ducky took his fingerprints. Walter Simmons turns out to be a Seal, or a former Seal, I should say, which explains his knowledge of how to snap someone's neck. His real name and rank are Petty Officer First Class Henry Stephen Lewis. He deserted nearly ten years ago. But here's the thing. At the time he deserted, he was being investigated by ONI on suspicion of selling sensitive military information to the North Koreans. Would you like to hazard a guess as to the identity of the lead ONI investigator_?"

"Lieutenant Commander Fields!" Harm said heavily.

"_Give the man a coconut_!" Gibbs grinned, "_Although at the time, she was just a Lieutenant. Our theory is that when she moved into her apartment, Lewis recognised her and decided he wanted revenge for her investigation into his alleged espionage, and that he deserted and disappeared from view because ONI were closing in on him. But we figure that Fields didn't recognise him, and allowed him entry into her apartment. There was no sign of a break-in, and her personal weapon was found, unloaded, in the drawer of her nightstand. If she'd been suspicious of him, she would have at least armed herself, don't you reckon?_"

"Yeah, that would make sense. A bit of a comedown, a former Seal becoming a building janitor," Harm commented.

"_Yeah it is_, _plenty of room there for resentment_," Gibbs agreed. "_We're working with ONI to see if we can find any trace of a continuing relationship between Lewis and __Pyongyang__, his bank balance is way too high for a working stiff._"

"Yeah… keep me informed, Gibbs… please?"

"_Will do, Rabb_." And with a click the line went dead.

Harm nodded, Gibbs' explanation was fair enough, as far as it went, but it didn't explain why an ONI officer should take up a tenancy in an apartment on the same floor of the same apartment building in which he lived, so soon after all the uproar about the Richardson case. But there was no way he was going to talk to Gibbs about that. But he might just take this new information to the Admiral. At that thought he grimaced. The JAG was unlikely to receive the news of a former Seal's treason with any degree of equanimity, and for a moment Harm dreaded the thought that Admiral Chegwidden might, at one time have served with the traitor, but quickly dismissed that idea; the timelines just didn't square with each other.

But before he spoke to the admiral, he might as well drop off his page of observations on the review to Loren, as for some yet to be discovered reason the case against Lieutenant Colonel Walters had apparently been adjourned.

**Thursday, May 10th, 2001, 1118hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (101518ZMay01)**

Loren read through Harm's observations on the Richardson appeal point by point, making notes on her legal pad to either counter Harm's queries, to explain her reasoning behind the section that raised the query or even in one or two cases to dig deeper, as his observations sparked off her curiosity.

The petition for a re-trial had been refused on the advice of the General Counsel of the Navy, the SecNav's top civilian attorney and as a result the whole process had now to be resubmitted in an entirely different format to the Armed Forces Court of Appeal, which also meant constant reference to the rules of procedure regulations, a hefty volume that lay open near her elbow, so when her phone interrupted her concentration, she, like Harm, gave grunt of annoyance.

"Singer" she announced

"_Good morning, this is Lieutenant Colonel McMahon, Twenty-ninth Logistics Battalion at LeJeune. Can you please confirm that you are the Navy Lieutenant JAG who accompanied Colonel MacKenzie on a recent investigation into the assault on Lieutenant Carpenter of my Battalion_?"

"Yes, I am that Lieutenant, sir. And if I may ask, how is Lieutenant Carpenter?"

"_She's fine now Lieutenant, thank you. I'll let her know you asked. But although it is good news about Lieutenant Carpenter, that's not the reason I called_."

"Yes, sir?" Loren asked curiously.

"_I don't know whether it's been picked up by the syndicated news services and gone out of state, but on Friday afternoon past, two Humvees each with a four man crew in Corps BDUs, drew up outside the First National Bank on Main Street in New Bern. One of the Humvees was equipped with a fifty cal M Two. The gunner on that vehicle shot out the front of the bank at a range of about fifty feet. Four men stayed outside and had a firefight with the town's police when they arrived on the scene, the other men entered the bank and stripped the tellers' positions. The bank reckons they got away with over one hundred eighty thousand dollars_."

"That would be the M Two that went missing when your Humvee was ambushed on base?" Loren said.

"_That would be my guess_." McMahon agreed heavily.

"Disturbing news, sir. But I don't really see why… I mean, you're not saying it was your men who attacked the bank?"

"_No! Of course not! All our men and vehicles have been accounted for. The more I think about this, and Division S Two and Colonel Baxter of the MP Battalion tend to agree with me, the more I am convinced that we are looking at a militia group, but one that is more disciplined than the usual rabble. The trouble is, we are having a great deal of difficulty convincing the FBI, who seem determined to pin the raid on rogue members of the Corps_."

"I see, sir, but I still don't see what, if anything I can do to help…"

"_Oh, sorry, Lieutenant, no this isn't a plea for help. I just thought you might be glad of the opportunity to tie up loose ends_!"

"Oh… thank you, sir. But if I may ask, your final UA Marine, has he been found?"

"_No… we reckon that he's headed back to the northern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains up in West Virginia – those are his family's stomping grounds. If he has run for home, we're going to face a hell of job finding him. It's pretty rough country up there, and the folk tend to be pretty clannish and close mouthed when authority turns up asking questions._"

"I see, sir. And what about Private…" Loren searched her memory for the name.

"_Forrest_?" Colonel McMahon supplied.

"Yes, what about Private Forest, I haven't heard anything of his court-martial."

"_No, that's because he's in a secure room at the base hospital – again_!"

"Again?" Loren asked, although she had a feeling that she knew what the answer would be. "How many times has he needed hospital care?"

"_This will be the fourth time since his arrest, Lieutenant_."

"That can't be coincidence, sir!" Loren protested.

"_Yeah, it seems Private Forrest has developed a tendency to clumsiness. He keeps walking into doors – several times a night sometimes, and if he's not walking into doors, he's falling over in the showers._"

"Colonel, we know that's not true, and with respect sir, it's not acceptable!"

"_I know it's not Lieutenant. But that's Forrest's own excuse. And unless he actually complains about being attacked or the MPs catch someone in the act of attacking him, we pretty much can't do anything._"

'You could move him to another brig,' Loren thought. Although she was keen to see that Forrest was put on trial and convicted, she didn't want to hear of him being beaten to death by other prisoners. There wasn't much she could say to Colonel McMahon on the subject, as he wasn't the arbiter of Forrest's fate, but maybe, just maybe, if the situation was brought to the admiral's notice. He might be able to do something.

"Thank you for keeping me in the loop Colonel. Have you managed to keep Colonel MacKenzie up to speed?"

"_No… I haven't yet. I have a shore to ship call placed for later on today, and I hope to be able to get through to her then_!"

"Let's hope so too!"! Thanks you again, sir. Goodbye!"

"_Goodbye, Lieutenant_!"

**Thursday, May 10th, 2001, 1142hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (UH) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (101542ZMay01)**

"_Lieutenant Singer, to see you, sir_!" Tiner's voice emanating from the intercom caused A J Chegwidden to throw down his pen in disgust, remove his reading glasses, and scrub his hand over his scalp. One day, maybe one day, he'd actually mange to read an entire case file without interruptions! Oh well…

"Very well, Tiner, send her in!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

Chegwidden watched Loren advance across the carpet towards him as Tiner quietly closed the door behind her, 'At least, there's never a dull moment with these two around,' he told himself, recalling his very recent talk with Rabb.

He waited until Loren had halted, properly at attention in front of his desk before he asked, "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, do you recall the Carpenter case that Colonel MacKenzie and I investigated at LeJeune?"

"Of course I do. I may be getting on a bit in years, but I'm not yet suffering from senile dementia!" he snapped.

"No, sir. Of course not, but the work load has been a bit on the heavy side recently… And I suppose I just wanted to check that we were on the same page!"

Chegwidden eyed her sourly, "Is this likely to take long, Lieutenant?" he asked her pointedly.

"A few minutes, I'm afraid. Sir." Loren offered half-apologetically.

"Then you'd better sit down and tell me all about it!" Chegwidden said and waited until Loren had sat.

"Well?" he prompted her.

"Sir, I've just had a phone call from Lieutenant Colonel McMahon, Lieutenant Carpenter's unit CO. You'll recall perhaps that a Private Forrest was arrested on suspicion of several counts of attempted murder…"

"Yes, go on," Chegwidden replied.

Loren took a deep breath and related the gist of the conversation she had just had with Colonel McMahon.

Chegwidden heard her out without comment, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the deck, his eyes fixed on hers as she spoke, only leaning back against his chair, his hands resting lightly on the chair arms and his eyebrows slightly raised.

"And what do you expect me to do?" he asked her mildly.

"Sir, I am as keen as anyone to see Forrest tried and convicted for his crimes, and hopefully given a good, long sentence at hard labour. But it isn't right that he is beaten, on a regular basis, to such an extent that he needs in-patient hospital treatment. I thought perhaps you could put some pressure on somewhere and have him moved to another facility, where perhaps the details of his offences aren't so well known and local tempers aren't so inflamed?"

Chegwidden pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, "Very well, Lieutenant, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now, if there is anything else?"

"No, no, sir! That was it!" Loren said hastily, rising to her feet.

"Very well. Dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Loren paused before making her about face and then strode briskly to the door.

Chegwidden watched her go, and then only when the door had closed behind her did he allow himself a wintry smile, 'Yep, I was right! One thing's for sure,' he mused, 'There never is a dull moment while those two are around!"

**Thursday, May 10th, 2001, 1214hrs EDT, Commissary, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (101614ZMay01)**

Once again Harm and Loren were taking advantage of the early summer sun to eat their lunch outdoors. Both had wedges of one of Loren's broccoli and mushroom quiche and a green salad to occupy themselves with, Harm choosing to wash his down with a mineral water while Loren in defiance of his face of disgust had opted for her favourite diet Pepsi.

"So, how come you weren't in court this morning?" Harm swallowed a mouthful of greenery before he quizzed Loren.

Loren grinned, "The accused complained of dental pain last night, and this morning was taken to Bethesda where an abscess was lanced and a molar extracted. He's still under the influence of the anaesthetic and Captain Sebring ruled that it would not be in the best interests of justice to continue with the case until he's further down the road to regaining a state of _compos mentis."_

"Frustrating!" Harm commented, but to his surprise Loren shook her head.

"Not really, it's given Carolyn and me a chance to catch up on some of the paperwork that some kind soul keeps dumping in our in-trays. Honestly, there are times I could murder Tiner! And whoever dumped that multi-page list of observations on the Richardson case on me this morning!"

"Oh… I don't think you want to kill that guy," Harm grinned. After all he is pretty tall and damn' good looking, and just happens…" he looked around warily and lowered his voice, "to love you all the way to the moon and back!"

"And forever and a day?" Loren teased him gently.

"You better believe it!" Harm grinned as Loren coloured slightly and then took a bite from his wedge of quiche.

Harm chewed on his mouthful of quiche, giving Loren the chance to lose her colour before he asked, "So… apart from reading my brilliantly incisive observations on the Richardson appeal, and of course, acting on accordance with the recommendations I made, what else have you been up to today?"

Loren glared at him before she answered loftily, "I'm really not going to get into why your observations were puerile, or you recommendations mistaken, but I will tell you that I fielded a phone call from Lieutenant Colonel McMahon," she said, her eyes losing their amused gleam a she spoke.

Sensing the abrupt change in her mood, Harm sobered as well, "Go on, but who is Colonel McMahon?"

Loren took another sip of her drink before answering, "McMahon is the CO of the Marine Corps Logistics Battalion, where Mac and I investigated that assault on the female officer. Well…" Loren took another mouthful of drink and swallowed before she gave Harm a potted version of the conversation she'd had with McMahon, finishing with, "And so, once we'd finished speaking, I took it to the Admiral!"

Harm frowned. He realised while Loren was halfway through her narrative that up until now it appeared that he hadn't heard the half of what had happened at LeJeune, and he wasn't happy at the thought of the danger she and Mac had been placed in.

"Why go to the Admiral? Do you expect any further fall-out that might affect JAG?"

Loren looked at him carefully, already suspecting that he was about to fly into full zone five over-protectiveness. "No, I don't expect any further involvement. Believe me, I was quite happy to get out of there when we did. Our job was to investigate the attack on Lieutenant Carpenter, and once we'd done that we were done. Our involvement with the killings and with the theft of the auto-parts and machine gin were peripheral at the very best. No, my concern in going to see the Admiral was to ask if he could apply pressure to get Forrest moved somewhere safer until his trial, and let the fibbies and ATF deal with machine-gun equipped bank robbers and militia groups!"

Although Harm was sure he knew what Loren's reason was for wanting Forrest to be safe until his trial, he asked, to make sure, "Why should you worry? After all, he played a part in a vicious beating handed out to a female officer by a group of men – very brave men, those – and then he was arrested while attempting to get into her room in hospital, with the intent it appears of finishing the job."

"Doesn't matter." Loren replied shortly, "He must face due process. If we stand back and let any him be beaten to death because we think he is guilty, how does that make us any different from him or his confederate? And besides, if it is alright in our eyes for would-be murderers to be killed by fellow prisoners, where do we draw the line? Shoplifters? Drunk and Disorderly? And what if the next victim turns out – too late – to be innocent? No, Harm, we can't let this slide."

"I know. But I just wanted to make sure you were acting for the right reasons, not because of some mistaken sentiment or tender-heartedness."

"Tender-heartedness? Harm, if I had my preferences he'd be kicked to death every night and resurrected again the next morning so that he could have all day to contemplate the pain he was going to face again that evening! That's how tender my heart is when it comes to scum like that. But we can't allow these beatings to continue; he must face trial and be punished according to the law!"

Harm nodded. Although he was slightly taken aback by Loren's vehemence, he had a suspicion that part of it was due to her experiencing the home invasion, which reminded him, "Okay… I can accept all that, so maybe this will make you fell slightly happier: Gibbs was on the 'phone to me earlier," Harm hid a grin as an expression of distaste crossed Loren's face.

"It seems that Fields' tenancy opposite our apartment was pure chance, and that Simmons wasn't Simmons at all, but a deserter, a former Seal who was under investigation by Fields on suspicion of espionage and treason. NCIS' theory is that Simmons – or Lewis, to give him his real name – recognised Fields as one of the ONI investigators that drove him to desert, and attacked her, with the intent of raping her and killing her as revenge for losing his career."

"That's ridiculous, if anyone was to blame for him losing his career it was him!"

"Well, that's obvious to you and me, but then again, neither of us are criminal masterminds, are we?"

Loren gave a little chuckle and then stopped and levelled an accusing glare at Harm, "Did you just handle me back into a good mood?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Me? No, I wouldn't dream of it!" Harm said in a slightly too innocent voice, and then picked up his bottle of water to take a sip as an unconvinced Loren continued to study him.

Eventually she allowed a half-grin to show for an instant or two, "Yeah…. Riiight!" she commented and then turned her attention to clearing the debris of their lunch from the table.

**Thursday, May 10th, 2001, 1521hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (101921ZMay01)**

Harm settled down after lunch to work through one of the three outstanding case files that had come his team's way at Staff Call this morning, a complaint of domestic abuse. An AT1, that is Aviation Technician First Class, based at Andrews Joint Air Facility, had turned to for duty exhibiting a black eye, fat lip and other bruises indicative of a brawl, and apparently not for the first time. His Divisional Officer had been puzzled, AT1 Kruger had no record of being disposed to violence and had taken his reprimand stoically. All had seemed well until the following Monday when he had again turned to bearing the unmistakable marks of having been in a fight, this time including a bandaged hand.

Suspecting that the Petty Officer had somehow gotten himself involved on an illegal bare-knuckle fight club the DO had called in NCIS.

He had reacted badly to be interviewed by Special Agent Barrett, withdrawing into himself and seemed afraid of her, a reaction that was noted by her partner, Special Agent Cade, who took over the interview. The suspect became more forthcoming but would not admit to any wrongdoing, until Cade accused the man of being gay.

"I am not gay. I am married, and my wife and I are trying for a baby."

AT1 Kruger's wife proved to be an Air Traffic Controller Second Class based at Oceana, and she did have a record for being hot tempered and physically violent. Eventually, under pressure AT1 Kruger had shamefacedly admitted to being physically abused by his wife. A check of his authorised absences from base showed that they tallied with his subsequent reappearance complete with bruises and abrasions, and NCIS had gone to Oceana and confronted the wife, who responded by accusing her husband of assaulting her.

NCIS had then shoved the inconclusive he-said-she-said report to JAG and had torn off in hot pursuit of an international serial killer who had left the bodies of his victims, all naval personnel, in Rota, Hong Kong, Naples and now DC. While Harm could appreciate the difference in gravity between a string of murders and a case of domestic violence, he wished that NCIS had been a little more helpful. In the meantime the AT1 had been counselled by his DO to stay away from his wife and remain in the BEQ at Andrews until the whole mess was sorted out. "And I know just who is going to have to sort it out!" Harm groaned to himself.

A knock on the door frame was, therefore, a welcome interruption that brought his head up and around from the case file to see Christine Carmichael stood in the doorway, her hand poised to knock again.

"Come on in CC," Harm smiled "and sit down! Not much longer now?" he asked nodding at the young Lieutenant's swollen stomach.

"No, sir. Another three weeks." She paused. "I start maternity leave after secure next Friday, so if you want me to continue to act for you, then we need to get a move on. Respectfully, that is, sir."

"Can't move fast enough for me. Ideally we'd like to be moved in before the last weekend in June!"

"Right then, sir. Here's what we've got so far. The title search for the property in Gainesville is complete, and it's good, there are no legal grounds for preventing the sale of the house and land. This is a statement of taxes from Gainesville city hall, and an insurance quotation for the property from the company that you insured your previous apartment with, and one from the company that Lieutenant Singer's apartment is insured by."

Harm nodded, "Quick work, CC, thanks!"

"Navy regulations won't allow me to hold funds on your behalf, but I have set up an escrow account with your bank, as they are underwriting the mortgage. All I need to activate that account is yours and Lieutenant Singer's signature, here, and here…"

Harm reached for his pen with one hand and his phone with the other. He jammed the phone between his face and his shoulder and quickly dialled Loren's extension while scrawling his signature on the account.

"Loren, can you come to my office now, please, CC is here, and there are a couple of forms you need to sign!"

Less than a minute later Loren appeared in the doorway and on Harm's invitation took the second visitors' chair and quickly read through the account forms before borrowing Harm's pen and signing her name where CC had indicated.

"Now, all you need to do is decide on which of these two insurance quotations you want to go for..."

A brief unspoken conversation between Harm and Loren produced two determined nods, "We'll take up the quotation from our current insurers, that we have continuity." Harm said.

CC made a note, "Very well, and last but not least… this is the structural survey. The building is sound, and the bank should be very happy with their investment!"

"How… how did you get that so quickly?" Harm asked frankly amazed.

"Oh… I called in a favour on your behalf," CC said with a self-deprecating smile that broadened into a grin as she added, "But don't worry about it, I'll collect from you when I next need defending!"

Both Harm and Loren smiled, "Not a problem!"

Loren adding, "CC, thanks so much, you've achieved wonders in only a few days!"

"Well, I had to! I am working to a deadline here!" CC smiled and lovingly rubbed her bump. "Now All I need to do now is messenger all this to your bank, and I'll get that done this afternoon, so, if one of you could lend me a hand, please? These chairs weren't exactly designed for a fat lady to get out of too easily!"

**Thursday, May 10th, 2001, 1912hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (102312zMay01)**

The washing up finished and the kitchen cleared down and squared away, Loren drifted through to the lounge while Harm brewed a fresh pot of coffee and carried the tray with carafe and cups on it through to lay it down on the occasional table, while Loren sat on the couch a frown on her forehead as she read the letter that had been hand-delivered while they were on duty.

"Did you read this… this letter from the landlords?" Loren asked.

"What, about the gapped supervisor position…? I skimmed it while you were showering, but it didn't seem to say much more than I had already guessed." Harm replied as he eased himself down next to Loren.

"But basically, they're saying we lose the supervisor's services for an indefinite period of time, but there's no mention of reduction in rent for that time!" Loren objected, "Surely that's a breach of contract somewhere along the line."

"It probably is, but they've probably already consulted their lawyers and have come to the decision that it will be cheaper in the long run for their tenants to continue to pay rather than launch an action against them for failing to live up to their side of the deal. Besides, they've probably got a get-out clause hidden somewhere deep in the small print! But at least they are getting a professional crime scene cleaning company to come in and do the apartment up!"

"So it's going to cost them a couple of hundred bucks to put down a new piece of carpet. And who gets the benefit of all her furniture and stuff?"

"I suspect there's family somewhere. She's have had an emergency contact," Harm answered in a sombre voice.

"God, yes…" Loren added, "I got carried away with my indignation… those poor people…" her voice trailed off into silence as she envisaged the Navy Car and the two officers in their best Service Dress Blues walking up to the front door of a little house somewhere.

Harm cast a shrewd glance at her, determined not to let her fall into a despondent mood. She was having a tough enough time as it was, her eyes flicking to the door every few minutes, obviously desperate to engage the deadbolts and the chain, but he had extracted an agreement from her that those steps were not necessary while they were both home and had made a promise to her that he would use all the deadbolts and the tumbler lock and the chain when securing before they went to bed. So in an effort to distract her he picked up his briefcase.

"I think I know what these are," he said, pulling out five envelopes, "They were all addressed to me at JAG…"

"And you didn't open them?" Loren asked with a trace of suspicion in her voice.

Harm grinned and shook his head, and his voice heavy with meaning said, "Nope, like I said, I think I know what they are, and I thought that it would be more fun if we open them together."

"M'mm… one at a time… or we each open one at the same time?" Loren asked, a hint of a smile appearing on her lips and a glimmer of anticipation growing in her eyes.

"Oh… one at a time, I think, don't you?" Harm asked in an elaborately casual tone.

"You just want to prolong the agony!" Loren accused him, her smile spreading.

"Or the pleasure," he purred, the smile in his eyes making the breath catch in her throat as the emphasis he put on 'pleasure' made its way from her ears to her brain.

"Right then, ;let's see just what we got," Loren gulped, making a brave attempt at normality, as she snuggled closer to Harm so that she could read whatever the first envelope contained. Harm slit it open and a sheet of cream paper, folded once fell into his hand, unfolded it and began to read,

"_Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes thanks Commander Harmon Rabb and Lieutenant Loren Maria Singer for their very kind invitation to attend their wedding at All Saints Church, Falls Church, Virginia at 2.30pm on Saturday June 30__th__, 2001 and afterwards at the Wedding Breakfast at The Best Western Hotel, Fairfax, Virginia, and has much pleasure in accepting_."

Harm grinned, "Well, we knew Skates would be coming, I believe her actual words when I invited her informally were something along the lines of 'undomesticated equines couldn't keep me away', and expressed a burning desire to meet the woman who could tame such a hound-dog as me!"

"Hound dog, indeed! More like a puppy!" Loren snorted, but then added, "When he's not being a panther, that is!"

"Puppy? Panther?" Harm asked with a puzzled smile, "When am I either?"

"That, sir, is for me to know, and for you to find out!" Loren grinned mischievously, "Now… how about getting on with it and opening the other envelopes.

Harm nodded and slit the next envelope open "Tobias Ingles… regret unable to attend owing to the exigencies of the service, but wishes to take this opportunity to extend his heartiest congratulations and to wish Harmon Rabb and Loren Singer health, wealth and happiness!"

"Well, we always knew that he and Captains Pike and Johnson were an iffy proposition," Loren said, "Are you too disappointed?"

"Not really… a little yes, but if he's on a cruise, then it's to be expected, and so I guess Captain Pike will decline as well. But if they are cruising, it's damned good of him to let Skates have leave to attend!"

"Where is the PH, anyway?" Loren asked.

"I'm not quite sure. Either in the eastern Med or maybe the Gulf. In either case, it's really generous of him to release his best RIO."

"Why? We're not at war." Loren remarked.

"No… but you know as well as I do that the situation there is highly volatile. We may not be at war right now, but we could be by tomorrow morning!"

"Oh, wow! Thanks for that!" Loren said sarcastically.

Harm shrugged philosophically, "We live in an uncertain world."

"Well, the only uncertainties in which I'm interested are the identities and responses of those other three envelopes!" Loren said acerbically.

"H'mm, okay… let's see… Kate Pike, regrets… prior engagement…" he shot a look at Loren, "Probably just as well," he added cryptically.

Loren, however, had no difficulty in understanding him, "Yeah, probably," she answered, blushing and looking uncomfortable.

"And moving swiftly on… Ted Rogers and his wife, Anna – I don't know her – but take much pleasure in accepting, so far then that's three to add to the total… And last but not least… Captain Rivers USMC and his wife, Mrs Aliyah Rivers, have great pleasure… I didn't even know he'd got married!"

"Rivers… isn't he the Seal, the MoH recipient who slugged a Senator?"

"That's him!" Harm grinned, ruminatively rubbing his jaw as he remembered a previous occasion when he'd rubbed the hot-tempered seal up the wrong way.

"I didn't know you knew him, let alone liked him enough to invite him to our wedding!" Loren exclaimed.

"Like? No, probably not. But respect? Hell, yes!"

Loren gave him another exasperated look. Men! She'd never understand them!

"So that's a total of seven additions for this evening, how many now, all told?"

Loren reached for the pad on the bottom shelf of the occasional table, that's fifty four acceptances for a total of seventy three guests as of today."

"H'mm… how long before you have to give the caterers a final number?" Harm asked.

"Uh… that would be Saturday June sixteenth, Loren said, consulting another sheet on the pad."

"So just about a month to get in the rest of the replies?"

"Yeah, and anyone who replies after that will have to be told they're still welcome to attend the wedding, but that the wedding breakfast is fully booked."

"Maybe not," Harm mused. "We're going for a buffet, right? And have you ever seen one of those cleared by the guests. There always seems to be a substantial load of left-overs."

"Not of we cut costs by giving a lower number – a slightly lower number – than the number we actually expect to attend," Loren suggested.

Harm gave her a slightly alarmed look, "We couldn't do that!" he protested.

"No, we couldn't, could we?" Loren said in a regretful voice, but surreptitiously keeping a wary eye on Harm from beneath her lashes.

Harm stared at her, lost for words for a moment, and then as he felt the hook sink in, he growled, "Gonna get you for that!"

"Yeah, how?" Loren sneered.

"Like this!" Harm said and swooped.

Too late Loren realised that snuggled up against Harm, she was a sitting target as he casually picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and as she shrieked with dismayed laughter, he commanded her "Quiet woman!" accompanied by an admonitory spank on her butt and strode effortlessly towards the bedroom.

**Friday, May 11th, 2001, 0912hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (111312zMay01)**

"Commander Rabb, what has your team got to offer this fine sunny morning?"

Harm exchanged a startled glance with Carolyn Imes who still looked slightly shell-shocked. There was something different about A J Chegwidden's voice this morning, it was different… There was still the rasp of command and Harm figured it wouldn't take much prompting for the Admiral's customary irascibility to surface again, but for the moment he was being affable… well, almost.

"Uh… Ham took a hurried look at his notes. This team idea as all very well, but the Admiral was hammering home his point by directing all questions to the team leaders, and woe betide the team leader who didn't have his or her answers to hand. That meant, as it had this morning, a hurried briefing from his team members and some hastily scribbled notes that he fervently hoped would see him through the forthcoming interrogation.

"The Harwood DoD goes to trial on Monday. Wheeler – the burglary at the Navy Yard BX is still under investigation. Although we have an eye witness who claims he saw the accused in the BX on the night in question, Wheeler claims he was at home," Harm decided to risk a joke, "Watching one Commander Turner's favourite moves – The Hunt for Red Oktober – unfortunately his live in partner was on duty at the time and can't conform his alibi. But, the feeling is that he is telling the truth. At the moment it's his word against that of the eye witness, a retired MAA Two, employed by the BX as a security guard cum night watchman. We need more to be able to either prosecute or dismiss. The Lennox Fraud case is complicated and will rely heavily on evidence from forensic auditors at the DoN, we are pretty much at their mercy as to when we'll be able to proceed, although Commander Morrison has attempted to explain to them the legal imperatives…"

So it went on for the next five minutes as Harm gave a run-down on each of his team's pending cases, finishing with the Kruger domestic violence case.

"So, I thought I'd head out to Andrews this morning and talk to Kruger, and then on Monday head on down to Oceana and talk to AC Two Kruger, and maybe do a little digging. I…uh… thought I'd take Mister Barlow with me on this one, ease him gently into the world of investigations."

"Why so keen on this one, Commander? Hoping to be able to get into the air again?"

"No, sir! The thought never crossed my mind. In fact, I need to be home reasonable early today or my fiancée will give me hell," he paused for the chuckles that came his way, and the glare from a blushing Loren just one seat down and opposite him. "And on Monday, I'd kinda like to do the whole Oceana bit and back in the one day."

"That won't give you enough time to make a very thorough investigation, Commander." Chegwidden observed disapprovingly.

"Enough, I hope, sir, for us to be able to prove or disprove the Krugers' conflicting claims. Then if need be we can look to instituting disciplinary proceedings against one or the other, sir."

"Or both!" Chegwidden added, "All right Commander, when do you intend heading out to Andrews?"

"Straight after staff call, sir. With any luck we can wrap up this aspect of the case by lunch time!"

"Very well then Commander, make it so!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Well then, moving on, Commander Austin, how goes it with your motley crew…"

Harm sat back only half-paying attention as Meg listed the progress that her team had made on their various cases, conscious only of a sense of relief as the barrage of question and answer came to an end. He shuffled his papers together ready for dismissal, but to his surprise, Admiral Chegwidden leaned forward his elbows on the table and his hands resting on two blue file covers. "Just one more item before we dismiss, "Lieutenant Singer…" he handed passed the folder to Loren, "Your orders have arrived. You report to your new billet as Legal Aide to the new Commander ONI at the Pentagon on Monday June Eighteenth. I know that's not much notice, but it's the most I can give you. You will be vice Lieutenant Commander Faith Coleman, who will be PCS'd to LSO Norfolk. Time she got back to litigation. I am sure that all here wish you well and every success in your new billet!"

Loren felt herself colouring under the scrutiny of so many eyes and writhed inwardly, 'Mom…No! This is not fair!' but managed to retain her composure long enough to muster a smile and a murmured, "Thank you, sir!"

Chegwidden nodded, the corners of his eyes just beginning to crinkle in amusement, "Very well," he said, standing, "Dismissed!"

The usual clatter of chair legs on floor followed hard on the hell of his words as his assembled officers rose to their feet and as usual, waited until the Admiral and his Yeoman had left the room, but as they began to move doorwards, Harm found his voice, "One moment please people, will those of you who have not yet formally replied to their wedding invitations please do so by secure on Monday. With Loren's orders finally through, and the dates on them, we need to confirm final numbers with the caterers. Thank you!"

A barrage of smiles, grins and "Sure, of course" and similar expressions met his eyes and ears, and with some good-natured jostling and wrangling the group filtered through the doorway into the hall. Harm found himself flanked by Loren on one side and by Meg on the other.

"Is it my imagination, or was the Admiral actually cheerful this morning?" Meg asked.

Harm shrugged, "It certainly looked as if he was heading in that direction!" Harm agreed.

"H'mm… I wonder why… Harm do you thin…"

"No, I don't!" Harm said firmly, "I don't speculate about my CO, and if you've got the sense God gave you – which I know you have – you won't speculate either!"

"No, you're right," Meg agreed promptly, but then looked at him slyly, "But still, one can't help wondering…" she let her voice fade suggestively.

"No! No way! There is no way we are having this conversation, Meg!" Harm replied, torn between outrage and amusement at her methods, "Ain't going to work!"

"No even if I bat my eye lashes and whine a little bit?" Meg teased.

"Hey! Back off, Commander!" Loren said in pretended offence, "That's my fiancé you're talking to, and if there's any eyelash batting or whining to be done, then I'll do it!"

"Oops! Sorry, I forgot all about that!" Meg said in wide eyed innocence, and then joined in with Harm and Loren's laughter. The three were still chuckling as they split up, Harm and Meg to head do their offices and Loren to meet with Carolyn before heading back to the court room for Lieutenant Colonel Walter's continuing court court-martial.

To Harm's amusement he found Peter Barlow already waiting for him outside his office, briefcase by his feet and cover tucked smartly under his arm.

"Going somewhere, Lieutenant?" Harm asked lightly.

"Uh… Yes, sir… I… I… uh… I thought you said we're were leaving for Andrews?"

"We are, Mister Barlow, we are…" Harm paused and gave the younger officer a quizzical look, "But not before I've had a chance to take a quick look through my in-tray and, much more importantly, have a cup of coffee." He grinned at the expression on Barlow's face. "Believe me Mister Barlow, you do not want to share a ride with me, even if it is only as far as Andrews, before I've topped up my caffeine levels from their overnight low! So, drop your cover off in my office, and investigate whether or not there's a couple of drinkable cups of coffee still available in the galley."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Barlow followed Harm into his office, but only to put his cover in the credenza by the door and his briefcase on the floor next to it, before he departed in the direction of the galley.

While he was gone, Harm shuffled through the mail in his in-tray, the files could wait until he got back from Andrews, but there were another half-dozen envelopes addressed to him personally. He guessed that most of them were simply replies to wedding invitations, but one, with a Memphis, Tennessee stamp attracted his attention, it was faintly perfumed, and was bulkier than a simple RSVP would have warranted. Checking the return address, he smiled, and slipping it onto his briefcase, he straightened up just as Barlow returned with two cups of coffee, "You take yours just black, don't you, sir?" he queried in a slightly anxious voice.

"Yeah, that's fine!" Harm pushed the Kruger file towards him, "Sit down, and read through this while you drink your coffee," he commanded.

Harm occupied the few minutes it took him to drain his coffee cup by looking through the next file folder in his tray, silently groaning as he did. It was yet another of the SecNav's damned reports. The man seemed to thrive on receiving the same information time after time, and insisted it was submitted in any one of up to six different formats. Of course the reports and returns he demanded were all titled differently and looked different, but when examined they all contained the same information. Between compiling reports, getting a daily briefing from his team and consolidating that information for each day's staff call, Harm was beginning to wonder whether he'd ever find the time to practice law again. If this is what command meant in JAGC, then the hell with it, he didn't want it!

He drained his coffee, closed the file and dropped back on top of the pole in his in-tray. "Finished your coffee, Barlow? Good, let's roll – and bring that file with you!"

Covers under their arms and briefcases in hand the two officers made their way out across the bull pen, pausing only to interrupt a conversation between Bud and Harriet.

"If I'm not back before court goes into recess, let Loren know that I've gone to Andrews, please, Harriet. And if the Admiral starts bellowing for me or Lieutenant Barlow, remind him too, would you?"

"Of course, sir!" Harriet beamed.

"Thank you. My apologies for the interruption!"

"Not a problem, sir!" Bud chipped in, "Have a safe trip!"

"I'm only going to Andrews Bud, not Antarctica," Harm said amused by the other officer's bidding.

"Uh… I know sir, and I know it's not far and you're a good driver – in fact you're an excellent driver, sir – but there's all the other idiots on the road, and although there's no sniper on the Beltway after you took him down last weekend, sir, , it's still a dangerous road, sir, and…"

Harm bit his tongue to prevent himself from laughing in Bud's face, but couldn't quite hide his grin. "Bud, Bud! Enough already! I appreciate your concern, but I am old enough to look after myself!"

"Umm… yes, sir," a crestfallen Bud Roberts said dipping his eyes as his face flamed re.

Chuckling, Harm turned away, "Come on Mister Barlow let's get out of this mad-house!"

His chuckles renewed as he heard Harriet's fierce hiss behind him, "Bud Roberts! What were you thinking?!"

**Friday, May 11th, 2001, 1233hrs EDT, Commissary, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (111633ZMay01)**

Meg paid for her lunch and looked around in a half-hearted hope of catching Carolyn Imes on her own, and then her heart gave a little jump. Yes, there she was at a corner table, sitting on her own… Meg looked around again, Carolyn was in the middle of a court-martial with Loren Singer as her second chair, and it would natural for the blonde lieutenant to eat lunch with her co-counsel, but where _was_ Loren? Then a smile broadening on her face Meg spotted her, almost at the very end of the line waiting to choose and pay for their lunches, Meg estimated it would take maybe as much as ten minute for Loren to work her way through to the cashier; that would give the tall Texas girl ample time.

The decision made, she threaded her way through the maze of table and chairs and arrived at the corner, where Carolyn was frowning at a sheet of paper on the table in front of her, but sensing Meg's arrival; she looked up with an inquiring look on her face, which changed to a smile of welcome.

"May I join you?" Meg asked.

"Of course! It seems like forever and a day since we had time for a talk!" Carolyn answered as she folded the sheet of paper.

"Not interrupting anything, am I?" Meg asked nodding at the paper.

"God, no… Just trying to juggle twenty-five hours work over eight days into next week! Same old, same old!" Carolyn laughed.

Meg gave a brief smile, acknowledging that the other officer had just as hectic a schedule, and placed her tray on the table before sitting. "Carolyn, I have a favour to ask…"

Carolyn looked at her warily, "Go on…"

"You know that Victor… Gunny… was back in hospital?"

Carolyn nodded, she already had a feeling where this was going.

"Well, I went to see him a couple of times while he was in there, and I even managed to maintain professional decorum, while I was there!" She held up a hand to prevent Carolyn from interrupting. "Oh, I know what you're thinking, but I have no intention of risking my career, or especially Victor's career by inappropriate behaviour. And that's where you come in!"

"Go on," Carolyn said resignedly.

"Well, I managed to behave in an officer-like manner when I saw him in hospital, but there were other people around all the time. But the thing is, I promised to bring him some stuff this evening, just a few groceries and a couple of books, but I'm not sure I trust myself with him if we're alone together. Could you come with me, please, just for an hour, just to play gooseberry? Just so that no-one can point any accusing fingers."

Carolyn looked at Meg, her concern evident in her face, "Meg, you're playing with fire. You do know this can't go on? What happens when Gunny returns to duty?"

"Like I said, it's okay when other people are around. It's only when we're alone that the temptation is there. So, please? Carolyn?"

Carolyn was about to argue some more but seeing Loren approach the table she sighed and surrendered. "Okay, against my better judgement, but this is the last time, okay?"

"Okay, thanks Carolyn. I'll pick you up at your place at eighteen-thirty!" Meg's sunny smile appeared and for some reason although Carolyn was still convinced that Meg – and Victor – were making a huge mistake, and hoping that her chaperone act wouldn't come back and bite her on the ass, she felt a whole lot better.

**Friday, May 11th, 2001, 1907hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (112307zMay01)**

Even after realising that Harm hadn't fully secured the door last night, and that nothing dreadful had happened as a result of his lapse, it had still taken a major effort of will but Loren had managed to prevent herself from locking herself into the apartment while she waited for Harm's delayed return from Andrews Joint Air Facility, and she darted across to her roll top desk as she heard a key in the door, only to breathe a heartfelt sigh of relief as the door opened to reveal Harm.

As casually a she could, she slid the roll top closed and sauntered across the room towards him, winding her fingers around his neck and drawing his face down for a kiss, which he returned but in an unusually perfunctory manner.

"Hey, sailor, what's wrong?" she asked, as she reached up to try to smooth away the frown-furrows on his forehead.

"I guess I'm just tired," he confessed.

"H'mm… you were away from the office practically all day. What happened? I thought it was going to be a quick interview with one suspect, just to show Barlow the ropes?"

"Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men…" he grimaced leaving the quotation unfinished.

"So… go on… tell me…" she invited, linking fingers with him and drawing him towards the couch.

Harm reluctantly followed her, all he really wanted at the moment was a shower and a chance to try to understand Kruger's reasoning, but he knew his Loren, she was disturbed by what she saw and wouldn't rest, or allow him and rest until she had got to the bottom of whatever it was that was bothering him.

"So give," she urged him.

"Well… Kruger was under investigation for possibly belonging to an illegal street fighter club, or similar…" he gave Loren a brief synopsis of the contents for the Kruger file.

"So this morning Barlow and I went to see him, presenting him with the facts. It doesn't matter that he won't submit a complaint against his wife, the fact remains that she has committed an offence against Article One Two Eight of the UCMJ, and by not reporting it, he runs the risk of charges being laid against him. I will say, however that he was surprised by the news that she had complained against him for assault. But he still won't report her and as good as told me that if her complaint goes through, he'll plead guilty."

Loren shook her head, "That's totally stupid. I mean, I can see why he would do that, but it's totally stupid. Doesn't he realise that a guilty plea will land him with a Federal record for the rest of his life? Not to mention a probable discharge and brig time!"

"I tried to explain all that to him… but… all he says is that he won't report his wife, because he loves her." Harm shook his head in disgust.

"He needs to accept that, and to accept that his wife would probably get a lighter sentence," Loren added thoughtfully, "For some reason courts-martial don't take spousal abuse quite so seriously when it's female on male violence…"

"And that's wrong too!" Harm leaped to his feet, "It's just as bad for a woman to strike a man, as it is for a man to strike a woman. In some ways it's worse, because most of the time – as in this case, if Kruger is to be believed, the woman knows that the man won't strike back, even in self-defence!"

"I didn't say it was right, Harm," Loren pointed out in a reasonable tine, "I said it's what happens!" She considered a moment, "But don't despair of our legal system just yet. The panel deliberated this afternoon, and came back with their verdict."

Harm sat again and half turning towards Loren took both her hands in his, "I'm sorry sweetheart. You've worked your butt off on this case, and here am I whining because I had a slightly difficult afternoon. Tell me that the panel came back with the right verdict?"

Loren grinned, "They did! Guilty of Conduct of a Service Discrediting Kind in that he wilfully and maliciously mistreated marines under his command, all twenty-nine counts! Dismissal from the service, loss of rank, pay, pension and rights, and fifteen years confinement!"

Harm grunted his approval, "Good!"

Loren nodded her agreement, "It's just a shame that we couldn't get him specifically for negligent homicide for Corporal Henderson…"

"No… but there's the Sergeant Major and the Company First Sergeant to face that charge, surely!"

Loren brightened up, I guess so."

Harm smiled, "Good. So… tell you what… why don't we skip dinner. Let me grab a shower and then while you're getting gussied up, I'll find us a table somewhere! You deserve to celebrate a win like that!"

"I like the way you think, sailor!" Loren grinned.

**Friday, May 11th, 2001, 2108hrs EDT, The 1789 Restaurant, 1226 36th Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (110108ZMay01)**

Harm and Loren had been met by a smiling young Maître d'hôtel, in the shape of a smartly dressed young freckle faced, red-head who conducted them quietly and without fuss to a table at the back of one of the restaurant's six dining rooms. They smiled their thanks at the young woman, and Harm poured them both a glass of water before he picked up his menu, only to be stopped by a gasp from Loren.

"What, what's wrong?" he asked, suddenly anxious.

"I don't think anything's wrong… not exactly, and for God's sake, don't look now, but three tables away, behind your right shoulder… it's the Admiral, and he's not alone. I… think… Yes, it is, I'm sire… I know her… it's, it's…"

A J Chegwidden stifled a groan. His dinner companion looked across in concern, "Are you all right, A J?"

"No. no. I'm fine… it's just that two of my officers have just come in and taken a table."

"Is that a problem? Surely you're not ashamed of me?" Her voice was teasing, but AJ thought he heard a little sharp edge to it.

"No, it's not a problem. I just wanted to keep this between ourselves for a little while longer and one of those officers had a reputation for spreading scuttlebutt, although she has seemed to have changed lately. So no, I don't think it's a real problem, and no, I could never be ashamed of you. Never, Sydney."


	71. Chapter 71

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 71**

**Saturday May 12****th****, 0917hrs EDT, Charlottesville - Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (121317ZMay01)**

Harm gently applied the brake and the old Indian eased to a gentle stop alongside the hangar. He waited until Loren got off of the pillion seat and then slung his own leg over the saddle and once standing, with a grunt of effort, he pulled the motorcycle up on to its centre stand.

By the time he turned, Loren had already pulled off her helmet, shaken her hair free and unzipped her jacket. "Well?" she asked.

Harm tugged off his helmet, unzipped the cuff of his jacket looked at his watch, "One hour seven minutes from the junction, and the house is only two minutes up the road from there!" he said as Loren pulled the two valises from the motorcycle's panniers, slinging one over her shoulder and handing the other to Harm, falling into step beside him as they rounded the end if the hangar.

"Not bad," she smiled, "but a bit worrying. By that estimate, it's going to take over an hour to get to Falls Church from there, and even longer to get to the Pentagon!"

Harm thought for a moment and scrubbed his chin as he did so, "No… I don't think so… We can look at the map later, but I figure you could take the same route in through Falls Church to Rosslyn on the Sixty Six, and then drop down to Arlington. Don't forget, we reckon two hours to here from Georgetown, and how much of that is spent just getting clear of DC?"

"M'mm… I suppose so…" Loren began, still a little doubtfully, but then broke off what she was saying, substituting a cheerful, "Hey, Pop! How are you?"

"Could be better," the older man grumbled, "'specially if some folks would give a little more than an hour's notice that they wanted to fly this morning. Never thinking of course that we'd have to break the spot jest to get their dad-blamed antique out to where my boys could look it over!"

Harm and Loren exchanged a brief, amused, look neither of them fooled for a moment into thinking that Pop's grumbles were to be taken seriously. "Knew we could count on you, Pop," Harm grinned.

The old man stared at him for a few moments longer before he spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the tarmac, "Getting too damned smart fer yer own good!" he declared but then let his features soften into a grin, "She's all ready for you, running as sweet as a nut!" he nodded in the direction of the Stearman, parked up on the apron to one side of the hangar.

"Thanks, Pop, I knew you wouldn't let us down!" Harm replied with a smile.

Pop just grunted and turned to walk away, but as he left, both Harm and Loren could hear him grumbling, "Wouldn't be much of a businessman iffen I made a habit of lettin' my customers down, now would I?"

Harm laughed again and looked at Loren, "You want to go and get changed in the 'Ladie's Room'? I'll use the office!"

"Okay…" Loren took a casual look around the apron and her eyes narrowed with amusement as she saw an overalled figure on top of a set of moveable steps, bent over as it peered into the depths of an Agcat, "Just be prepared for your young worshipper to be there!"

"Young worshipper?" Harm's forehead puckered into a frown, "Young worshipper… Oh… the Johnson girl. It's not me who should be worried, after all it's you she's got a crush on!"

Loren stared at him, the colour flooding her cheeks, "Oh…" was about all she could articulate.

"Yeah… so… do you want to play some more, or quit while I'm ahead?"

"Oooh!" Loren nearly swore and stamped her foot in frustration, but managed to stop herself just in time. That would have been exactly the type of behaviour that would have set Harm chuckling all day, every time he looked at her. Instead with a reasonable assumption of dignity she said, "I shall leave you to your delusions!" and turned on her heel, walking towards the dubious sanctuary of the hanger, but once she was a few steps away she paused and called back over her shoulder, "Just don't get caught with your pants down, sailor!"

Harm laughed again and flipped a casual salute that was wasted on Loren as she had by then turned away again.

**Saturday May 12****th****, 1258hrs EDT, Charlottesville - Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (121658ZMay01)**

'The Johnson girl' wasn't in the office so Harm not only had time to change out of his motorcycling leathers but also to pour two mugs of Pop's coffee, which didn't look quite as virulent as normal, and to Harm's surprise when he took a cautious first sip, didn't taste quite so bad either. He grinned and with a silent 'Well, whaddya know!' he took another sip, as if to confirm his suspicions.

Shaking his head in wonder he settled back to wait for Loren and as he did so he realised that the office wasn't quite its usual shambles. The waste paper bins weren't overflowing, and the mugs, stowed in a neat pyramid next to the coffee machine seemed to have been washed and not just rinsed, and there was even a hint of the surface of Pop's desk, now not quite completely covered by files and loose paperwork and wonder of wonders, even the office window seemed to have been cleaned.

Just to confirm his suspicions the first words Loren spoke after he'd handed her a mug of coffee, were, "What's been going on in here? It looks like Pop's been housekeeping!"

"I know, weird, isn't it? And wait 'til you try the coffee!"

Loren gave the coffee a suspicious sniff and then took sup, which Harm judged was even more cautious than his first try. Then as the taste of the coffee made itself felt her eyebrow rose and she hastily swallowed, "What's going on here? This is almost potable!"

Harm nodded, "I know, and I always figured that in a world of constant change if one thing was immutable it was that Pop's coffee was poisonous, and only long exposure to it allowed a body to build up immunity." He grinned as he saw Loren's expression, "And no, I'm not kidding! Well… not entirely!"

Loren threw him a darkling look, but said nothing and devoted herself to finishing her coffee, before they both left the office and walked out, close enough to bump shoulders, towards the waiting Stearman.

On reaching the aircraft, Harm stood back and let Loren complete the pre-flight walk around, and then when she was satisfied that everything was as it should be she turned towards the plane and reached up to grab the rear cockpit rim as an aid to climbing up in to the wing but was stopped by Harm's voice saying, "Hey, isn't there something you've forgotten?"

Loren paused with on foot on the reinforced panel at the trailing edge of the lower wing and thought for a second, "No… I don't think so…"

Harm smiled and reaching out for Loren, he gathered her in his arms and in response to her questioning look said, "New tradition, remember? I get to kiss you before and after flying!"

"Of course! Dumb of me!" Loren smiled, lifting her face, and as usual their performance brought the usual response of cheers and whistles, and cutting above them all a clear girlish voice shouting "For God's sake, get a room!"

Breaking the kiss they stood grinning at each for a few seconds until Harm said, "Okay, get aboard!"

"Only if you promise to drool!" Loren grinned, and turned towards the yellow bi-plane and with the ease of long practise stepped up into the lower plane and then, pausing for effect with one leg slung over the cockpit rim, she half turned her upper body and gave Harm an exaggerated wink.

"Minx!" he grinned up at her and waited until she'd slid into her seat he climbed up onto the wing and took his own seat in the rear cockpit. "Okay, whenever you're ready, start her up, and let her get warm!" he called out as he fiddled his helmet and headset into place.

Loren nodded an acknowledgement and refusing to be rushed she painstakingly completed the in-cockpit pre-flight check-list, concentrating fiercely so that she was sure that the break from flying hadn't caused her to miss any of the necessary steps.

Happy that all was ready, she turned the key in the ignition and the engine gave its characteristic double cough, spluttered for second or two and then burst into life. Pulling the throttle lever back to idle, Loren let the engine warm up so that the oil that had collected in the lower cylinders of the radial engine could thin out and be pumped around all cylinders.

Now with the engine running Loren could switch on the radio, and remembering the embarrassment she had once caused herself she ensured that the microphone was set to intercom and not broadcast, she asked, "What's the plan for this morning?"

"I'm going to stay strictly hands off while you do… say… a half dozen circuits and bumps, and then head out to the WMA and you can have a bit of play, get the feel of her again. Then this afternoon, you're on your own again!"

"Right… Harm?"

"Yeah? What did Pop mean earlier… he said something about breaking the spot?"

"Oh… yeah… the spot is the way airplanes are parked. It usually refers to the flight deck on a carrier. Back in the bad old days, carriers couldn't launch and recover airplanes at the same time, so, say if a squadron was getting ready to launch, the planes had to be brought up from the hangar deck and arranged precisely on the flight deck so that their wings could be unfolded and that they could take off in a logical sequence without anyone getting in anyone else's way. They had to be parked pretty close to each other, but with enough space between them so that the flight deck crew could move around the airplanes, so each airplane has its own carefully calculated spot on the deck, and the whole process was known as spotting. But if something went wrong and incoming airplanes had to be recovered, then the airplanes on the flight deck had to be moved out of the way, so 'breaking the spot'."

"That doesn't happen anymore?" Loren asked, slightly confused.

"No… not since the introduction of catapults and the angled flight deck!"

It still didn't make much sense to Loren, but she had got the general idea of what Pop's remark meant, and she was satisfied with that. The arcane mysteries of flight deck operations she figured could be best left to flight deck crews and the Air Boss on each carrier. A glance at her watch told her that the engine should have warmed up by now, a decision reinforced by a further glance at the engine temperature gauge, so with a click, she switched the radio to broadcast, "Charlottesville tower, this Stearman November six, requesting clearance to taxi for tale-off."

"Charlottesville Tower, roger November Six, you are cleared to taxi to runway zero three. Hold for take-off clearance at threshold!"

"November Six, roger!"

Loren released the brakes and nudged the throttle lever forwards allowing the yellow biplane to start to weave its way towards the threshold of runway zero three.

Reaching the threshold, Loren lined up the nose of the Stearman with the centre of the runway and applied the brakes, "Charlottesville Tower, this is Stearman November Six, holding at threshold for Runway zero three, requesting clearance for take-off and six circuits of touch and go prior to departure to Whiskey Mike Alpha."

"Charlottesville Tower, November Six, you are clear for take-off!"

"November Six, Roger!" Loren, unseen by Harm, grinned and then pushed the throttle forward 'to the wall' and released the brakes. The Stearman rolled forward at ever increasing speed, Loren felt the tail come up and a few seconds later, with just the gentlest pressure on the stick, the Stearman's wings bit the air and the old veteran took to the sky.

Loren levelled off at Angels Two and joined the landing circuit, again concentrating fiercely as she flew the downwind leg, before turning across wind and the again turning up wind, lining up with the centre of the runway, slowly decreasing power and letting the Stearman sink gently towards the ground, judging her approach so that she was a mere fifty feet above ground level by the time she crossed the runway threshold. Another few moments and she brought the Stearman into a flare for a three point landing.

Letting out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, Loren again advanced the throttle to the wall and again the yellow biplane lumbered along the runway, effortlessly lifting into the environment for which it had been designed, losing any aspect of ungainliness it had while earthbound.

Now with renewed confidence and a laugh of sheer pleasure, which carrying back to the rear cockpit had Harm grinning in sympathy, Loren set about completing the remaining five mandated circuits and bumps, signalling their successful completion with a wild whoop and a full power climb to Angels Eight before banking to port and heading out to the WMA.

Harm grinned at Loren's exuberance, and thumbed his mic switch to intercom, "So what do you feel like doing?" he asked.

"I want to gain a little more height, and then start off with a couple of falling leaves, and then once I've got my breath back from that, a few simple aerobatics, rolls, loops… maybe try an Immelmann, and then some stall and spin recoveries!"

"Okay… just remember that hard deck is two thousand AGL, so that means a minimum altitude of…?"

Loren looked over the side to check her physical position and then nodded, "Angels Four around here… that's a little high, but it increases the safety margin!"

Harm nodded, "Okay… go for it!"

Loren started off with a few rather stately barrel rolls followed by a few more snap rolls before she gained more height and then swiftly lost four thousand feet in a falling leaf, levelling off at five thousand feet, before once again applying full power and as airspeed built up she powered up into the beginning of a loop only to make a half roll off the top in an almost perfect Immelmann turn. Taking the opportunity of a slow, spiral climb back to altitude, Loren took a few minutes to regain her breath. "Going to go for stall recovery now!" she told Harm over the intercom.

"Whenever you're ready!" Harm agreed, enjoying her enjoyment of the light. His hands had been hovering above the stick and his feet poised above the rudder pedals as Loren started her more extravagant manoeuvres. Not that he mistrusted her, he just wanted to make sure that if they got into trouble, then he could get them out of it. But now Loren had demonstrated her skill and confidence and that she hadn't forgotten her lessons, he was content to sit back and enjoy what was left of the ride.

Loren kept the power low and increased the Stearman's angle of climb, increasing the wings' angle of attack until it seemed for just a second that airplane hung motionless above the earth, then the nose dropped and the Stearman headed towards the ground. Loren gently applied power watching that engine revolutions and the indicated air speed stayed well below the redline on both gauges until she felt the wings bite the air again and lift being restored. Levelling off, she gave a quick nod of her head and once gain clawed for altitude.

"Spin stall coming up!" She told Harm as she levelled off at Angels nine, and silently repeating the mantra 'PARE' she pulled the airplane into a tight bank to starboard and felt the starboard wings stall. The nose dropped and the horizon swung dizzyingly around the airplane's nose. Loren silently repeated the mantra as she carried out the necessary actions:

'Power', the throttle back to idling revolutions.

'Ailerons' to neutral

'Rudder' full opposite rudder applied

'Elevator' stick forward

Now… wait… wait… the Stearman steadied in its flight, the spin becoming a dive and Loren applied more power, gently pulling back on the stock to recover altitude once more.

Harm, unseen in the rear cockpit, nodded his head approvingly. The recovery had been pretty well flawless, but then again the Stearman was a forgiving old lady and was designed for novice pilots. But even so, that was a good recovery. "How much height did you lose?" he asked. He knew the answer – he had been keeping an eye on his instrument panel.

"A shade under fourteen hundred feet!" Loren replied.

"Okay… good session. Now take us home!"

"Roger!" Loren laughed, and pulled the Stearman into a shallow bank while she peered over the side of the cockpit looking for a landmark. She soon saw the familiar finger of forest jutting eastwards and turning to the north east until she was above it she settled on a heading of zero eight five degrees and as she had expected, ten minutes straight and level flight brought Charlottesville airport into sight ahead of her port wing.

Checking that she had switched the radio to broadcast, Loren pressed her microphone presell switch, "Charlottesville airport, this is Stearman November Six, joining the circuit on a heading of zero eight five."

"Roger November Six. There are three other aircraft ahead of you in the pattern. Join the circuit at northern marker at Angels Three. Over."

"November Six, roger!"

Loren banked the airplane more to the north east and started a gradual let-down until she was over the marker at the northern end of the circuit at the correct height and then started the succession of turns to port that would bring her back over the beacon at two thousand feet.

Twice more she flew the circuit until she reached the base leg for the third time at fifteen hundred feet. Turning north she once again let down, crossing the threshold as before and letting the Stearman kiss the tarmac in another three-point landing, before reducing speed and taxiing back to the hangar apron.

Applying the brakes and cutting the engine Loren sat and removed her helmet while the propeller windmilled to a stop before unfastening her seat harness, climbing out of the cockpit and sliding down the lower plane to where Harm was waiting to catch her and scoop her up for a kiss which she just as enthusiastically returned, ignoring as usual the catcalls and whistles from the grinning mechanics who were by now well used to this post-flight display.

Slipping his arm around Loren's waist Harm turned her towards the hangar intending to head for the office and some of Pop's coffee and tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches. Then as they entered the hangar Harm's eye fell on something that he hadn't seen before and stopped abruptly. "What the…"he muttered.

Loren had taken two more steps before she realised that Harm had stopped, and coming to a halt she looked back over her shoulder, "Harm, what is it?" and then her eyes followed his line of sight and she saw what had attracted his attention, "Oh…"

"Yeah, 'oh'," Harm agreed as he stared at the long sign propped on one end in the corner of the hangar just inside the main, rolling, doors. Resplendent in fresh paint was a pale blue sign with crimson lettering on it that read 'Grace Aviation' and below that 'Crop Dusting, Air Taxi Service, Charter Flights, Flying Lessons. Prop Alison Grace'.

Harm stared at the sign for long moments and then shook his head, "We... I need to speak with Pop," he said.

"What do you think…?" Loren asked in a troubled voice.

"I don't know what I think… yet," Harm said as he turned and strode briskly towards the office, "But that's why I need to speak with Pop!" he finished firmly, as Loren almost broke into a trot to keep pace with him.

The office when they arrived was occupied by Pop and by Mrs Johnson who sat at an angle at ninety degrees to each other at Pop's desk, while Mattie Johnson, the inevitable airplane magazine open on her jeans clad knees, and a broad grin on her face as Harm and Loren unceremoniously entered the room.

"Hey, Loren," the young girl grinned, "I saw you earlier, but I was in the cockpit…"

"I know, Mattie," Loren smiled, "We heard you! But we need to speak with Pop right now; we can talk later, okay?"

"Sure!" Mattie agreed and returned to her magazine.

"So… you wanna talk with me, huh?"

"Yeah, Pop, we do!" Harm said unsmilingly.

"Waal, drag up a chair…" Pop eyed Harm shrewdly and then his eyes flicked to Loren, "Both of you, an' then you-uns can tell me jest what sorta bug bit your…"

"Pop!" Mrs Johnson interrupted him sharply with a warning glance towards her daughter.

"Sorry, kinda forgot!" the old man said unrepentantly.

For some reason the interplay between Pop and Mrs Johnson made Harm uneasy. It sounded like the kind of interaction that took place between people who knew each other well because they had been spending a lot of time together.

"Uh… yeah… We… uh…do want to talk with you, Pop. But it's kind of private business," Harm said with a meaningful look that took in, but excluded mother and daughter.

"Iffen it's business business that's airplane business, then you might as well take the weight off right now. There ain't nothing you can tell me, than you can't tell to Miz Johnson, here."

Pop grinned as he saw Harm switch his gaze from one to the other as he slowly began to suspect what was going on, and as she saw the light of understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes Alison Johnson spoke up, "Mister Walchowski is correct, Commander. You see, I am buying the business from him."

Harm nodded, "Well, I saw the new sign in the hangar – waiting to be put up over the door, I reckon?"

"Yep," Pop had sat back in his chair and was watching Harm under half-closed eyelids.

"But 'Grace Aviation'?" Harm queried.

"My company, my maiden name, Commander," Alison Johnson told him matter of factly.

"I see… you kept that pretty close to your chest, Pop." Harm commented, more to gain mental breathing space than for any other reason.

"Waal, there weren't no sense in puffing it off before the deal was struck. Me an' Miz Johnson we been dickerin' back and forward fer about three weeks now, an' we jest managed to strike a deal on Wednesday. Now we're just waitin' for the damned lawyers to git their act together – again! No, 'fence meant, 'Mander!"

"None taken, Pop!" Harm reassured him with a grin. "It's a bit sudden, though," he objected.

Again Pop shook his head, "Not really. I been thinking of giving up the business fer about six months now. But I didn't want to jest up an' quit. There's my customers to think of, not to mention my boys, an' closin' down the business would hurt both parties. So when Miz Johnson here decided to move her base of operations up from Blacksburg, waal, she made me an' offer, I talked about it with the wife and we dickered fer a while until we got us to a figure we was both happy with."

Harm nodded, "Yeah… I just never thought I'd see the day when you secured your tool kit, Pop!"

Pop leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk top and grinned, "'Mander I'm eighty one years old. I joined the Army Air Corps in thirty eight. The first airplane I worked on after finishing training was the old Curtiss P Forty, then I worked on 'em all through the P Thirty-Eight, P Forty-Seven and P Fifty-One, then came the jets, F Eighty-Nine and F One Oh Four, then at last I went back to a prop job, the A One. I served through three wars, WW Two, Korea and 'Nam. 'Mander, I've been with airplanes all my life… and now… well… after running this show fer the last twenty seven years… I'm tired, and lookin' forward to retirement. I finally got me enough saved to last me out my last few years, and enough in a pension scheme to keep me in baccy."

Harm nodded, feeling inexplicably humbled as the old man went through the litany of his years in uniform and the types of airplane he'd worked on, "Well you certainly deserve some time to relax, Pop, and I'm not one to begrudge you that, but I have to take my own circumstances into consideration. For a start, does this mean I need to start looking for alternative hangarage for Sarah, or renegotiate my contract?"

"No, Commander, it does not." Alison Johnson spoke up. "In fact I very much hope that you, and all Pop's customers will stay with us, as will, we hope his crew. Without customers or crew this ship will sink pretty quickly. You have to understand that I've spent nearly ten years growing this business, and we need to continue to grow, or we stagnate and go under. We were doing well down in Blacksburg, but our core business spring through fall is crop dusting, and most of that business is between here and Blacksburg, and we're starting to bring in new customers north of here now, so the move makes sense, and it looks like we'll be more than just paying our way. In fact…" her eyes took on a speculative gleam, "we might even be looking for a couple of extra pilots…."

Harm laughed and shook his head, "No thanks, Mrs Johnson, I've got my hands pretty well full right now."

"Pays three hundred a day!" Mattie chipped in.

"Mattie," her mother spoke reprovingly, "The Commander said 'no', you really got to learn to take no for answer, young lady!"

"So… what happens now, Pop?"

"Waal, once the deal's signed, I reckon I'll just fade away into the sunset, find me a porch swing somewheres an' a jug of sippin' whiskey, sit back and swap lies with a couple of buddies!"

"Sounds like a plan!" Harm agreed, "But what I meant was, what happens about billing? I can settle up what I owe you as of today. But there's how much longer before you hand over the company?"

"That's a good question, 'Mander, an' the answer is that it all depends on them no-good shysters! No 'fence, meant!"

"That's okay, Pop," Harm waved the apology off.

"What I think will be the best thing, Commander, is that we work out the balance for each customer as at the date of handover. I pay that to Mister Walchowski, and just keep your bill running until the next month is due."

"Sounds like the easy way to me," Harm nodded, "And if that's okay by you, Pop?"

"Hell, yes! This aways I don't get to wait around fer you-all to pay your bills, instead I tuck a nice little check into my pocket on my last day and walk away jest whistlin' Dixie!"

"I'd join you!" Loren laughed, "Except that he wouldn't let me, and the fact that my throat is kind of dry!"

"Da… uh… Darn straight I wouldn't let you! What do you think would happen to my rep if the guys on the PH ever heard I'd let a Zoomie walk off with my best girl!" Harm joined in with the teasing.

"Waal, looks like we'll have to scratch that part of the plan, but there's still plenty of coffee in the jar that should ease your dry throat!" Pop added.

"It will do that!" Loren agreed, standing and moving towards the coffee jug, "Anybody else?"

"Not fer me! Had to tone it down some for the young 'un, here, cain't drink it now!" he grinned affectionately at Mattie who tried to scowl back at him at being referred to as a 'young 'un', but ended up grinning at the old man.

"So… you done fer the day, 'Mander?" Pope asked as Harm and Loren sipped their coffee.

"I am, but Loren's flying after we've topped up the gas tank," Harm demurred.

"Hell, I'll get one of the boys to do that fer you!" Pop offered as he hauled himself to his feet.

Loren nodded gratefully, and as Pop left the office, she picked up the 'phone, dialled and waited for an answer. "Hello, tower?"

"This is Loren Singer, the Stearman N6 driver, can I get a met update for the afternoon, please?"

Loren waited a minute or two and then made some hasty notes on the telephone message pad.

"Well?" Harm asked when she put the 'phone down.

"Cumulus cloud from twelve hundred up to six and a half thou, five percent chance of precipitation wind from nor' nor' east at five knots at ground level, increasing to fifteen knots at ten thou…"

Harm nodded, safe enough. What's your plan?"

"H'mm…" Loren had moved over to a side table and opened out an aerial chart and found what she was looking for, "I was thinking about taking a trip down to Blacksburg, and then turning around, making it a non-stop. We've gone north from here a few times, so I thought it would make a change."

"Let's see…" Harm moved over to the chart, "H'mm… that's about one hundred and twenty miles each way, so about two and a half hours for the round trip. You sure you're up to that?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure!" Loren flashed at him.

"Okay, okay…" Harm raised his hands in surrender and grinned, "Just checking!"

"I'll be fine. You worry too much," Loren said softly, smiling up at him.

"Of course I worry. I love you." He said simply.

"I know," Loren smiled. "Now… I'm going to walk over to the tower and file a flight plan. Yes, I know, I don't have to when I'm on VFR, but it's just to let someone know where I'm going!" She paused and then added slyly, "It seems I've been corrupted, hope for the best, but prepare for the worst!"

Harm chuckled, "Go on, get out of here! Get your flight plan filed!"

He waited until Loren had left the office and then gave her a five minute start before he turned to Alison Johnson, "If you'll excuse me, Mrs Johnson, I think I'll just go and do a pre-flight on the Stearman."

"You don't trust your pupil for that? Yet, you're happy for her to fly a two hour plus solo?"

"Oh, I trust her all right, Mrs Johnson, it's the gremlins I don't trust!" and with a nod he left the office and cut across the hangar floor towards the double doors, hearing as he did so, Mattie Johnson's voice.

"Mom, what's a gremlin?"

**Saturday May 12****th****, 1343hrs EDT, Charlottesville- Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (121743ZMay01)**

Thinking, 'If you ever learn to fly, young lady, you'll find out!' and then stepping out into the sunlight Harm saw one of Pop's boys disengaging the bowser's fuel hose from the Stearman's fuel filler cap and looking around his eyes met Pop's and with a nod of thanks Harm stepped back and waited a couple of minutes for the bowser to back away from the Stearman before he stepped up and started a meticulous pre-flight check. He was about three parts done when a cold voice from behind him interrupted his inspection.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Loren demanded in glacial accents.

Harm winced but then turned, a fair imitation of a relaxed grin on his face, "Just trying to save you a couple of minutes, is all," he explained in a reasonable voice.

"H'mph! When I'm up there alone, I like to think that I know that everything is as it should be, and that I can't rely on anybody else's judgement. So if you don't mind?"

Although Harm groaned at Loren's tone, he couldn't fault her for wanting to make sure in person that everything about the airplane was on top line, but he wished he'd had just that extra couple of minutes to put his own mind at rest. Nevertheless he stood back far enough so that Loren wouldn't feel like he was hovering, and he admitted to himself that there was nothing wrong with the way she carried out her own pre-flight walk around, just as meticulous as his had been, and in the exact order that he had drilled into her.

At last, satisfied that the walk round was complete, Loren zipped up her flying jacket and turned to Harm and smiled "Well, I don't think the wings will fall, off, but just as added insurance, you could give me a kiss before I go?"

"Is that in addition to, or in place of the ritual kiss?" Harm smiled, as he reached out a hand to cup her cheek.

Loren smiled up into his eyes as she tilted her head slightly to increase the pressure of the contact, "Oh, in addition, of course!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Harm asked as he topped her chin up so that he could gain better access to her lips.

Loren was more than just slightly breathless when he finally released her, "Oh, wow!" she breathed, "Hold that thought, Mister lover man!"

"I surely will!" he promised her, and stood back as she climbed up into the front cockpit of the Stearman, pausing as was now fast becoming another shared ritual, with one leg thrown over the rim of the cockpit so that the seat of her pants stretch across her butt. "Like what you see?" she threw back over her shoulder.

"I certainly see something I like!" he grinned.

Loren gave a little crow of triumphant laughter, and then climbing into the cockpit, she became all business as she ran through the pre-flight instrument check. At last satisfied that all was in order she started up the engine, and giving it a ten-minute warm-up she had time after checking the gauges to turn, smile, and blow a kiss to Harm, who returned the gesture and stepped back as Loren spoke briefly into the microphone and the yellow biplane rolled forward, weaving down the taxi-way. Harm stood waiting until the Stearman lifted into the sky, gaining height as Loren made a shallow bank to port to bring the airplane onto a roughly south-west heading, and then knowing that no matter how much he might want to, standing and staring at the empty sky for two hours plus would be a singularly unprofitable way to spend his time, Harm grinned wryly and turned wandering back into the hanger and then into the office.

Mrs Johnson and her daughter were still in the office. The former studying the contents of a file folder, the latter, her magazine laid to one side, studying a book which Harm immediately recognised. "The Theory of Flight, hey?" he grinned as he sat down on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. "That's pretty heavy stuff!"

"Uh-huh… I don't get all the words, and I mark them to check with dictionary when we get home, but the diagrams are pretty easy to understand, so I guess the book evens out for me."

"So… what is the general theory?" Harm asked.

"You giving me some kind of pop test?" Mattie asked suspiciously.

"Heck no! Well… maybe, a question or two…" Harm conceded, giving way under the pressure of the glare of two bright blue eyes.

"Yeah, I thought you were!" the young girl replied accusingly and then gave a theatrical sigh as Harm kept his eyes fixed on her, "Okay… flight is the success of lift over gravity and drag. The shape of the wing means that the air passing over the top of it is at a lower pressure than the air passing under it, when the difference between those is high enough, the wing rises into the air and anything attached to it, like a fuselage, gets lifted with it."

It was a pretty simplistic answer, but a pretty accurate one, and demonstrated the youngsters grasp of the basics of flight, but, "Okay… that's true for a fixed wing bird, but how about a helo – a helicopter?"

Mattie gave him a disgusted look, "Quit trying to catch me out! A helicopter's rotor blade is shaped like a wing, and when it cuts through the air you get the same difference between high pressure under the blade and low pressure above it, and you get lift, exactly the same as with a fixed wing!"

"Mattie, play nice with the Commander!" Alison Johnson raise her head and frowned at her daughter.

Harm took a quick glance at the woman and although her disapproval of her daughter's manners was there, so was a hint of pride in her child's knowledge and ability to explain it.

"Yes, mom!" Mattie sighed, and closed her book, which she then carefully placed in a book bag underneath her chair. "I'm going to see if dad needs any help with that plug change." She declared before she stared challengingly at Harm, "Did you know that the CH-53 is proof that if you strap enough engines to it, anything will fly!"

Harm nodded gravely, "I hadn't heard it put quite so succinctly, but yeah, I've heard that general theory expounded from time to time." He met the defiance in the blue eyes staring back at him for a few seconds and then deliberately dropped a slow wink at Mattie, followed by his infamous flyboy grin.

For some reason she didn't understand, Mattie felt the colour rise to her cheeks, and with an answering grin and a "Cool!" she fled the office.

Harm's grin turned into a smile, "That's a bright kid you've got there Mrs Johnson."

"I know, but thank you," she laid down the file and looked up at him, a slightly puzzled frown on her face, "But I thought we'd agreed that my name was Alison."

"Well, so did I" Harm answered, hitching a hip onto the corner of the desk, "but that was before you started Commander-ing me all over the place this morning."

"Ah… yeah… well… that was because Mattie was here."

Harm nodded, "Okay, she's your daughter, but I really don't mind her knowing my name."

"Well, I do. I don't want her to get into the habit of thinking that she can call adults by their given names!" But although she spoke lightly enough a mask seemed to come down over her face and her next words confirmed Harm's suddenly awakening suspicion that she wasn't being entirely truthful, "But while you're here, I've just been looking through your customer file. No," she held up a silencing hand, "I meant what I said earlier, there will be no changes to the contract until such time as it comes up for renewal and then I hope we can sit down and renegotiate on at least cordial terms. This office may look like Pop couldn't organise a camp-fire sing along, but there was nothing wrong with his business acumen, for all his folksy ways. Reading through the contracts he's drawn up with his customers, he ran a pretty tight ship. The only thing that concerns me about your file, is that although your payments are up to date, they seem to vary wildly in their regularity."

"There are two contributing factors to that… Alison. The first is that Pop wasn't exactly meticulous about presenting the bills on a set date, but when he did, I generally paid them on the same day; the second factor is that due to my duties I sometimes don't manage to get down here for a couple of weeks, and when that happened Pop would sit on the bill until my next visit. After all, he had my 'plane, and he knew I wasn't going anywhere without her."

"He didn't send your bill by mail?" Alison asked in surprise.

"Nope, never," Harm smiled, "He always reckoned that buying the stamp was waste of money, when sooner or later, the customer would be back and he could collect the money owed to him on each visit."

"Well… that would explain the heavier bills at the end of each winter…" Alison mused.

"Hell yeah," Harm nodded, "Look at it from my point of view. I live in DC. So once I've winterised the 'plane, I've no call to drive all the way down here, a hundred miles, give or take, just to spend ten minutes with Pop and pay a bill. So, I'd finish up here in late October, and then I wouldn't be back until March, maybe April, depending on the weather, and Pop would have my winter bill waiting for me."

"H'mm… well… that's one thing I can't afford to let happen," Alison said half-apologetically. "Pop owned this business outright, but the bank is carrying some of my load, and they'll want their payments in full and on a specific date in the month, and then I have a family to feed, so that I'm going to have present my bills on time and get them paid on time." Alison Johnson sighed, "I don't really like doing this, but I'm going to have to write all my customers and explain all this when I write them to let them know that the hangar is under new management."

"Well, for my part, I would welcome a more regular bill. Loren and I are buying our first house, and a regular bill would definitely help with the budgeting." Harm answered with a smile.

"Well, that's a relief! One hurdle successfully crossed. How about the last day in each month as the cut-off date, with the bill to reach you by the fifth of the next month, to be paid by the tenth? I'll happily mail the bill. If it takes the investment in a stamp to get the money come in, then I'm fine with that… after all, I could always add the cost of the stamp, paper and envelope to the bill!"

Harm shot her a sharp, slightly alarmed glance at that and was relieved to see the teasing grin on her face. "Has anybody old you that you're a wicked woman, Alison Johnson?" he demanded.

"Once in a while Mattie seems to come to that conclusion. Usually though when I've had to ground her for some reason or another!"

They were still chuckling when the door opened to admit Tom Johnson in a pair of oil and grease stained overalls and still wiping his hands on a wad of cotton waste. His features darkened in a suspicious scowl as he asked, "What's so funny? Something I should know about?"

"Oh, we were just talking about Mattie's opinion of me!" Alison laughed.

"Yeah, and what brought that about?" Tom Johnson asked as he turned towards the coffee jug.

"The Commander – Harm – was complaining that I was evil when I suggested I might add the cost of postage to the monthly bills, and I said that Mattie said pretty much the same when I had to ground her." Alison said, still smiling.

"Don't sound wicked to me!" Johnson replied, grimacing at the taste of his coffee, "Sound like pretty good business sense!"

"Tom!" Alison protested.

"Why not, just add a line for administration costs, y'know running the account, dealing with the utilities companies and the fuel suppliers, all takes time an' time is money," Johnson shrugged.

"All of that's figured in to the monthly hangar rental!" Alison pointed out.

"Mebbe, but if the rubes don't know that, then they can't complain, can they?" Johnson replied, his voice growing more heated.

Harm was rapidly becoming uncomfortable with what looked like developing into a full scale domestic argument between Tom and Alison and mumbling something about needing to check his ride he hastily excused himself from the room.

"Good riddance!" Tom Johnson grunted as the door closed behind the naval officer.

"Tom, for God's sake! This was a gamble taking on this hangar, and we need every penny we can get, so don't start driving our customers away!"

"Well of you need every penny, what's wrong with charging administration costs!" Tom asked aggressively.

"Because it's morally wrong! It's semi-legal at best, and robbery by deception at its worst. Harm is an attorney, do you think he's too dumb to notice when a bill has been padded?"

"Harm, now is it?" Johnson sneered, switching to the real reason for his hostility, "Getting mighty cosy with him aren't you?"

"I'm not going to have that conversation with you again Tom Johnson." Alison said with dignity, "Every time I so much as speak to another man you start acting all jealous. And I'm sick of it! Now, I have work to do, and you're supposed to be getting cats two and three on top line for Monday. We do have two dustings to fly – remember? So, why don't you go and do your job, and leave me to get on with mine?!"

"Throwing me out again, huh?" Tom jeered in a reference to a past fight which had ended up with him spending four nights alone in a local motel.

"No… just go and leave me to get on with my work… please?" Alison said in weary voice, and then flinched when the door slammed shut behind her husband as he stormed out of the office, her eyes filling with tears as she whispered, "Oh, please, Tom… don't start again…"

Her pleas, had he been within earshot, would have fallen on deaf ears, as the instant the door slammed behind him, Tom Johnson slipped a hand into the inside pocket of his overalls and brought out a leather-bound hip flask. Quickly removing the cap which also served as a tot measure, he raised the flask to his mouth and took a substantial gulp of the contents, unaware that he had been seen by two pairs of blue eyes. One from the hangar doorway, hard and almost steel grey in their disapproval, the other from the illicit concealment of a T6 Trainer's cockpit, more cornflower in shade and filled with worry and tears.

Harm, in the face of this fresh evidence that Johnson was drinking on the job was debating whether or not to confront the man, when a hand fell on his shoulder. "I reck'n I know jest what yer thinking, 'Mander. But unless and until he tries to get in the cockpit, or works on someone else's plane while he's been drinkin' it ain't none of our never mind."

"How can you say that, Pop, when he's just as likely to get behind the wheel of that old truck of theirs, and kill himself and his family, or somebody else?"

"Son, iffen I was to see him get behind the wheel of his truck the way he is now even, I'd be on the phone to Sheriff Wyatt, quicker'n you could shake a stick. But the fact is, we may not like what he's doin' – an' he surely ain't settin' no good example around that girl o' his – but unless he tries to fly or drive, he ain't done nothin' illegal."

Harm looked at the older man and shook his head, "You're right of course, Pop, but I don't like to see alcohol around planes – nor around children!" he added thinking of Mac's horror stories of a childhood spent with an alcoholic father. Of course he had no proof that Johnson was an alcoholic, but he thought from what Mac had told him that the signs were there.

"O' course, I'm right, 'Mander. It's one of the privileges – one of the few privileges – of old age to be permanently right. So instead o' jest standing there thinkin' you'd like to murder him, whyn't you come an' give me a hand with an engine lift on that damn' Cessna? I still got the brains, but I could use some o' yer brawn!"

Harm looked sceptically at the still muscular forearm that Pop showed below his rolled up overall sleeves, "Yeah, right!" he grinned, but he turned and followed Pop out onto the apron where a Cessna Turbo Skyline JTA stood next to the mobile gantry, it's power operated chain-slings ready for use; the aircraft already looking sorry for itself with its engine covering panels already removed and lying on a piece of tarpaulin under the wing, away from the danger of careless feet, and a pair of bench trestles standing by to support the engine one it was removed from the aircraft.

"So… what's wrong with it, Pop?" Harm asked as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Ain't sure, but I 'spect there's a cracked turbine blade in there, an' better safe'n sorry."

"Damn straight!" Harm agreed wincing inwardly as he thought of the damage a broken off piece of turbine blade could cause to the engine. And this plane was single engine job, so if something went wrong, the pilot would need to set it down in a hurry, but if the engine disintegrated mid-air, he probably wouldn't have time to set down before the plane just fell out of the sky.

**Saturday May 12****th****, 1622hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (122022ZMay01)**

The engine lifted clear of the plane, Pop set to work to disassemble the turbine from the body of the engine. "Yep, lookit here!" he said with grim satisfaction and Harm leaned over to peer at the piece of machinery, but even his eyes, with their fighter pilot's acuity of vision could see nothing wrong with the blade at which Pop was pointing.

Pop looked at him and read his expression, "H'mph if'n you can't see it from there, then God help you when there's a MiG sharing your lump of sky! Here, give me your hand!"

Harm let Pop take his finger and run it gently over the suspect turbine blade, but he still shook his head, "No, I can't feel… Oh! Wait! Yes, just there!"

"Yep, finally. Waal, maybe the boy has got potential!" Pop grinned, while Harm accepted the ribbing with good grace. After all he consoled himself, this wasn't his field of expertise, and anyway he'd like to see how Pop managed in the pilot's seat of the Stearman, let alone in the cockpit of an F-14!

"So what happens now?" Harm asked.

"Factory job," Pop said dispassionately. "I probably could fix the blade, or even maybe change it, but it wouldn't set right with me. Every time this thing took off, I'd be sitting back and wondering if it was going to come back, and I wouldn't want that on my conscience!"

"Hell no… that's why I prefer F-Fourteens, at least I've got two engines if one goes into NRIFSD."

"Yep," Pop was busy re-attaching the chain slings to the engine, "Shove that trolley this-aways, will ya? Yep, never did like the idea of a single engine turbo prop. Not jest 'cause of the danger of engine failure. That air intake is still a pretty good vacuum and can suck up almost anything small enough to git in there. You get a bird strike on a prop job even if it hits the prop, you might have enough left to give enough lift to get down in one piece. You get a bird strike on this, and bits of the bird get sucked into the air intake and wham! The whole engine's gone in an instant. Nope shoulda never fitted turbo engines to single engine jobs!"

"That's what I keep telling the lawn dart pilots the zoomies have!" Harm joked.

"Hell, what do the Navy know 'bout flying'?" Pop grinned, "They ain't even got the sense to fly over land. Why, iffen one of our guys have to punch out, all they got to face is a long walk home. You guys, it's generally a hell of swim, without even any landmarks…" Pop's voice faced as he saw the expression appear on Harm's face.

"Hell, son, I'm sorry, I shoulda known better than to open my big mouth!"

Harm made a determined effort and almost visibly shook of his memories of his own long, cold, swim and clapped Pop on the shoulder, "You've got nothing to be sorry about, Pop; it was me and my big mouth that started it!"

"Mebbe so but still I shoulda thought…"

"Hell no, Pop! It's bad enough learning that you're selling up, I don't think my system could take the extra shock if you suddenly started to be all caring and sharing!"

"Hah! That ain't never gonna happen!" the old man replied fiercely.

"Good to hear it!" Harm agreed. "Now, when you decide to shut the hangar door for the last time, you be sure to let me know, so I can come down so you can buy me a beer!"

"Son, you've been comin' here since what, ninety four? An' I ain't never bought you a beer yet! What in hell makes you think that I'm gonna break the habit of a lifetime!?"

"Hey, it was worth a try!" Harm laughed

"The hell it was!" Pop retorted.

Harm was about to launch another jibe at the older man when his ears caught the hum and spinning quickly on his heel he scanned the sky to the south until he saw a tiny dot in the distance above the horizon. Checking his watch he nodded in approval, "Right on time! Here she comes!"

Both men squinted into the afternoon sunlight as the black dot become a yellow biplane that flew an upwind leg to north of the airport and then turning to port joined the circuit at the northern beacon and eventually once again turning north off the base leg of the approach, settled on finals, seemingly drifting over the threshold of runway zero three to make a two point landing, allowing the tail wheel to sink into contact with the tarmac as its speed bled off.

Harm and Pop both moved to the side of the apron and stood waiting as the Stearman weaved its way back to the hangar finally braking to a gentle stop a few feet in front of both men.

Pop grinned again, "Go get her, 'Mander!" as the propeller stilled.

"Like I need your permission!" Harm shot back over his shoulder as he rounded the end of the port wing, just as Loren slid off the trailing edge of the wing.

"I thought you weren't coming to meet me for a sec – mmph!" Loren's tease was cut short as Harm scooped her up and silenced her mouth with his own.

"Oh… my… what… what was that all about?" she gasped, hanging on to his arms for support, when he finally let her go.

"Oh… I was doing what you said, I was holding that thought! And it was pretty tough doing that for two and a half hours!"

"So… you missed me?" Loren asked lightly, tucking her hand into Harm's arm as they walked towards the hangar.

"Not so much," Harm replied mendaciously, "But you know how it is with us aviators, we have a hard time concentrating on anything for extended periods."

"Yeah, right!" Loren laughed but decided to let it go, "So now what?" she asked instead.

"Well… I just need a quick word with Pop to let him know we'll be back at about zero nine hundred tomorrow, so if Mike shows up earlier than us he won't get discouraged. Then we can get back into our leathers and head for home. I've got a sneaky suspicion that a long relaxing bath figures in your plans for this evening?" Harm smiled.

"Oh… you know me so well!" Loren agreed.

"Okay, so while you're taking your bath, I'll fix dinner, and then afterwards we need to do some work on radio school… things have been a little hectic these last couple of weeks and we aren't as far ahead with that as I'd like."

"You really want to fly tomorrow?" Loren asked.

"Hell, yeah!" We haven't had much chance recently, but we won't do too much tomorrow, just your check ride with Mike and then I'll go up for a little play for an hour or so, but then we have to head home. We can stop for lunch somewhere on the way of you like, but we need to make a start on packing everything, as well as start finalising arrangements for the wedding. We're going to be damned busy for the next six weeks!"

"M'mm…" Loren said as they entered the hangar.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?"

"Well, I can't help feeling that if we're only going to come down for half the day, It's hardly worth it in terms of gas money, and…"

"Hey it takes us about six gallon of gas for the return trip. That's twenty-four bucks, we could easily spend that much on ordering in dinner!"

"Yeah, okay, but it's also tiring for you…"

"Tiring? Yeah, maybe a little, but being back on the Indian is invigorating too, so what I lose on swings I get back on the carousel!"

"Well, if you're sure, then I sure as hell ain't going to miss a chance to fly!" Loren grinned.

"Atta girl!" Harm grinned in reply slipping an arm around her waist and giving her a gentle squeeze.

From her hidden refuge in the T6, the owner of a pair of blue eyes watched them and sighed wistfully, "I wish mom and dad were more like them, instead of fighting all the time…"

**Saturday May 12****th****, 2227hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (130227ZMay01)  
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The journey home had gone smoothly and true to his promise Harm had taken a quick shower and then cooked while Loren bathed. But dinner was now long over, the washing up had been done and the kitchen squared away.

Harm and Loren had adjourned to the lounge, and each with a copy of the FAA's Pilot's Radiophone Handbook, Harm had settled down to grill Loren on procedures. But now, nearly two hours after they had started, minus the break for hot chocolate, Harm caught Loren in the middle of her second tremendous yawn in fifteen minutes and with a snap he closed his book.

"Okay… that's it! Time to call it a night!" he declared.

"M'mm… no argument here," Loren smiled as if discovering just how tired she was. She dropped her book on the occasional table and levered herself out of the couch's embrace, "I think I'll go right ahead… you won't forget to lock up, will you?" she added a trifle anxiously.

"No… you go ahead, I'll see to it… I promise," he added reassuringly as he saw her eyes flick doubtfully to the apartment door.

Loren smiled weakly and turned, stretching as she headed for the bathroom.

Harm took the empty mugs through to the kitchen and rinsed them, leaving them to dry in the sink tidy before he turned put the kitchen lights, and pausing in the lounge to engage the security chain, the main lock and the upper and lower deadbolts before heading for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later he crept into the already darkened bedroom and gently lifted the coverlet and slid between the sheets, holding his breath as he did so in the hope that avoiding that extra soupçon of noise would prevent him from waking Loren. He needn't have worried, she was out like a light,

Harm relaxed against his pillow and his last muttered thought for the night was a wry, "Yeah, so much for holding that thought!"


	72. Chapter 72

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 72**

**Sunday May 13th, 0633hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC, (131133ZMay01)**

"Just about ready?" Harm asked.

Loren glared at him, "Give me a damned chance to finish my coffee will ya? Goddamned slave-driver!"

"Yeah, okay… but I really want to get on the road by seven, and we've still got to clear up the wreckage and get into our leathers," Harm pointed out in what he considered to be a reasonable voice.

"So… why don't you make a start?" Loren suggested, and then reached across the kitchen island for the coffee jug, "Because I am going to have another coffee!" she finished mutinously.

For a second, but only for a second, Harm thought about making some sort of teasing remark but then came to the conclusion that as Loren's sense of humour apparently hadn't woken up yet, it might be more conducive to domestic harmony if he resisted that particular temptation.

"Okay… but you've finished with your plate, right?"

As the plate in question had been wiped clean of any and all traces of the eggs that had graced it ten minutes ago, that seemed a fairly safe assertion and one that not even Loren's early morning grumpiness could not dispute.

"Here, if you're so damned impatient!" she grumped as she slid the plate towards him with one hand as she picked up her newly refilled coffee mug with the other.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Harm smiled as he picked up the plate and turned away towards the sink.

"H'mph!" Loren snorted and then buried her faced in her mug, relishing the warmth, strength and sweetness of the coffee. Despite his aggravating early morning cheerfulness, she had to acknowledge that Harm was useful in some ways. For instance he had the knack of brewing good coffee, and that always had a beneficial effect on her early morning mood. Oh, he had other talents of course, and at that thought, and despite herself, her lips twitched in a smile, and to be honest she would far rather he had indulged those talents this morning instead of dragging them both out of bed at what Loren considered to be an impossibly early hour on a Sunday morning.

With an inward shrug of resignation Loren drained her coffee mug and stood, "Here," she offered handing Harm her mug and picking up the dish towel.

"Leave that to me, Loren. Why don't you go ahead and climb into your leathers?" Harm suggested.

Loren eyed him narrowly. Of all the household tasks she hated, drying dishes was one of them, and Harm and she usually argued over who was going to do it. The loser ending up with the dish towel in hand and a stack of wet plates in front of them.

"Are you trying to handle me, mister?" she asked quietly.

Harm shot her a sideways look, "Oh… no, I wouldn't dream of trying to handle you, not this morning," he said disingenuously.

Harm's look of innocence was so over done that Loren couldn't help the grin, but she kept it to manageable proportions as she snorted in disbelief, "Riiight!"

But whether or not Harm was trying to handle her, his offer to dry the dishes was not one she intended to turn down, not now, not ever, she reflected and then turned towards the bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later after Harm had hurriedly scrambled into his own leathers found Harm and Loren astride the Indian in the underground parking garage, "Ready?" Harm called over his shoulder.

"Yep, ready!" Loren answered, "And it's still not quite seven!"

Although tempted to make a sharp reply Harm decided, for the second time that morning, not to go there, and merely grunted what might have been agreement as he stamped down on the Indian's kick-start lever.

**Sunday May 13th, 0849hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (131349ZMay01)**

Harm killed the engine and fumbled for a second or two with his helmet's chin strap before he pulled the helmet off his head, feeling the change of weight on the bike as Loren climbed off the pillion seat.

The helmet off, he turned to face a now equally bare-headed Loren, and with a nod in the direction of the dark blue BMW528i parked by the hangar's side door he said, "It looks like Mike's already here."

Loren dragged her val-pack out of one of the panniers, grinned and said, "Well, we'd best not keep him waiting!"

"Yep, you go on ahead and get changed, I'll see you in the office. I'm going to check if the coffee's drinkable again!"

"Good luck with that, sailor!" Loren grinned as with val-pack in one hand and helmet in the other she started out at a brisk walk for the hangar door.

Harm grinned, the ride down from DC had apparently worked wonders on Loren's mood. Hefting his own val-pack he sauntered through to the office where he found it occupied by Alison Johnson and Mattie, with a cheerful, "Good morning ladies," he deposited his crash helmet on top of one of the filing cabinets, but paused when he heard the flat quality in the two voices that returned his greeting.

Giving the two a measuring look, he was tempted to say something, but admitting to himself that he didn't yet know them well enough he held his peace, and instead said in a teasing voice, "Well, it looks like I'll have to try to find another locker room!"

Alison looked up from her paperwork, "That is something that's in hand Harm, but it probably won't be for at least a month after I take over."

Harm hesitated and then gave a mental shrug, "Any idea where Pop is, or Mike Hill?"

"Pop's in the hangar, giving one of his boy a hand on one of the Agcats," Mattie offered, "And if Mike Hill, is a fair headed guy, going a bit bald, then he was 'round on the sunny side, taking in some rays!"

"Thanks, Mattie," Harm smiled, but he still felt troubled, the girl wasn't in her usual high spirits, and taken with Alison's subdued mood, Harm speculated on what had gone wrong. He was half-way across the hangar to the men's room when the significance of Pop and one of his boys working on one of the Johnson's planes suggested a possible reason. As the suspicion dawned, he shook his head in disgust and gave vent to a muttered "Damn!"

Once changed he carried his leathers back to the office to find Loren there before him, "What's up, sailor? Someone steal your locker room?" she teased him from over the rim of her coffee cup.

"Looks like it," he agreed amiably as he poured himself a mug and took a cautious sip of its contents, "M'mm… definitely better than Pop's brew, Alison. Did you…?"

"No, I made it!" Mattie said challengingly, "Is that a problem?"

"No, not a problem… it's a very good start, and if you keep practicing, then in about say… ten years, you should be able to make a good cup of coffee!"

Mattie scowled at him as Loren choked on her coffee before managing a reproving, "Harm! Don't be so ungrateful!"

Surprisingly it was Mattie who came to a suddenly shame-faced Harm's support, "Hey, he's not being ungrateful, just offering some constructive criticism!"

Loren gaped at the young girl for a moment and then retorted with a grin, "Suck up!"

"Damn straight," the youngster admitted with her own matching grin, "I can't get pi… uh annoyed with him too easily… I haven't given up on getting him to teach me to fly!"

Alison however sat up with a jerk, a stern look in her face, "Mathilda Johnson! You watch your language young lady! And your manners! Harm, Loren, I'm sorry about that – and you young lady haven't heard the last of this!"

"Oh…" Loren looked doubtfully at Harm and then at Alison, "If you're going to start being Mrs Mom, then Harm and I will leave you in peace. I need to go find my flying instructor! See you later, Mattie, don't be too hard on your mom!"

Harm and Loren made their escape from what looked like becoming an embarrassing scene and almost bolted out into the hangar. "There's something adrift with that family today!" Loren muttered in an undertone.

"Yeah, tell me about it!" Harm said emphatically. "You could almost cut the tension in there with a knife. If you thought it was awkward those last couple of minutes, you should have been there when I first walked in! Whew! But at least you got a grin out of Mattie, which is more than I achieved!"

"M'mm… any idea what the problem is?" Loren asked sending a shrewd look up at Harm.

"Just a suspicion, but I don't want to say anything until I'm… Oh, hi Mike!"

"'Morning you two, I saw the Indian and figured you were here, so I thought I'd come find out where you were hiding. We _are_ wasting daylight!" he added reprovingly.

"That's so, but more my fault than Loren's!" Harm admitted cheerfully. "You two go ahead and have your briefing, I'll go warm up Sarah!"

Mike nodded but Loren turned to remind Harm, "I'll do my own pre-flight, thank you!"

Harm flipped her a casual salute, "Yes, ma'am!"

"Clown!" she smilingly retorted.

Notwithstanding Loren's instructions, Harm, for his own peace of mind, carried out a pre-flight walk around the Stearman which had already been pushed out onto the apron by three of Pop's boys. Satisfied that all was in order, Harm climbed into the rear cockpit and started the engine, throttling back to idling speed so that the oil that had collected in the lower cylinders could be pumped around the engine

By the time the oil pressure and the engine temperature gauges had their needles firmly centred in the green, Loren and Mike were almost at the airplane. Switching off, so that Loren wouldn't be endangered by the spinning prop during her walk round, Harm hauled himself out of the cockpit, and nodded to Mike. "What's the plan?"

"Take her over to the WMA and let her play for an hour and a half, so she can show me what she's not forgotten and anything new she's learned since we last flew together," Mike grinned as Loren waited for her kiss before climbing up into the front cockpit.

"H'mm… just a second, Mike," Harm suggested as he turned towards Loren and gathered her in. "You be careful up there, and don't be scaring Mike, you hear?"

Loren interlaced her fingers at the back of Harm's neck and tugged his head down to her level, "I'll take it easy on him, I promise," she smiled as her lips made contact with his.

Their kiss brought the by now customary outbreak of cheers and whistles from Pop's boys, and as they broke the kiss, Mike shook his head and asked "Any chance of you two ever getting tired of that?"

Loren pretended to give the question some serious thought and then shook her head, "Nope, don't think so."

"Not for the next century or two, anyway," Harm amended in a helpful fashion.

Nevertheless Harm stood back and standing next to Mike watched as Loren carried out her pre-flight walk around. "Have you left it all to her?" Mike asked quietly.

"Uh… no… I took a quick look around for my own sake before I started her up," Harm confessed, "But if you ever tell her, not only will outright deny I ever said that, but I will also kill you." Harm said with a grin.

"Yeah, that figures," Mike grinned back, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I know you too well to think that you'd leave anything to chance, least of all when that young lady's safety is concerned."

Harm nodded and then allowed himself a quirky grin, "Of course it doesn't hurt that you are also reassuring yourself, does it? After all it's your butt that's going to be up there with her!"

Mike cocked an eyebrow at Harm, "D'you know, that thought never crossed my mind!"

Harm just grinned even wider, "Yeah, right! But…" he added as he saw Loren glower at them from the Stearman's front cockpit, "You'd best get up there before she takes into her head to start pulling some serious Gs!"

Mike took one look at the impatient scowl on Loren's face, and with a rueful grin replied, "I guess you're right. It's us wasting daylight now!"

Harm touched two fingers to his brow in a flip salute and nodded, "See you when you get back dirtside!"

Mike hurried across to the waiting airplane and hauled himself into the rear cockpit and from where he stood Harm could see Loren speak briefly into the microphone before Mike pulled a face and the yellow biplane swung away off the apron and on to the taxi way heading north for runway two-one.

Harm watched the veteran trainer as it swung onto the runway, holding at the threshold until cleared for take-off by the tower and then roll with ever increasing sped down the asphalt until it became airborne and climbed south westward into the sky. Then, with a glance at his watch to conform the time, Harm strolled back into the hangar, pausing at one of the Johnson's Agcats, where Pop's overall-clad figure could be seen at the top of a pair of moveable steps, head down and butt up in the engine compartment.

"Hey Pop, what's going on?" Harm called, loudly enough for Pop to hear, but not loudly enough, he hoped for his voice to carry as far as the office.

Pop straightened up from the Agcat, his old ball cap worn back to front. With a disgusted look he growled, "Seems Johnson's too 'sick' to work today, so I'm jest bein' neighbourly, an' givin' a hand."

"Too sick?" Harm asked sceptically.

"Yeah, that's whut the lady said, an' I ain't about to be callin' no lady a liar!" Pop said with a sour expression on his face, "It don't make no mind to whut I'm a-thinking, though!"

Harm nodded, "You and me both, Pop. You and me both."

Harm hesitated before speaking again, long enough for Pop to growl, "Somethin's stickin' in yer craw, 'Mander, wanna to spit it out?"

Harm shifted uncomfortably, this was delicate enough without Pop holding the psychological advantage that being on top of the steps gave him. "Well, Pop, aren't you worried that Johnson's 'sickness' might not spoil the reputation you've built up around here?"

"Hell, no! Once they've got their name up over the hangar door they can damn-well do what they pleased! Me an' the better half, we're headed south fer some sunshine, so even if they end the business down the tubes, I won't be here to see it!"

"Gonna miss you, Pop," Harm grinned.

"Yeah, like toothache!" the old man grumbled. "Now whyn't you quit botherin' me an' let me get on with my work?"

"Your work?" Harm answered with a cynical lift of his eyebrow.

Pop said nothing, just gave him a piercing glance, sniffed and turned back to the Agcat.

Harm wandered into the office, still not quite comfortable with its unaccustomed neatness and it looked as if some more tidying up had been done this morning before he and Loren had arrived. There was even the suspicion of a cloth mark on top of the bank filing cabinets, suggesting that somebody had at least attempted to remove the years of accumulated grime. 'Huh. Good luck with that!' Harm thought as he rescued a half-dozen flight and General Aviation magazines from the waste basket, and tucking them under his arm with a casual nod top Alison Johnson, he wandered back out through the hangar and around to south, sunny, side of the building, where he eased himself down on the folding chair that had recently been used by Mike Hill, and opened one of the magazines at random.

He hadn't been reading long when a youthful voice asked, "Mind if I join you?" and without waiting for an answer Mattie Johnson slid down the hangar wall to sit on the ground, her back against the building.

A few minutes silence followed, broken by that same voice, "You reading all them magazines to once?"

Harm grinned and placed the remaining magazines at his feet, "Your mom would have a fit if she heard you trying to talk like Pop!" he commented

"Probl'y," the girl replied, "You gonna tell her?"

"Me? No way! I know better than to interfere with families. That way only trouble lies ahead, and there's more than enough trouble in life without going to look for more!"

"Yeah, I reckon…" Mattie said, but there was an edge of wistfulness in her voice that made Harm look at her sharply. He waited for a few moments in case she was going to add anything, but instead she seemed to bury herself in the contents of the magazine she had picked up, seemingly at random.

Harm nodded thoughtfully and followed Mattie's example.

**Sunday May 13th, 1115hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (131515ZMay01)**

By the time Harm had finished reading though any and all articles that had attracted his interest, he was beginning to get fidgety, and his restlessness was beginning to disturb Mattie, so when he looked at his watch again for the third time in quick succession she looked up at him with a scowl.

"It's about three minutes later than it was when looked last time!" she rebuked, "and keeping a check on it isn't going to make the time go any faster!"

"No… you're right, one hundred per cent right… but Mike said they'd be up for an hour and a half, and they've been gone longer than that now. They should have been back ten minutes ago!"

"They're ten minutes overdue, and you're worrying already?" Mattie asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I am. Loren and I are both Navy, Mike used to be Air Force, we've all got the habit of punctuality drilled into us. So, yes, I'm concerned!"

Mattie scrunched her face into a frown of concentration, "Well… you aren't going to see any inbound planes from this side of the hangar, not when the wind is southerly like it is today. Why don't you move around to the other side, and then at least you could see 'em coming when they do get in!"

Harm nodded and mustered up a grin, determined that Mattie wouldn't see just how worried he was, "I told your mom you were a smart kid!" he said.

Mattie looked at him in a measuring way, "H'mm… You sure you didn't just tell her I was a smart-mouthed kid?"

"Nope, just smart," Harm insisted.

"Okay… that might get me a brownie point or two," Mattie said judiciously, and then her face lit up in a beaming smile, "Thanks, Commander!"

Harm, with Mattie in tow walked around the front of the building, passing between three or four airplanes, including two Agcats parked on the apron to the northern side of the hangar, where they stood, straining their eyes for the first sight of the Stearman, but the skies remained ominously empty. Harm was growing more agitated by the minute, and was on the verge of giving up his vigil, storming the office, and demanding a phone call to the tower to interrogate the Stearman and find out just where the hell Loren and Mike were.

He was saved from that measure by a gathering of mechanics and Pop who drifted towards the spot occupied by him and Mattie.

Now definitely worried, Harm edged over towards Pop, "What's happening?" he asked the old man.

"Airplane in trouble." Pop said shortly, and then turned to look at Harm, "And no, I don't know whether it's your bird or not…"

Harm was about to turn and make for the office when Alison Johnson came out, looking around, as if searching for someone, and then when she saw the unmistakable figure of the tall Navy Commander, she breathed a quick sigh of relief. "I've got a message for you Harm, from Loren. Everything's okay with them. But like all local traffic they've been put into a holding pattern over the WMA. There's a DHC-Eight that's coming in, declaring an emergency, they've only got one engine. Loren called the tower a little while ago, but as you can imagine, passing non-operational messages is taking a pretty low priority!"

Harm felt himself go weak at the knees, bit conjured up a somewhat shaky grin, "Thanks, Alison, I was getting a little concerned."

For a moment it looked like Alison was about to say something else, but the air of tense anticipation that had settled over the small gathering was broken by the wailing of sirens as the airport's small contingent of emergency vehicles tore out of their garage and raced along the taxiway towards the end of Runway 21.

It wasn't many seconds after that when Harm's fighter pilot's trained eyes picked up a black dot low in the northern horizon, "Here she comes!" he announced. "Three fingers right of the tower, just above the horizon!"

Given his guidance, other eyes soon picked up the labouring commuter turbo-prop as it struggled towards the airport. To Harm's eyes it seemed far too low and he found himself echoing the LSO's mantra, "Power, power, you're too low, get the nose up! Fly the ball!"

Pop found that he'd drifted closer to Harm as the drama unfolded and he too found himself muttering, "Altitude, watch your altitude, get it up, get it up!"

The De Haviland came in low, far too low for comfort or safety, it's lowered landing gear picking up twigs and leaves from the top of the northern boundary hedge, to make a heavy landing barely over the threshold of Runway 21, the pilot applying rudder and brakes to counteract the torque of the starboard engine in an effort to avoid going off the runway into the grass and risking a possible ground loop, the emergency vehicles in full pursuit, lights flashing and sirens blazing, to come to a halt in a semi-circle as the airplane ground to a halt.

But even before the emergency vehicles had halted, the emergency exits in the side of the crippled airplane were flung open and the emergency chutes deployed. The bewildered and shocked passengers were helped onto the chutes by the flight attendants and gathered in close-knit groups on the runway as they waited for friends and relatives to join them.

Ominously an ambulance started its siren again as it edged forward and swung around so that its rear doors faced the forward emergency chute, to wait no more than a couple of minutes before it took off again, siren and lights both in play as it headed for the taxi way and then the airport's main entrance.

After what seemed to be an age three of the airport's shuttle buses joined the emergency vehicles on the runway and the De Haviland's passengers were loaded on board and ferried to the main airport building, and as the last of then climbed onto the bus, the little crowd at the hangar were chivvied back to their tasks by Pop's growled, "Okay people, that's it. Show's over. You've had your break, an' I ain't paying you to goof off all day, c'mon, let's get back to work!"

The small crowd broke up and drifted away, not without some last looks over their shoulders, back to the work, picking up where they had left off, leaving Harm, Alison and Mattie alone at the side of the hangar, to watch as one of the push back tractors finally rolled onto the runway and attached it's tow bar to the DHC-8's nose wheel and began to haul the stricken airplane back towards the maintenance area.

"What happens now?" Mattie queried.

"Well… there'll be an NTSB team out here either this afternoon or tomorrow at the latest to check that plane over, take statements from the cockpit crew, and maybe from the cabin crew too. They'll download all the information from the flight recorder and the cockpit voice recorder…"

"The black box?" Mattie queried.

"Yeah, although they're actually painted orange," Harm grinned, but both Mattie and Alison noticed that his gaze never left the skies to the north of the runway. But Harm wasn't left to fret for much longer, his keen eye soon spotted a little black dot gradually growing nearer but to his disappointment he saw it was a low winged monoplane, and as it drew even nearer he recognised it as a Chipmunk, in RAF trainer livery – Sue MacKenzie's 'plane! He nodded as it touched down on the runway, and scarcely had it turned on to the midpoint taxi way when a twin engine Beechcraft King Air slipped over the threshold, making what to Harm's eye seemed to be a heavy landing, and if Alison's muttered "Ouch!" was any indication, then she shared his opinion.

He took a quick glance at her and with a wry grin added, "I wouldn't have wanted to be sat in that plane just then!"

"Me neither!" Alison grinned.

Then Mattie shouted, "Look… more incoming!"

Harm looked up to see a string of black dots, four… no, five of them staggered up and back from each other, and breathed a heartfelt and relieved sigh as they approached and he saw the lead airplane was the yellow Stearman. Still slightly nervous, he watched in appreciation and a glow of pride and satisfaction as Loren crossed the threshold of the runway and sinking towards the tarmac flared at almost the last second and touched down for a perfect three point landing.

With his eyes glued to the Stearman, he barely noticed the Chipmunk brake to a halt on the apron and Sue MacKenzie slide open the cockpit canopy and climb down to the ground.

It was only when she called "Pop?" that he realised she was back and turned towards her.

"You okay?" he asked in a perfunctory manner.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But I'll admit to being relived to be back down in on piece!" she grinned as she saw the question forming on Harm's lips, "Bingo fuel!"

Harm raised a disapproving eyebrow, "Oh don't look at me like that!" Sue protested, and went on to explain, "I refuelled at Blacksburg, and if I hadn't been kept in a holding pattern for the last forty minutes I would have been fine. But even with the leanest mixture I could manage and keeping her just above stalling speed, I used far too much gas for comfort… that's why the tower brought me in first!"

Harm nodded and was about to answer when the Stearman turned off the taxiway onto the apron.

Barely waiting for the prop to stop spinning, Harm was around the end of the port wing and waiting to catch Loren as she slid down the wing into his waiting arms. Thirty seconds later a breathless Loren broke the kiss, and leaning back against the support of his hands on her hips said, "easy there, sailor, I'm okay… everything was under control and Mike kept me sane while we were just flying around on circles!"

Harm looked up at a grinning Mike Hill who was still in the rear cockpit of the Stearman and nodded his appreciation. Mike just grinned in reply.

"This hasn't put you off?" Harm asked Loren.

"Never! We had a great flight! I think I did okay, and she was a perfect lady!" Loren reached out and patted the Stearman's fuselage.

"How's your fuel?" Harm asked, that had been the latest spectre to haunt his mind after Sue MacKenzie had revealed that her own fuel level was dangerously low.

"Fine! Just under half a tank when we came in!" Loren assured him, "Right, Mike?"

Mike climbed out of the cockpit and paused as he stood on the reinforced inboard section of the wing, "Right, he agreed," dropping lightly to the ground, "Gas to spare! Now… let's go get your log book written up, then I'll sign it."

Harm slipped his arm around Loren's waist as they walked with Mike back to the office, and Loren, despite her brave words and outward calm was more than happy to take comfort and reassurance from the feel of his strong arm holding her close, making her feel warm, loved and protected all at once.

While Mike and Loren wrote up their log-books and each counter-signed the other's Harm spoke briefly to Pop, arranging for the quick refuelling of the Stearman, and then entering the office busied himself with pouring coffees for the three of them and for Alison and Mattie too, adding a more than generous pouring of creamer into the young girl's mug and ignoring her mutinous scowl as he did so.

"So… what happened up there?" Mattie indicated where she meant by an upwards jerk of her head.

Loren shrugged in replay, grinning at Mike's outraged expression when Harm told Mattie in a confidential undertone, "That was an Air Force Salute!"

Mattie gave a little giggle but turned back to Loren, "Well?"

"Nothing much, really," Loren admitted. We'd just about finished our set manoeuvres and I was thinking about turning for home when we got a message from the tower telling us that an incoming plane had called an emergency, with one engine out, and that all aircraft in the area were to call in and wait to be notified of when they could land. I didn't realise there were so many up there, as well as a couple in-bound, so the tower established a holding pattern over the WMA – that's Western Manoeuvring Area," she added as she saw the question in Mattie's expression, "So we flew around in circles – big circles, until we were called in to land."

She looked at Harm, "And despite your worries, it was Sue MacKenzie who called Bingo fuel, that's why she was brought in first!"

Harm nodded. "That's one of the problems with Chipmunks – short legs! That means," he turned to Mattie.

"Yeah, I know what that means – not a lot of endurance!"

"Spot on!" Harm agreed, "But then again, they weren't designed for long cross country flights. Sue said she'd refuelled at Blacksburg and that suggests she's flown up from seeing her family in Oklahoma. She must have made four or maybe even five stops along the way!"

"That would have cost her a buck or two!" Alison said in mild surprise,

"Could explain why she doesn't make the trip very often!" Pop explained from the doorway and then moved across to the coffee maker. "That old trainer of yours is fuelled up and ready to go whenever you are!" he told Harm.

"Just as soon as we've had a…" Harm tailed off, looking around in confusion. "Pop, where are the sandwiches?"

Pop grinned and went to one of the filing cabinets and opened a drawer, "Here ya go. Make the most of 'em. I reckon you won't be seeing many more…"

"I'm afraid Pop's right, Harm." Alison contributed. "While it was just a couple of you with planes hangared here, it was doable. But now with more planes coming in, and more pilots flying… well… I just won't be able to keep up the supply. Sorry, but you can see how it goes."

Harm grinned and dropped a wink on Pop's blind side in Alison's direction, "Dam… uh… darn it, Pop, I knew there was a reason I'd miss you!"

"Well that and his lovely temperament," Loren added with a smile, but then turned towards the older man, "But it's true Pop, we will miss you and not just for your sandwiches!"

"You sure of that?" Pop challenged her, "'Cos I seem to recall someone not a million miles away eating a whole damn bag of sandwiches in one sitting!" he said with a meaningful look at Loren.

Harm chuckled as Loren blushed while Mattie looked at her in awe while Alison shook her in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah, really!" Harm grinned, while Loren blushed even harder, once more mentally casting her mother into the nethermost pit of hell. However she made a game attempt at rallying, "Aren't you going, home Pop?" she asked pointedly, "Don't you have a pot roast or something similar to molest?"

"Sure do!" he grinned, "Here's your lunch – enjoy!" and with a final grin he was gone.

Harm shook his head in amusement and opened the packet of sandwiches and offered them first to Alison who shook her head and then to Mattie who not only shook her head but uttered a disgusted "Eww! No thanks!"

Harm laughed and perched on the corner of the chart table next to Loren who winked at Mattie, grinned and said "Gimme!"

Mattie pretended – or at least Harm thought she was pretending – to be horrified, and bending down unearthed her book bag from under her chair. Pulling out a Tupperware box, she opened it and passed what proved to be a foil wrapped slice of cold pizza to her mother before unwrapping her own slice and biting into it with evident relish.

**Sunday May 13th, 1323hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (131723ZMay01)**

Harm and Loren had finished their pre-flight walk round and now stood arguing, face to face, both their body languages screaming frustration to the enlightened onlooker.

"No! You take her!" Loren stood hands on hips and a determined expression on her face.

"Why?" Harm argued, "After all, it's not like I need the practice!"

"Are you saying I do?" Loren dared him.

"Um… well… when you put it like that… Yes! Dammit! Loren, I've got thousands of hours in my log book on all types of aircraft… while you… Loren, you still need every minute you can get at the controls!"

"Agreed!" Loren said, startling Harm for a moment, "Up to a point! Look… yesterday it was all me, and again this morning. So if you don't fly this afternoon, you'll have spent the whole time sitting on your ass and knowing you, but the time we get home you'll be miserable and regretting the waste of time!"

"Hey it's not that bad! I've got the Indian – and that helps keep me happy!"

"Yeah?" Loren demanded, "But it doesn't compare with flying, does it? Come on, Harm be honest with me, be honest with yourself!"

"Okay… it's not the same, but you still need the hours more than I do!"

Loren glared up at the infuriating man facing off with her. From the just of his chin to his crossed arms, his posture was both defensive and determined. 'Okay… if arguing won't do the trick…'

To his horror, Harm saw Loren's eyes flood and her lower lip begin to tremble, and with a catch in her voice she asked, "Please Harm, would you take me flying? Just for me if not for you… I guess I'm a little more tired after this morning than I figured I would be…"

Almost too late, Harm realised what Loren was doing, and with a tired grin, he said, "Oh… Loren, that really is dirty pool!"

"Well… maybe, but did it work?"

"Okay, you win. I surrender. Yes, alright, I'll take the damned stick! But you, lady, haven't heard the last of this!"

"Oh… that's okay… as long as I get my pre-flight kiss!" Loren said with just a hint of hope in her voice.

"Oh, I don't think that we can do without that!" Harm smiled, gracious in defeat, and reached for her, "C'mere, you!"

Loren giggled as she let herself be pulled into Harm's embrace.

Releasing her some forty seconds later Harm took a deep breath, "Are you ready to go flying now?"

"Oh, yes…" Loren breathed, "But I intend taking up this discussion when we get home!"

"Yeah, like last night? When somebody I know fell asleep?" Harm teased her, and while Loren blushed and tried to stammer her way through an explanation, he gently turned her around and bestowed a gentle swat on her rump. "Go on… get aboard, you can rip me a new one later!"

Ten minutes later, with Harm's hand on the stick and his feet on the rudder pedals the Stearman lifted once more into the air, accompanied by Loren's whoop of joy and Harm's broad grin as he climbed and then banked towards the WMA.

**Monday May 14****th****, 0928hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (141328ZMay01)**

There was very little by the way of good nature in the Admiral's voice this morning as he tore through the team leaders' briefings on current case loads and handed out more cases to each team.

Not that he appeared to be angry, but rather distracted and in a hurry to get through the days business, even his customary touch of ironic humour was missing as he matter of factly wound up the morning's staff call, but his change in attitude from Friday brought an exchange of questioning glances between Harm and Loren.

Chegwidden caught the byplay and frowned, realising that Singer, almost certainly, and Rabb, possibly, were speculating in the light of Saturday evening's discovery, on the reason for his mood reversal.

"Commander Rabb: Equipment Operator Third Class, Samuel M Peterson, Involuntary manslaughter, reckless operation of a motor vehicle, Disobeying an Order or Regulation. Your team will prosecute; Commander Austin, the defence is your teams!"

Rear Admiral Chegwidden took a look along the length of the table. "Commander Imes, come and see me in my office as soon as we've done here!"

Carolyn Imes looked mildly surprised and feeling slightly alarmed, "Aye, aye, sir!" she and Loren were due in court at 1000 hours, and it was unlike the Admiral to throw anyone's court preparation off for trivial reasons.

A J Chegwidden looked once more around the table, "Anybody got anything they want to bring to my attention? No? Good! Dismissed!"

**Monday May 14****th****, 0943hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (141328ZMay01)**

It was a white-faced and very much shocked Carolyn Imes that rapped urgently on Loren's door-jamb. Loren had anxiously been waiting for Carolyn. They were due in court in less than ten minutes, and Captain Sebring was not a judge who took kindly to counsel being adrift.

"Oh thank God!" Loren jumped to her feet and grabbed for her cover and brief case.

Carolyn shook her head, "You'll have to ask for a continuance, or step up to first chair for at least today," Carolyn said, "I've been relieved of duty, effective immediately!"

"What?" Loren gasped, "How? Why?"

"It's too complicated to explain right now, but I'll call you later… Apparently there's some doubt about my status with the Michigan Bar."

"But…" Loren was talking to the space Carolyn had occupied until just a second ago as the senior officer rushed to the sanctuary of her office, where she could close the blinds and door until she regained some measure of composure before she walked out of JAG. Carolyn knew that there had been a mistake, but until she could produce the documentation to support her contention, not only was her standing with her native state's bar in question, so was her naval career and her liberty. The Admiral had told her in no uncertain terms that unless she could disprove the allegations that had been made against her, she faced a court martial for Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and Falsifying an Official Statement. Either of which if she was found guilty could see her facing up to seven years behind bars.

**Monday May 14****th****, 0948hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (141328ZMay01)**

Harm was occupied with re-reading and making pencilled annotations on his opening argument in the forthcoming Peterson court-martial, not that there was much he needed to say. The facts of the case spoke for themselves. During his deployment to Kuwait, somehow or other the Seabee had gotten hold of some illicit home-distilled hooch, drank himself stupid, climbed into a Humvee and had driven around the FOB at high speed, disregarding all orders to halt the vehicle and had then attempted to ram the FOB gates, lost control of the vehicle and ploughed into a second Humvee, killing the driver. He was now being charged with involuntary manslaughter and the reckless operation of a motor vehicle while drunk.

Harm shook his head, the facts were plain and for once he was damned glad he wasn't going to try and defend what was to all intents and purposes indefensible.

His concentration was disrupted by a tap on his door jamb. He look up and a smile curved his lips, "Carolyn, what can I do for you?"

Carolyn indicated his visitors' chairs and arched an eyebrow, and then as Harm nodded his agreement, she sank into one of the seats, looked him in the eye and said, "Well, you could shoot me now?"

Harm put down his pencil and closed the file on his blotter, "Why do I get the feeling that you are not entirely joking?"

"Probably because I might not be… Harm, I need your help. I've just been relieved of duty, of all duties…"

"What?!" Harm was stunned.

Carolyn held up a silencing hand, "I'm not sure what's happened, but apparently my security vetting was being renewed, and of course reviewed, and the vetting officers say they have discovered that I'm not a member of the Michigan State Bar association…"

"But you must be… it's a pre-requisite for commissioning as a JAG…" Harm said.

"Of course I am! That's why I can't understand it. I even went over it with the Admiral… and I said I was a member of the bar. I had to show my Association in order to become a JAG. He agreed that something smelt fishy, but that he had no choice but to relieve me of duty until my position was clarified."

"Ah… the Admiral… does he know that you've come to me for help?"

"Oh, yes. I asked permission to involve you… that is if you are willing to help me?"

"Of course I am!"

"Oh, thank you! I don't how to… but thanks…"

"'Thank you,' will do nicely! But what won't, is this problem of yours!" Harm smiled before becoming all business as he reached for a fresh legal pad and a pencil. "Now… what did the Admiral say to you?"

"All he said was that he had been informed by the DoD's security vetting section that there was no record of a living Carolyn Imes in the Michigan State Bar Association's data base."

"What do you me… what did he mean by 'living' Carolyn Imes?" Harm asked.

"Apparently the only Carolyn Imes listed for the Michigan State Bar is my late Great Aunt Carolyn… I was named for her, but she died fourteen years ago… just before I joined the Navy. She was a spinster all her life, and a very successful attorney, and because she had no children of her own she made my father an offer. Name his eldest daughter after her, and she would pay for that daughter's college and if that daughter then went on to study law, then she would pay for law school too."

Harm shook his head, "That was a very generous offer. And your father obviously took advantage of it. Where did you got to college?"

"University of Michigan… and before you asked, I stayed on there to study law!"

Harm grinned, Carolyn's statement had just brought a whole raft of memories swirling to the surface, and one of those memories, he was pretty sure he could ask for help.

"Marcus Atkinson still there, still teaching ConLaw, in your day?"

Despite her situation Carolyn couldn't repress a giggle at the memory of the reputedly toughest professor on the toughest course of Law School at Michigan U, but she was also surprised.

"You know Marcus Atkinson?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah!" Harm said ruefully, "We butted heads a time or two. Yeah," he smiled as he read the next question in Carolyn's expression, "Go Blue! Now, you obviously did okay, I've seen your law school diploma and your State Bar Association certificate on your office wall!"

Carolyn's face now wore a bemused expression and it was with a struggle that she brought herself back to the most pressing matter of the day. "Yes! That's what I told the Admiral! But he said he can't accept that as proof. But Harm, at home I've got a stack of receipts from Michigan, all acknowledging my payment of dues to the Bar Association!"

"Certainly sounds like you're a member in good standing of the bar. Uh… you haven't done anything that might have caused you to be disbarred?"

"Of course not!" Carolyn yelped indignantly.

"No… I didn't think you had… Carolyn, can you go get your Bar Association certificate off your office wall, please?"

"Why? You don't think I forged it do you?" Carolyn accused him.

"No, again of course not. But I have had an idea."

"Do tell?" Carolyn demanded her ruffled feathers easing back into place.

"Well… it's a couple of ideas really… first, when your Great Aunt died, they marked 'Carolyn Imes' as deceased in their data base without properly checking which one, or perhaps merely thought they had a duplicate entry and marked both as deceased, or even just deleted one without checking.. Second, you say data base, well, that implies of course that their records have been computerised. Were they computerised when you passed the bar? If not, then it could be a simple case of data input mistake. Because this, to me, bears all the signs of a clerical screw up!"

"H'mm… could be…" Carolyn was beginning to regain some of her equilibrium as Harm tried to feel his way logically through the riddle.

"So… the diploma?" Harm asked meaningfully.

"Yes, yes, of course…" Carolyn almost sprang to her feet and rushed from Harm's office, only to return in something under two minutes, sliding back into the visitors' chair and handing the framed Certificate of Association across the desk to Harm.

Harm looked carefully at the certificate, it looked authentic enough to him, but without taking it out if the frame so that it could be examined more minutely, he couldn't vouch for it being genuine. However, there were three crucial pieces of information on the certificate in addition to Carolyn's full name, "Rebecca?" he queried with a smile.

"Don't even think about going there, Mister!" Carolyn warned him.

"Just querying if that was your Great Aunt's middle name as well," Harm said smoothly.

"Oh. No, no it wasn't, but her middle name was Rosemary…"

"Same middle initial then." Harm mused, "But we've also got your associate number and the date on which the certificate was issued… Can you make out the signature of the issuing officer?" he passed the certificate back across the table.

Carolyn stared at the signature and then shook her head helplessly, "No… P something squiggle for Secretary, is all I can make out."

"Okay… I'll need to keep hold of this or a while, Carolyn. And I may have to take it out of the frame of I have to copy it or fax it to Lansing. I'm pretty sure this is nothing more than clerical carelessness, but until we can prove it, we're stuck. And Carolyn, getting organisations like the Bar Association to admit they've made a mistake is going to be tough. They won't want to be sued for negligence so they'll just clam up tight!"

Carolyn nodded, "Understood, after all they are all lawyers, even if they have gone into administration … And Harm… Thanks for being willing to do this for me."

"Of course I'm more than willing, I'm happy to help you out - for Loren's sake if for nothing else!"

"Wh… what do you mean?" Carolyn asked her forehead furrowed in a puzzled frown.

"Well, what comes around goes around; you were the first person to treat her as a human being after she and I started dating, and then neither of us have forgotten how you ran interference for us with Alison Krennick, and then you asked for her as second chair both on the Coulter re-trial and now on the Quantico courts-martial. You probably have no idea how much of a boost that gave to Loren's self-confidence on a professional level and gave her the feeling that she was being accepted on a personal level!"

Despite her own worries, Carolyn gave a brief grin, "I never expected Loren Singer to be lacking in self-confidence."

"You'd be surprised. All that ambition and determination was just a smokescreen."

"You mean she really doesn't want to become the first female JAG?"

"Oh no… she still wants that, but she's more comfortable now with the notion that her ambitions don't outweigh her abilities, so she doesn't feel the need to be as… as…"

"As abrasive?" Carolyn suggested.

"That wasn't the word I was going to use, but yeah, that works just as well!"

Carolyn sat back, the brief moment of levity over, and her expression became worried again, "So… what now?"

"Well, I'll speak with the Michigan State Bar, as I said. But first I need to speak with the Admiral and then with the DoD security vetting people. It may take a couple of days…"

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Carolyn demanded truculently.

"The Admiral's relieved you of all duties?" Harm asked.

Carolyn nodded in confirmation.

"Well, in that case, you can't even be here. So, go home, try to relax – I know it won't be easy, but try anyway," Harm smiled sympathetically. "I think I know something of what you're going through. I've had a flight safety board held on me, plus my trial when I was accused of killing that Russian agent… so I think I understand even if only a little. Oh, and send me those association dues receipts. In the meantime, I've got your cell number, so I'll keep you up to date."

"Yeah, I'll do that…" Carolyn mustered a weak, if genuine smile, and stood, smoothing down her skirt as she did so. "Well, I guess, I'll go home and try to adapt to being a lady of leisure.

Harm nodded in approval, "Why don't you give your Marine a call, let him know you could with some support – and some TLC!" Harm added with a sly wink.

Carolyn stared at him, appalled, and then blushed bright red, "Oh! You… you…!" she spluttered and beat a hasty retreat, leaving Harm with a smug grin on his face. A grin that rapidly faded, as he gathered his notes and Carolyn's certificate.

Making his way across the bull open, he paused briefly at Tiner's desk, "Check to see I the Admiral can see me please, Tiner."

"Aye, aye, sir." Tiner toggled the intercom switch, "Admiral, Commander Rabb…"

"_Send him in Tiner_!"

"Aye, aye, sir. Commander, the Admiral said…"

"I heard him, Tiner. Thanks."

**Monday May 14****th****, 1017hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (UH) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (141417ZMay01)**

"Thank you for seeing me, sir," Harm said as he stood at attention in front of the Admiral's desk.

Chegwidden eyed him dourly, he had very little doubt what had brought his officer to see him, but he wasn't going to give the younger man such satisfaction. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

"Commander Imes, sir…"

"What about her? Her status has been called into question. Therefore I have immediately suspended her from duty."

"Sir, I don't wish to even appear to be questioning your judgement…"

"Then don't question it Commander!"

"No, sir. But your decision seems to be a little harsh."

Chegwidden stared up at Harm in absolute amazement, "Do you seriously consider that I am about to explain my decision – any of my decisions – to you, Rabb?"

"No, sir!"

"Then lock it up, Mister!"

Harm fell silent and Chegwidden sat back in the big chair and made a deliberate effort to relax, "How many case do you think Commander Imes had worked since she's been a JAG, Commander?"

Harm looked blank for a second or two, "I guess… hundreds, sir!"

"Let us say that you are right," Chegwidden agreed. "Now, if it comes to light that Commander Imes is not a member of any state bar then every single one of those hundreds of cases win or lose, will have to be re-examined, and there are those who she successfully prosecuted, or failed to defend, who will be screaming that they did not receive adequate counsel and that their verdicts and sentences should be over turned. No matter how tight a lid we tried to keep on this mess, word will eventually get out and the press will have a field day, and it will be a very public and very black eye for the Navy. So… if I can spare us even one more case to review, can you explain to me why I should not?"

Harm stiffened even more, "No, sir, I cannot!" he replied in a clipped tone.

"I understand that you may well have a degree of fellow feeling for Commander Imes, Rabb, which is why I did not and will not refuse her request for your help in clearing her name – and I hope to God that is the end result, otherwise I dread to think of what the outcome will be! I take it you have no doubt as to her innocence?"

"None at all, sir!"

"No, of course not!" Chegwidden retorted dryly. "And do you have any ideas as to just how you are going to help her?"

"One or two, sir! I am pretty well convinced that this is a simple clerical screw up made by Michigan State Bar. I don't pretend to be an expert on these matters, but this certificate looks like the genuine article to me. And I'm sure we could find someone within the government who could verify that for us… what about that woman over at the National Archive… the one who testified at Colonel O'Hara's court-martial as to the authenticity of the DoI?"

Chegwidden pursed his lips and nodded judiciously, "Sit down, Commander." He waited until Harm had sat, Carolyn Imes' framed certificate now resting on his thighs rather than being clasped under his arms.

"That is certainly one approach, you could make," Chegwidden observed, "But why do I get the feeling that you have a couple of more strings to your bow?"

"Well sir…" Harm felt a sense of relief had just successfully sold, or so it seemed, the potentially most embarrassing aspect of his hastily formulated plan to his CO. The most embarrassing because it entailed making the staff at the National Archive aware of the situation. An awareness that would almost certainly become public knowledge and would result in red faces at Jag and even higher up the chain of command, and probably at Lansing, Michigan too.

"Go on, Commander," Chegwidden encouraged him.

"Well sir…" Harm began again. "I'm pretty convinced this is, as I said, a clerical screw up. So, my first step would be to make an approach to Michigan State Bar and ask them to carefully double-check their records and ensure that they haven't confused our Carolyn Imes with Carolyn Imes, deceased."

"More than one Carolyn Imes? Isn't that stretching a bit, Commander?"

"No, sir. Our Commander Imes was named after her Great Aunt, the only difference being Rebecca was substituted for Rosemary as a middle name."

"Okay… I can accept that, but how would that have caused the confusion between the two?"

Harm took a breath and repeated the scenarios that he had rehearsed just a short time ago to Carolyn. Chegwidden listened attentively and when Harm had finished he snorted, "Good luck with that, Commander! Do you really think that Michigan are going to admit to a simple clerk screwing the pooch? Not likely. They'll sit on their hands and deny all knowledge of the affair and swear blind that they haven't made a mistake, that their system is fool-proof. In short, it's my bet that they'd cheerfully throw Imes, or anyone else to the wolves rather than admit even the possibility that they could be in the wrong."

"That would be my bet too, sir. But I do have another strand to my plan!"

"Do tell, Commander," Chegwidden said. And suddenly realised that for the first time today, since he had received the call from the DoD Security Vetting Office, that there might, just might be a ray of sunshine on the horizon, and moreover as he looked at the younger officer across the expanse of his desk, he realised that he was enjoying the conversation. Not so much because it was cut and thrust, it wasn't, it was just fascinating to see Harmon Rabb's mind working at high speed as he worked through a problem, coming up with workable spur of the moment solutions to unexpected bumps in the road.

"I have a feeling than an investigation of the old paper copies of Michigan State Bar's records will reveal the existence of two Carolyn R Imes…"

"Not going to happen, Commander. I can let you use telephones and computers to investigate, but I can sanction you haring off to Detroit…"

"Lansing, sir," Harm corrected the Admiral gently.

"Wherever!" Chegwidden waved a hand airily, "I cannot let you go haring off to that place and causing a ruckus."

"No sir," Harm's face fell for a moment and then brightened up again, "You know sir, a thought has just struck me. Commander Imes went to Michigan State, and her Great Aunt was a member of the Michigan Bar, I wonder if Commander Imes is a native of Michigan. If so, there's a Congresswoman I know from that state, and if Carolyn is a constituent of hers, I'm sure she could bring some not so subtle pressure to bear on the Bar Association…

Chegwidden was appalled, "No! there is no way I am prepared to let you bring Congresswoman Latham into this mess – it's enough of a clusterfuck as it is, without bringing a damned politician into it!"

Harm almost gave a shrug of indifference, but caught himself just in time. "Well, sir, I have a friend from Law School who is a member of the Michigan State Bar, and if I ask her she might be willing to dive into the old hard copy archives and come up with proof that at one time there were two Carolyn R Imes on the books of the Michigan State Bar!"

"From law school?" Chegwidden asked with just a hint of surprise in his voice. "That was a long time ago, Commander."

"Not quite ten years, sir. And Andie was a good friend, and we have kept in touch throughout the years. We kind of banded together in a defensive alliance in our first year at law school, and we've always been there for each other in a crisis."

"Of course you have!" Chegwidden agreed. Now that he'd had moment to think about, the one thing that no-one could fault Rabb on, and yes, in the Admiral's view there was plenty of fault to be found, was loyalty to country, profession and above all friends and family. Even, he remembered, when Rabb didn't particularly like that friend very much at any given moment, as the younger man's advocacy concerning Sarah MacKenzie came back to mind.

"Very well, Commander. We'll go with your ideas, except that I will not have Congresswoman Latham or any other politician brought in to muddy the waters any more than they already are!"

Harm stood, "Aye, aye, sir! Understood! By your leave. Sir?"

"Yes, dismissed!"

Harm froze into a brace for the regulation two second pause before he about faced to cross the carpet.

Chegwidden waited until the door closed behind the younger man before he let himself relax. 'Damn, he is good!' he told himself in immensely satisfied tones.

**Monday May 14****th****, 1107hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (141417ZMay01)**

Harm had barely sat down before he reached for his phone even while he tapped a few keys on his computer keyboard, bringing up his personal telephone directory. While he was perfectly confident that he remembered Andie's home number, he had always tried to minimise contact with her during her working day.

"_Holland, Archer and McNeil_," the young female voice on the other end of the line startled him back to the here and now.

"Miss Nichol's office, please," he asked.

"_May I ask who's calling, please_?"

"Harmon Rabb." He answered, for some unknown reason not particularly wanting to advertise his position at the moment.

"One moment, please, sir." There was a series of clicks on the line and then that honey-warm voice that tugged at so many memories. "Harm, hon! I'm sorry! I meant to reply, it's just that I've been so busy! Honest Injun!"

"Hey, easy there, I'm not calling to bug you for an RSVP, but you are coming to the wedding, aren't you?"

"Damn straight!" Andie laughed, "Oh, hon, did you think that I would willingly miss seeing you tie the knot to whatever lucky girl finally reeled you in…"

"Well I hoped not," Harm chuckled, "But really this call has nothing to do with the wedding, I fact I've been landed with a bit of a problem and I could use some help, some of your help."

The altered tone of his voice had an immediate sobering effect on Andie, "Go on, whatever it is, I'm with you!"

"Thanks Andie," Harm felt a warm glow deep inside him. Whatever the world threw at him, the one thing he had learned was that he could count of Andie's support and friendship. "A colleague of mine has been suspended from duty under suspicion of not being a member of a State Bar Association, which I think I've told you is a pre-requisite for being a JAG."

"Yes," Andie agreed, "You've told me that, but I don't see…"

"She's one of us, Andie, a Marcus Atkinson survivor, and the State Bar she took was Michigan."

"Go on," Andie said tersely.

"Her name seems to have dropped out of their records… I'm sitting looking at her State Bar Certificate, and it looks authentic, so I'm pretty convinced there's been a screw up…"

Harm went on to explain his theories as to how Carolyn's name might have been lost from the data base, and what he needed Andie to do.

Andie heard him out in silence, waiting until he's finished. "If that's what you need, then you've got it. I'll start making some inquiries this end. Are you going to call the Bar headquarters in Lansing?"

"Yeah."

"Okay… keep me informed as to what if any progress you make. I'll call and make arrangements to get into their archives."

"Thanks, Andie, I knew I could rely on you."

"Always, hon, always. But you'd better earmark a bottle of champagne just for me at your wedding breakfast!" Andie laughed. Now that the business part of the call was over she was back to her normal, gently teasing cheerful self.

"Okay… you take care now, you hear?"

"To hear is to obey, O master!" Andie laughed and then added softly, "I miss you."

"Yeah, I miss you too… once this mess is over you'll have to come and make a visit. Did I tell you we're buying a house?"

"No, you didn't. Where?"

"At Gainesville… it's about thirty minutes west of Falls Church…"

**xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx**

**A/N: **Andie Nichols and Marcus Atkinson are characters created by Aerogirl and introduced in her stories 'Learning How to Fall', 'After two' and 'Silver and Gold'. To whom many thanks for her kind permission to use them in this story.


	73. Chapter 73

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 73**

**Monday May 14****th****, 2001, 1728hrs EDT, Parking Lot, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (142128ZMay01)**

Barely restraining her impatience until she was buckled into her seat belt, Loren didn't give Harm a chance to turn the key in the ignition before she half twisted around to face him. "Well?" she said challengingly.

"Well what?" Harm asked as the engine fired.

"When I asked earlier what was going on with Carolyn, you said you'd tell me later." She made a show of looking at her watch, "And now, unless my watch has stopped, it is later. So give!"

"Ah…" Harm watched for a break in the oncoming traffic before he let the Lexus turn out onto the road and hurriedly marshalled his thoughts once the manoeuvre had been completed.

"Carolyn…" he said reflectively as he moved into the right hand lane for the turn at the lights at Little Falls and Great Falls Streets, "There's been some sort of mix up at Michigan State Bar Association and they're denying that Carolyn is, or ever has been, a member of the Bar in that state. And…" Harm eased the Lexus to a stop at the lights, "without Bar membership, she isn't qualified as a JAG. So the Admiral had no choice but to relieve her of all duties until we can sort the problem out and prove to all concerned that she meets the requirements."

"That's ridiculous!" Loren snapped, "How long has she been commissioned? And they've only just discovered that she isn't qualified! I don't believe that – not for a second!"

"Neither do," Harm replied, "Which is why, when she came to me for help, I agreed!

Of course, the fact that she's a fellow graduate of Michigan State's Law School doesn't hurt!**"**

Of course not! I'd forgotten for the moment that was where you did your law school! But how can you help her? Don't tell me the Admiral is going to let you go swanning off to Detroit, or wherever the damn place is!"

"No, of course not," Harm agreed as he braked to a halt at the lights on Great Falls and North Washington Streets. "But we're lucky in that a very good friend of mine, Andie – you remember her?"

"Of course I do," Loren suddenly giggled, "Oh, I'm sorry, I know it's not really appropriate, but I remember you telling me about the 'after two discussions', and I just had a vision of you kicking back with a huge milk-shake. So much for Mister Healthy Eating Man!"

"Well it was a ritual kind of thing," Harm defended himself and his prior behaviour while the tips of his ears burned red.

"Oh… I shall remember that for the next you get on my case for wanting a Beltways shake!" Loren promised.

"Yeah, fine, whatever," Harm answered as the lights changed, "But do you want to hear about Carolyn or are you just going to sit there giggling because I happened to like milk shakes all those years ago!"

"Of course I want to hear! Don't forget I look at Carolyn as a friend these days – she is going to be my bridesmaid – unless… Harm what happens if you can't prove she's a bar member?"

"Then she faces a court martial on charges of conduct unbecoming, making a false official statement and anything else they can think of to throw at her. It would probably mean she'd be dismissed the service and do brig time."

"How much brig time?" Loren asked in a small voice.

"If they throw the maximum at her for those two charges – which they might do, considering the length of time she's served as an unqualified JAG, could be up to seven years," Harm said grimly.

"Seven years?" Loren echoed faintly.

"Yeah, not a pretty thought is it? But, anyway, Andie is a member of the Michigan State Bar, and she's going to check their records. We figure there's been a clerical screw up. Carolyn shares her name and her middle initial with her aunt, who was an attorney and a member of the Michigan bar until she died…"

"And they've expunged both Carolyn Imes from their records?" Loren asked hopefully.

"That's what we figure," Harm agreed.

Not quite knowing why, Loren felt reassured and settled back in her seat, confident that whatever the problem was Harm would sort it out and Carolyn would soon be back at work, maybe a little sadder and a little wiser, but she would be back.

It was only then that Loren took note of exactly where they were, "Uh, Harm…"

"Yeah?

"Um… we need to turn around…"

Harm shot her a very speaking look, "And why would that be?"

It was Loren's turn to redden, "I… uh… I'm sorry… but I guess with all this stuff, I forgot to tell you…"

"Tell me what?" Harm demanded as he scanned the street ahead for somewhere he could pull off and turn around if he needed to.

"I… uh… phoned the moving company today and arranged to pick up a load of boxes plus tapes and box cutters… so we need to get to that place at Seven Corners, on Arlington Boulevard…."

Harm drew a deep breath and moved into the left hand lane and gauging the speed of the oncoming traffic, he swung into the strip mall parking lot, and with a long-suffering sigh turned south and head for the exit again.

**Monday May 14****th****, 2001, 1821hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (142221ZMay01)**

Harm sent a sour grimace in the direction of the pile of flat-folded movers' boxes staked in the corner of the living room next to the end wall fitted bookshelf. It was something that was going to have to be done, but somehow he just couldn't summon up the enthusiasm for the job that Loren exhibited. She had barely waited to get in the door before her fingers had flown to the buttons of her blouse and it was off her back by the time she had reached the bedroom door.

Now in a pair of past their best jogging bottoms, an old T-shirt and her caught back in a ponytail, she was on her knees, dragging the top box off the pile, a roll of duct tape and a box cutter lying to hand.

Harm shook his head in dismay and quickly stripped off his uniform, changing into a pair of scruffy jeans and an especially disreputable T-shirt he gathered an arm full of spare bedding from the bedroom closet and carried it through to Loren, who had finished assembling the box and was sat back on her heels waiting for Harm. Although the primary reason for starting to pack was to get Loren's law library squared away and the bookshelf down from the wall, both he and she were only too well aware – through past experience – that boxes full of books were likely to be far too heavy to move in comfort and more importantly safety. Lining the boxes with spare bedding would not only reduce the overall weight of each box, but would also afford the expensively bound volumes with valuable protection.

Harm had come to realise since moving on with Loren that she rarely bought anything for herself – she certainly wasn't a clothes shopaholic, nor a shoe collector like some he could mention, although she did have a fair selection of purses, but when she did buy something she had an eye for quality and willingly paid the extra that level of quality demanded. And this was as true of her library of law books as it was for the contents of her wardrobe.

Now he stood by the bookshelf handing down volume after volume to Loren who carefully placed them in the box until it was half-full, and the slid the box to one side while she started the process of assembling a second box.

"While you're doing that, I'll go make a start on dinner," Harm suggested.

Loren looked up from where she was sitting back on her heels, "Oh… yeah… good idea… but something quick and simple?"

"Pasta with sauce and a side salad? Take about fifteen minutes." Harm suggested.

"Oh, yes, yes, that's fine…" Loren replied almost distractedly as she turned the box on its side to tape the bottom flaps together.

Harm grinned ruefully and headed for the kitchen.

**Monday May 14****th****, 2001, 1901hrs EDT, Carolyn Imes' Apartment, Eleanor Apartments, West Virginia Ave, NE, Washington DC (142301ZMay01)**

Carolyn sat at her desk, a feeling of hopelessness pervading her. Sure, she had felt confident earlier in Harm's company, his positive outlook having an encouraging effect, and she had left his office and JAG with her spirits buoyed up by the thought that Harmon Rabb was on her side and further that he had friends in the right place to expedite the resolution of her problem.

But that had been then, this was now, and she'd had time to brood over her possible fate if she was unable to prove to the Navy's satisfaction that she was a member of a state bar. She'd hoped to be able to unload on Pete Murray this evening and take comfort from his support, but the Security Detachment's XO had pulled duty, standing in as Platoon Leader for Christine Brightman who was nursing a knee injured while playing handball. He had been sympathetic and supportive over the phone, but had been able to speak with her for long, as his attention was necessarily drawn away from her to duty matters.

At least she'd taken the annual receipts for her membership fees from the file on which she kept them, thanking God for the notion that she needed to keep them, and placed them in a plain brown envelope and scrawled Harm's name on the outside.

She had barely finished this task before the imperious summons of her apartment door buzzer roused her from her chair and for a second she hoped that Pete had managed to change duty with someone else, so she couldn't help the expression of disappointment that swept fleetingly over her face before she managed a weak smile of greeting at her visitor.

"Oh… hello, Meg,"

Meg Austin stepped forward, obliging Carolyn to step back and so allow the visitor entrance to the apartment.

Meg smiled over the top of the two paper grocery sacks she cradled in her arms, "Hey Carolyn, I've heard some sort of garbled rubbish about you being relived from duty because you aren't an attorney, and although I know it's bullshit, and probably because it is just bullshit, I figured that you must be feeling pretty low. So… I've come bearing gifts to keep you company, and maybe cheer you up a little." Meg paused and looked shrewdly at Carolyn, "So, the kitchen's through here, right? Just let me put these down, and the let the fun begin!"

"Fun?" Carolyn said weakly as she closed the door and followed Meg.

"Yep…" Meg replied, get us a plate each… and a glass!" she instructed as she delved into one of the sacks, "Fun! Now… deep-pan Chicago style Pizza, a bottle of red wine… one for you and one for me… We'll leave the s'mores for later, but there's a quart of Raspberry Ripple for dessert, now which film do you want to watch first? There's 'A Few Good Men', 'Sleepless in Seattle' or 'A Night at the Museum'?"

"Uh…"

"Okay, 'A Few Good Men' it is! Haven't you got the plates yet? The pizza's going to go cold!"

Carolyn gave a little laugh and gave up. "It's not one of your Texas pizzas is it?" she asked with a weak smile.

"What, waste a Texas pizza on somebody who wouldn't enjoy it? Like that's going to happen!" Meg grinned as she sliced the pie in two, "Now, where are those plates!"

**Monday May 14****th****, 2001, 2223hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (150223ZMay01)**

By the end of the evening Harm had just about lost interest in the proceedings, but Loren, now sitting cross-legged on the floor, beamed happily at the six half-filled boxes and the two of the six empty shelves of the book case.

In total contrast to Loren's smile, Harm's face wore a frown. "It's not going to work, not like this," he commented.

Loren swivelled around to face him as he perched on one arm of the couch, "Oh, why not?"

"Look at it, we – or rather you – have been working on those books for almost the entire evening, and between us we've managed to strip and pack about a third of the books. And until we get those boxes out of the way we can't really get any more done…"

Loren looked as if she was about to dispute Harm's conclusion, but as she looked around, she saw that he was right. It was getting cramped where she was.

"And?" she prompted.

"Well, we need to pack those boxes, tape them shut and then stack them somewhere out of the way, but to do that we're going to have to start packing clothing and bedding, which I don't think we're quite ready to do?"

"True," Loren conceded.

"At the same time, we need to empty those shelves, take them down from the wall – and I haven't had a good look yet at how they are put together – and I have a sneaky suspicion that if you want your security deposit back, I'm going to have to repaint the wall and probably the other three walls to make sure we have a colour match."

"H'mm… which is the cheaper option? Redecorating or losing the deposit?"

"If the deposit was more than a single month?" Harm waited for Loren to nod her head and hold up three fingers, and then he whistled softly before he continued, "then losing the deposit is going to hurt a lot more financially than redecorating. On the other hand, it's going to be chaos for at least a week while the existing paintwork is scrubbed down and painted, and we might need to consider having to apply a second coat. But even so, my money is on redecorating, even if we have to do it in the evenings – and that's going to take longer than if we could spend the days doing it.

"Okay… look, it's coming on to mid-summer. So we're not going to need winter clothing for a few months, right?"

"Well, I hope not!" Harm grinned.

"So… let's top off these boxes with sweaters and heavy jackets and other winter wear, and then we can get them moved out of the way."

Harm nodded his agreement, "Okay… but let's leave that until tomorrow… You've done enough for tonight!" he stood and extended his hands to Loren who grabbed them and used them to pull herself up off the floor.

"I suppose we're going to have to get used to living in chaos for the next few weeks," she sighed.

Harm slipped his arms around her, allowing her to rest her head against his chest, "M'mm." he murmured in sympathy, resigning himself to outbreaks of irritability in the weeks to come as the need to pack conflicted with Loren's need to keep her surroundings neat and tidy at all times.

**Tuesday May 15****th****, 2001, 1003hrs EDT, Courtroom One, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (151403ZMay01)**

"All rise!" Staff Sergeant Walters, the court bailiff instructed as the door leading to the Judge's chambers open to allow Captain Sebring to enter the court room. "This General Court Martial is in session, the Honourable Judge Captain Owen Sebring presiding!"

The Captain paused to survey the crowded courtroom, his brows lifting in surprised displeasure at the sight of Loren sitting alone at the prosecution table.

"Please be seated," Sebring said and waited for his words to be obeyed before he looked across at Loren. "Still no Commander Imes?" he asked sternly.

Loren stood and gulped, and with a gesture that included Major Devereux, asked, "May we approach, Your Honour?"

Sebring nodded, he, like almost everyone else at JAG HQ, had heard some form of scuttlebutt to explain Carolyn Imes' absence from duty, but he also needed to hear the word officially. "Step up," he ordered and waited for Loren and Devereux to walk around their tables and towards the bench where they halted.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Sebring directed his question at Loren.

"Your Honour, Commander Imes has been temporarily relieved of duty until a clerical anomaly affecting her status is resolved. Therefore, I ask for a continuance until such time as she is returned to duty."

"Your Honour, I object!" Devereux interrupted. "While I have every sympathy for Commander Imes' plight, we have a prosecuting attorney here…" he indicated Loren, "And in the meantime, with every delay to these proceedings, my client's right to a speedy trial is further denied."

"Major Devereux has a valid point, Lieutenant. This case has taken too long to come to trial as it is…"

"With respect, You Honour, the defendant was arrested on March fourteenth, by my reckoning that makes a total of sixty-two days since his arrest. The Regulations for Courts Martial give us ninety days before…"

"Thank you, Lieutenant, I am well aware of the Regulation for Courts Martial!" Sebring reprimanded her in an icy voice, accompanied by an even icier stare.

"Yes, Your Honour." Loren replied.

Sebring continues to glare at Loren for a few moments longer before he asked, "Do you not feel capable of directing the prosecution until such time as Commander Imes returns to duty?"

The phrasing of the question put Loren in a quandary. If she agreed that she didn't feel she could handle the job, the Judge was bound to remark on that to Admiral Chegwidden and it would be a black mark – another black mark – for her to overcome if she was to stand any chance of promotion. On the other hand, if she accepted the challenge and then screwed the pooch, the next court martial she attended could very well be her own as she faced a charge of Dereliction of Duty. But as an officer there was only one possible answer she could give.

"Yes Your Honour, I am quite capable of conducting the prosecution for this case."

"Very well, then we shall proceed. Step back!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Loren and Devereux chorused, paused and returned to their tables.

Sebring waited until they had settled before he spoke, "The prosecution may present its opening argument," he directed.

Loren gulped, drew a deep breath, and hoping that her nervousness wasn't obvious turned to the panel, The case you are about to hear is a very sad case, it is the story of a well-respected and decorated veteran Marine Corps Sergeant Major who is incapable of adjusting to the times…"

**Tuesday May 15****th****, 2001, 1054hrs EDT, Brig, Washington Navy Yard, Washington DC (151531ZMay01)**

Staff call had gone well this morning, he had been able to report that Lieutenant Barlow would be opening his case against Photographer's Mate Second Class Harris tomorrow, and that in return for a withdrawal of the UA charge against her, Harris would plead guilty to DDO. The Admiral had apparently been quite content with the report and had even grunted a "Well done!"

Now, however affairs had gone to hell in a hand basket after that. Harm had gathered up the file on the Peterson case as well as Lieutenant Commander Heywood, who had been detailed as Peterson's defence attorney by Meg, and had also phoned the Navy Yard brig to inform them that he was on his way to interview the prisoner.

So far, all well and good, but now…

"Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Commander Heywood to see EO2 Peterson," Harm had announced them to the MA 1 at the desk.

"EO who, sir?" The Petty Officer Master at Arms queried.

"Peterson. Flew in from Kuwait, vehicular manslaughter," Harm said.

"Sorry, sir…" The MA looked up and back over his shoulder at the wall-mounted whiteboard, "We don't have a Peterson, any Peterson, in confinement…"

"Are you trying to tell us that the Navy Yard brig has lost a prisoner?" Harm asked in amazement.

"No sir!" the MA 1 replied, "What I am telling you is that we have never received a prisoner by that name. Not from Kuwait or even from Kansas or Kentucky. Sir."

Harm's eyebrows rose in disapproving surprise, "Tone MA One!" he said severely.

"Aye, aye, sir!" the MA replied stiffly apologetic, indignant that this legal weenie would even suggest he or his crew could have lost a prisoner.

"So, sir," Heywood turned to Harm, "If Peterson isn't here, where the hell is he?"

"That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question!" Harm replied, "Any ideas MA One?"

"No, sir. I've never heard of him." He leafed quickly through the last few pages of the brig's occurrence book, "And there's nothing in the log to say he's due in… One moment, though, sir…" The Petty Officer turned and lifted a thick file from the shelf behind the desk and looked through it, but shook his head, "And nothing in the reception file, either, sir

Harm and Heywood exchanged a helpless glance, but Heywood with an apologetic nod to Harm turned back towards the Master at Arms, "And nothing in there to say when he'll be arriving?"

"Sorry, sir. Nothing at all."

"So… why," Harm asked with immense patience, "was I not told when I phoned earlier to say that I was coming here to interview Peterson, why was I not told he wasn't being held here?"

"Sir, I don't know. But I can try to find out, sir?"

Harm, nodded once more, and with a stiff-lipped, "Thank you, MA One, but no, don't bother, we'll just chalk this one up as a FUBAR!" he turned to Haywood, "With me!"

Heywood turned and followed his senior back out to the parking lot and once Harm had unlocked the Lexus, he climbed into the passenger seat and looked at Harm, "What now, sir?"

Harm glared at him for just long enough for the younger man to begin to feel uncomfortable, "What now, Commander? Well, I suggest you make some attempt to find out what the Navy has done with your client, and then maybe you could let me in on the secret as to why we have just wasted the best part of the morning in traffic getting from Falls Church to here and back again, for absolutely no result!"

Heywood took one look at Harm's clenched-jaw expression and decided that now was not perhaps the best time to indulge in social chit-chat with a senior officer who he not only barely knew, but was also apparently in a filthy mood.

Harm's filthy mood wasn't helped by the congestion on the roads as he battled through traffic to reach the George Mason Memorial Bridge before negotiating the maze on the other side of the river to finally emerge on the Columbia Pike heading for Falls Church.

**Tuesday May 15****th****, 2001, 1151hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (151551ZMay01)**

Harm tossed his cover onto the credenza and dropped his briefcase onto his desk before he sat down behind his desk, shaking his head in disbelief. Reaching for the phone he stabbed his thumb on the key pad.

"_Yeoman One Tiner, sir_!"

"Tiner, this is Commander Rabb. I need you to get me a line to the Navy Provost Marshal in Kuwait. And Tiner, I need that line yesterday!"

A slightly surprised Tiner answered, "_Aye, aye, sir_!" it wasn't like Commander Rabb to fob off that sort of detail; he usually preferred to handle all his calls himself. That alone was sufficient to warn Tiner that in this case the least said the better, and the fastest route to what passed as normal tranquillity in the office would be to do exactly as he had just been tasked.

A plain brown envelope had been placed on the blotter on Harm's desk and replacing the phone on its cradle he picked it up and working a pinkie under the flap he tore it open, then tipped it up and shook its contents onto his desk.

A smile, the first since staff call, slowly spread across his face as he picked up the first slip of paper, a receipt in respect of annuals subscription of the Michigan State Bar Association acknowledging that Carolyn R Imes had paid her dues for the year of 1991. The remainder of the slips showed that she had paid her annual dues for each of the intervening years. But the icing on the cake as far as he was concerned was that each receipt not only identified Carolyn by name, but also by her associate number, the same number that was printed on her Bar Association Certificate. Proof indelible to him that Carolyn was indeed a member of the Michigan State Bar.

The trouble was, although he had all the proof he needed, it wouldn't be finally proven until the Bar Association admitted in writing that they had made a mistake.

Picking up the most recent receipt Harm squinted at the signature. He couldn't quite make out the name, but it seemed to him to be signed by A M Wilkerson or perhaps Wilkinson. For a moment he debated making a phone call to Lansing right now but decided that no matter how important Carolyn's business might be, he needed to find out what had happened to his drunken Seabee. Besides, he told himself cynically, it would just about be typical of the day for him to reach the person he needed to speak with at Lansing, only to have that call interrupted by the call to Kuwait. Decidedly unhappy with way the day was going Harm irritably reached for the top file in his in-tray.

Twenty minutes later, still immersed in the depths of the file – a messy he said, she said dispute between a FC 3 and a Seaman FC Striker over a question of maintenance on a CIWS control panel, he grunted in further annoyance as he was disturbed by the shrilling of his desk phone.

"Rabb!"

"_Sir, Tiner here. Your call to Kuwait… I think…"_

"What do you mean, you think? Oh, no, never mind! Put me through!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_."

A series of clicks on the line led to an impatient voice in Harm's ears, "Hello? Hello?"

"Good afternoon," Harm replied, "This is Commander Rabb, JAG HQ at Falls Church."

"_Commander? This is Commander Horowitz, APM NAVFORGULF, what can we do for you_?"

"I'm looking for an EO Three Peterson. Who is being charged with vehicular homicide amongst other things. I was scheduled to interview him this morning, but when I trekked across to the Navy Yard, they'd never heard of him in the brig!"

"_Peterson, you say? Yeah, I remember him. Dumbass kid got tanked up on bootleg hooch. Yeah, we flew him back to the States on… Wednesday last week. He should certainly be in the brig. Unless he got some smart-ass lawyer to arrange bail for him_."

Harm took the phone from his ear and looked at it in disbelief, had Horowitz really just cracked a joke? "Commander, maybe you don't realise just how serious a matter thus is. We have a prisoner gone astray…"

"_No, Commander, you have a prisoner gone astray. I on the other hand have all the paperwork showing that he was signed over to a draft conducting NCO from the Marines MPs for escort to the Navy Yard Brig._"

"Could you tell me how I can trace this MP?" Harm asked with great patience.

"_Sure…"_ Horowitz was all affability, "_Just give me a moment… Okaaay… got the file. You there Rabb?_"

"Yeah I'm still waiting," Harm said as civilly as he could.

"_Okay, okay, keep your hair on already… Yep, here it is. Peterson was signed over to the custody of a Staff Sergeant Baker and a Sergeant Vega of the Three One Five MP Battalion._"

"The Three One Five… where are they?" Harm asked, his forehead creasing in a frown as he tried to recall where he's heard that designation before.

"_They're the permanent MP battalion at Camp Pendleton, California_," Horowitz said.

"Camp Pendleton… I don't suppose for a moment that the brig you sent Peterson to was at the Navy Yard, San Diego, was it?"

"_Of course it was_!" Horowitz supplied, astonished that anyone would think otherwise, "_That's why I can't figure out why he wasn't there this morning_."

"He may well have been there this morning," Harm said heavily, and then continued, "Commander, do you know where Falls Church is located?"

"_No… near San Diego_?" Horowitz suggested hopefully, but already with a peculiar sinking sensation in his stomach.

"Not exactly, it is however exactly twelve and a half miles West of The Navy Yard in Washington DC."

"_Oh… Well, I can't help that, Commander, I just send prisoners where I'm told to send them_!"

"That's okay, I can accept that… but answer me one more thing, please Commander. If you sent Peterson to the brig at San Diego, why did his case file land up in Northern Virginia, instead of with the FJA San Diego?"

"_I can't tell you. Unless it was a clerical screw up. All I've got on file is an order from COMNAVGULF telling the PM's office to send Peterson to the Navy yard and his file to HQ JAG._"

"Okay…" Harm pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb in what he already knew was going to be a futile attempt to ward off his approaching headache, "Thanks for your time, Commander!"

"_Glad to be of help_!" Horowitz said cheerfully, inflicting another grimace on Harm's face as he replaced the receiver in its cradle.

One of these days he'd figure out exactly how the navy's official mind worked, but it certainly wasn't going to be today and maybe not any time soon. Clenching his jaw he rose to his feet and tucking the Peterson file under his arm he strode out across the bull pen, heading for the Admiral's office to bring his CO up to date with this latest SNAFU.

**Tuesday May 15****th****, 2001, 1243hrs EDT, Outside Eating Area, Commissary, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (151643May01)**

"You're looking a bit battered!" Harm observed as he slumped onto the bench opposite Loren.

"Yeah, like you're looking top of the line!" Loren retorted as she bit savagely into her egg salad baguette.

"H'mm… you sound a bit battered, too. Anything specific, or is this just you having an I hate the world moment?" Harm asked lightly.

Loren put her sandwich down and glared across the table as Harm unwrapped his own lunch, then she gave an exasperated snort and let her shoulders relax. "No, it's specific enough! It's Captain Sebring, he's presiding over the Conlan court-martial…"

Harm nodded his encouragement.

"Anyway, I asked for a continuance this morning, until Carolyn is returned to duty, but he wasn't playing the game my way. So I'm having to fly solo on this one!"

"Don't you think you can handle it?" Harm asked in surprise. Loren's self-confidence had improved by leaps and bounds since she'd started flying.

Loren gave him a level look which lasted for a few long moments before she picked up her sandwich again, "I know I should be able to handle it. I've worked with Carolyn every day on this case, ever since she asked for me to sit second chair, and I know the case inside out… but that son of a bitch was responsible – indirectly or not – for the death of a young woman, who was just starting out on her life. He needs to go away for the maximum possible length of time, and I'm terrified of screwing the pooch and he ends up walking away with that damned sneer on his face. I want to wipe that grin off his face and see his expression when he realises that he has been whipped by a woman!"

"Easy tiger," Harm cautioned her, only half humorously, "Don't get too close, don't get personally involved."

"No… you're right of course…" Loren concurred and then sent a grin across the table, "But have you been taking your own advice? What's got you all bent out of shape?"

Harm gave a wry grin, took a bite of his lunch, chewed and swallowed before he answered, "The Peterson case. There seems to have been an almighty SNAFU. Peterson is in the brig in San Diego, but all his paperwork is here. And," he added heavily, it's taken a whole morning to find that out, and when I did, and reported to the Admiral anyone would think, going by the chewing out he gave me, that it was entirely my fault!"

"Was it?" Loren asked with a cheeky grin.

"Of course it wasn't my damn fault!" Harm exploded indignantly, only to lapse into baffled silence as Loren burst out laughing.

"Okay, what's so damned funny?" he demanded in a less bellicose voice.

"Your face when you yelled it wasn't your fault. Poor baby, did the nasty Admiral spank your butt?"

"Did the… Loren Singer you are so going to pay for that!" Harm grinned.

"Well it cheered you up a bit, anyway," Loren observed.

"Yeah and at least I got you laughing!" Harm retorted, but still with a smile in his eyes.

"Yeah, you did… was that deliberate, you damned…? Oh, 'afternoon, Commander!" Loren broke off what she was saying and suddenly looked over Harm's right shoulder.

Before Harm could even turn his head to make sure that Loren wasn't pulling some sort of 'gotcha' on him Meg's voice came to his ears, "Loren, Harm… mind if I join you?"

Harm exchanged a quick look with Loren before he swivelled slightly on the bench and smiled, "No, of course not. Come ahead."

"Thanks," Meg slipped onto the bench next to Loren and arranged her plate and flatware to her satisfaction before she spoke. "I heard some scuttlebutt before I secured yesterday, about Carolyn Imes being relieved from duty. Kinda struck me that she's be feeling pretty down in the mouth about that so I went to visit with Carolyn last night, just to cheer her up," she said before she lifted a forkful of lasagne to her mouth.

"Ah… is that how that envelope got onto my desk this morning?" Harm asked.

Meg swallowed, "Yeah, she asked me to be her courier, she said there was things in there that she didn't want to risk losing in the mail!"

"M'mm…" Harm agreed through a mouthful of bread and salad and then swallowing asked, "Did Carolyn tell you what the problem was?"

Meg nodded, "Totally unbelievable! She must have produced some sort of proof that she was bar-qualified before she was accepted for commissioning, and for the Admiral to relieve her of her duties just like that… well… it beggars belief!"

"Easy, Meg!" Harm said urgently, casting a quick look around to see if anyone had heard the blonde Texan's outburst, "Contemptuous words!"

"Oh, damn it! Thanks, Harm!"

Harm acknowledged Meg's thanks with a glance and a nod, but then continued, "And look at it from the Admiral's point of view; of it turns out that Carolyn is not bar-qualified, then he – and by extension we – has got a hell of a job on his hands. Relieving Carolyn from duty until this mess gets cleared up is in some sort an exercise in damage limitation," he reminded her, and went on "The reason I asked if Carolyn had told you what was happening was that the envelope you brought me contains her bar association dues receipts for every year since she graduated law school."

"Well, doesn't that prove she's bar-qualified? After all, why would they accept her fees if she wasn't a member?" Loren asked.

"Well… sheer inertia is a possibility," Harm said thoughtfully, "I mean, if they once accepted her fees, as an oversight, then when the renewal date came around the next year, out goes the letter, the cheque arrives and everything rolls on year after year with nothing being questioned, until there is a reason to question, as when somebody has their security vetting reviewed. So, no, just the receipts are not definitive proof of bar membership. The Admiral has already made that plain, and he wasn't buying my counter argument that acceptance of the fees by the bar association made Carolyn a de facto member even if nothing more than that."

"So what now?" Loren asked.

"Well, with the receipts, which quote her Associate number and name, I can get on to the Michigan Bar, point out that they have accepted the fees, so that either Carolyn is a bona-fide member of the bar and they have made a mistake in deleting her records, or that she isn't a member of the bar and they are guilty of accepting her money under false pretences… although I'd rather not go that route just yet, we don't need an adversarial relationship for the moment. It may turn out that I don't need to…"

"Oh?" Meg inquired.

"Yeah… I've got an ally in Michigan who is going to try to get access to the Bar Association records – not just their computerised ones, but their hard copies – which if I'm right are probably archived away somewhere with a custodian who is off the beaten track when it comes to being a practising attorney, but who is probably intimate with every period or comma in those archives!"

"Stereotyping, Harm?" Loren teased.

"Nope, just my greater experience talking, Grasshopper" Harm grinned in reply. His grin growing even wider at Loren's exclamation of frustration.

**Tuesday May 15****th****, 2001, 1343hrs EDT, JAG Ops Bull Pen, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (151743May01)**

"Uh, Lieutenant?"

Harriet Sims looked up from her computer screen, a puzzled frown on her face. She wasn't used to being accosted by Loren Singer at the best of times, and especially not Loren Singer with a slightly tentative edge to her voice.

"Yes?" she replied coolly.

"Look, I can't stop, I'm due in court in a few minutes, but I've been trying to get a word with you all lunch, but I couldn't see you anywhere."

"No?" Harriet asked in even cooler tones. She had no intention of telling the Pit Bull, that she had been off site for lunch. She wasn't prepared to justify her movements to the Wicked Witch of Washington.

"No… but that's not what I wanted to say. It's just that Ha… uh… the Commander and I went flying over the weekend and we bumped into Captain MacKenzie, the Colonel's cousin. Anyway just to let you know, as the Colonel's friend, that Sue MacKenzie reckons that the Colonel enjoyed her stay with her uncle and aunt at Fort Sill, and has promised to keep in touch with them."

"Thank you. But the Colonel has also been in touch with me… marvellous invention, this e-mail, you know…" Harriet replied with sarcasm.

Loren bit her tongue. She had tried to make nice and the little blonde AO had thrown her attempt back in her face and she was sorely tempted to let Sims have the sharp edge of her tongue, but Harm wouldn't thank her for making a fuss in the bull pen, never mind what the Admiral might have to say.. But even so, "Well, I know that on deployment it's not always easy to communicate with friends ashore… the availability of bandwidth, conflicting times zones, all make it a little harder than if you were just the other side of town!" Loren snapped.

To her consternation Harriet felt the blood mount to her cheeks as she realised, belatedly, that Loren Singer was actually trying to be nice to her and pass on, without any apparent motive, a message that she thought that Harriet might be pleased to hear.

Harriet opened her mouth to offer more appropriate thanks, but in the couple of seconds it had taken her to marshal her thoughts, a white faced with anger Loren Singer had spun on her heel and stalked away across the bull pen towards the double doors leading to the hallway.

**Tuesday May 15****th****, 2001, 1348hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (151748May01)**

Harm had caught the somewhat tensed interaction between Loren and Harriet from the corner of his eye, but while he debated whether or not to try to pour oil on troubled waters his phone began to ring.

"Rabb!"

"Hey, handsome…" Andie Nichol's teasing voice came down the wires from Michigan.

"Hey, Andie," Harm's face lit in a smile of genuine pleasure at hearing his friend's voice, "How's life with the ham sandwich crew?"

"As of today, I'm not sure, but you shouldn't call them that!" Andie replied reproving him for his joke on the company's initials.

"You haven't upped and quit on them, have you?" Harm asked momentarily alarmed for his friend.

"What? No, no… I'm not ready to give up on 'em just yet. Holland Archer and McNeil," she intoned the name almost reverently, "Are far too prestigious a firm to just up and quit on; well, that is while they're paying my rent and putting bread on the table!" her solemnity was spoiled by the definite giggle with which she punctuated her sentence.

"Oh, okay… It's just that you said…"

"Oh, no… I just meant that I wasn't in Detroit today, I haven't been since I got out of the house this morning and drove straight to Lansing. Where I have been banging my head against the thickest, stoutest bureaucratic wall I've ever encountered!"

"You're in Lansing already? Wow! That's quick work!"

"Yeah, and a hell of a lot of good it did me!" Andie said sardonically. "But I tell you something, hon, anyone that goes to the lengths they've gone to just to keep me out of the records is hiding something!"

"Conspiracy theories, Andie?" Ham grinned.

"I know… and it's not something I hold with in general. But today I feel like I'm the package in a game of pass the parcel! I've been bounced around from one office to another, and every time I've been delayed, made to kick my heels and then told that there is no Carolyn Imes currently a member of the Michigan Bar."

"Currently?" Harm's ears pricked up on the word, "Indicating that there was at one time at least one Carolyn Imes as a bar member?"

"Exactly! And when I asked to look at her records, they came over all defensive and started spouting attorney client privilege – which is pure bullshit in this case, and the need to protect members' records from others."

"How did you react to that?" Harm chuckled.

"Reminded them that I was also an associate of the Bar and that I needed access to the records to verify a defence against career threatening legal action."

"And their reply? After all, isn't one of the points about being a bar association member that bar is a protective association?"

"Indeed it is, and they are certainly being protective of their records if not of Carolyn Imes!" Andie stormed.

"Okay… if they won't let you look at the records, what next?"

"I'm in the courthouse now, Harm, waiting to see a judge so he can grant me an injunction to search the records, and to prevent the association from destroying any of therm. And we might be in luck. One of the judges here, the one I've applied to, is a Michael Henshaw, who believe it or not used to be a Navy JAG back in the eighties."

"That might work in our favour," Harm agreed, "But what if he insists on being shown probable cause, so that you're not trampling on the State Bar's Fourth Amendment rights?"

"That's a tricky one, and I just have to hope that he doesn't go that route."

"H'mm… can your cell receive e-mails?" Harm asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"I've got an idea. Carolyn's provided me with all the receipts for her association dues over the years, if I was to e-mail one of them to you, do you think that might prove to be probable cause?"

"Yeah, it might… but can you do that, hon?" Andie asked, mindful of some of Harm's not so successful forays into the world of IT.

"I can't, no. But I know a man who can! So I'm going to hang up now. You just stand by for that e-mail!"

"Whoa, whoa! You'll need my e-mail address for that, not just my cell number!"

"Well, in that case it's a good job that I have it! Let's see 'a underscore nichols ninety-nine at talk net dot com' – all in lower case, that still correct?"

"Yep, that's it, well done, sailor!"

"Okay, I'll get it on its way to you. Speak later?"

"Aye, aye, skipper. I'll call you when I find out about the injunction!" Andie replied, and Harm could almost see the teasing light in her eye.

Harm put the phone down and grabbed the sheaf of receipts. Separating out the first and the last he hurried across the bull pen, calling out as he did so, "Tiner!"

Harm stood and fretted in an agony of impatience as Tiner coolly and methodically went through the necessary steps to scan the receipts and e-mail them to Andie, gratefully recovering the originals when finally Tiner raised his head from his computer, "All done, sir!"

Harm nodded in recognition of the younger man's work, "Thanks, Tiner. Good work!" and turned to head back towards his office but was intercepted half-way across the bull pen by a concerned Harriet Sims.

"Commander? Sir?" she asked.

"Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?"

Harriet took a quick glance around the bull pen, "Can we talk somewhere private, sir?" she asked.

Harm looked down into a pair of troubled cornflower blue eyes and smiled, "Of course we can! Come on into my office!"

Closing the door behind her, but making sure that the blinds were open, Harm indicated to Harriet that she should sit before he slid into his own chair behind the desk, "What can I do for you, Harriet?" he asked, repeating his earlier question.

"Um…" Harriet hesitated, her fingers playing with the hem of her skirt,

"Come on Harriet, it can't be all that bad! Unless you've come to confess to murdering Bud?"

"Oh!" Harriet was surprised into giving a little crow of laughter but quickly recovered, "No, nothing like that! Although there are times…" she let her voice fade into silence before taking a deep breath, "No it's nothing like that, sir. It's… well it's about Lieutenant Singer, sir…"

"Whoa! Hold it right there! Harriet I am well aware that you don't like Loren, but I am engaged to her, and I can't listen to your complaints against her!"

"No, sir. And I wouldn't expect you to!" Harriet protested, the colour rising to her cheeks again. She took a deep breath and with difficulty raised her eyes to meet the look directed at her from Harm's blue-green eyes which seemed to have taken on a steely glint. All at once Harriet realised that the warnings from Bud, Mac and Commander Austin, and that she had so blithely disregarded were in danger of being fulfilled, and that she hovered on the edge of losing the friendship of just about the most honest and honourable man she knew. Biting her lip, Harriet raised her chin, - she was a Beauchamp-Sims after all, and neither family ever drew back from a fight.

"In fact, sir, this time around Lieutenant Singer – Loren – is not at fault. I am the sinner in this case. She came to me a little while ago to pass on a message from Sue MacKenzie, the Colonel's cousin. It was a harmless message, just to say that the Colonel had enjoyed her visit with her uncle and aunt… and I… well… I guess I was less than gracious, but I realised that too late to apologise on the spot, and if you don't mind sir, I'd like your advice on just how to approach her, to offer my apologies for my attitude and my thanks for her bothering to pass on a message to someone she knows isn't exactly fond of her."

Harm looked at Harriet in surprise, although he knew he shouldn't be. Harriet Sims he had always known was a caring, sharing person, and to be honest Loren had brought a great deal of the other blonde's hostility upon herself, and his surprise in the past had been mostly at Harriet's holding a grudge. And now she had just made a pretty handsome apology; the only problem with it was that it hadn't been made to the right person.

Harm's expression relaxed into an encouraging smile, "Harriet, you have no idea how happy you have just made me. One of the very few things I've regretted over the last few months is the rift that seemed to be opening between us, and I am so glad that we are still friends, and I would be even happier if you could somehow become a friend to Loren. You know, she only has the one bridesmaid? And that's Carolyn Imes, because she feels that Carolyn is the only female friend she has on the office. No… don't interrupt… she freely acknowledges that it's entirely her fault that she didn't fit in, and I've got to admit that she can still be pretty prickly, and I'll also admit that I might just be biased in her favour, but believe me, Harriet, she had got a good heart. And I'm pretty sure if you're straight up with her and tell her pretty much what you've just told me, then she'll be happy to call quits on your quarrel. I won't go so far as to say she'll instantly become your friend, but she managed to mend fences with Mac, and she's getting on better with everyone else in the office, so why don't you see if you can give her a break and let her show you that's she changed?"

Harriet nodded and lifted her chin once again, "Thank you, sir, I'll do just that. She's in court this afternoon, isn't she?"

Harm nodded, "She is, so be warned, she could be a mite prickly if the session hasn't gone well."

"Well, that's just a chance I'll have to take, isn't sir? This isn't something that can wait!" With that Harriet stood and looking Harm straight between the eyes she said, "Thank you, sir. Both for your advice and just for taking the time to hear me out."

Harm chuckled as he stood and moved to open the door for his visitor, "Harriet, I've always got time for you, and the advice was free, and I hope will benefit all three of us!"

Harriet smiled, "Oh, I hope so, too, sir!"

**Tuesday May 15****th****, 2001, 1847hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (151643May01)**

"So what happened then"? Loren asked as she dried one the two plates she and Harm had used for dinner.

"Oh… I had Tiner scan the two receipts and attach the scan to an e-mail to Andie's cell phone. She called me back – a very quick call – to let me know that she'd got the e-mail before she went to see the judge, so now we're waiting to hear his decision."

"H'mm…" Loren reached for the second pate as Harm rinsed the saucepan and put it on the drying rack, "So you're still waiting?"

"Yeah, remember Michigan is an hour behind us, so I'm not going to start worrying until nineteen hundred hours. I know Andie will call as soon as she hears."

"Okay," Loren nodded, "but in the meantime…" she nodded meaningfully at the half-denuded bookshelf on the living room end wall.

Harm sighed, "Yeah, I know… Do you want to tape a couple of boxes together while I make us a coffee and then get some more spare bedding from the bedroom?"

"I guess," Loren smiled, and then her smile broadened to a grin as a thought occurred to her, "It's a good job that your library was a lot smaller and fits into your office!"

Harm turned away from the sink where he was filling the coffee maker's carafe, "Yeah, apart from the fact I haven't got a spare square inch of surface left anymore, and I live in hourly expectation of the legs on the credenza giving out!"

"Well… if you were to put your airplane models somewhere sensible and get rid of your flying helmet, you'd have plenty of surface area left," Loren replied judiciously.

Get rid… my airplanes? Blasphemy, woman, sheer blasphemy!"

Loren giggled at his reaction as she stowed the last of the cooking utensils away, "And the helmet?"

"The day I decide not to keep up my flight quals, is the day I lose the helmet," Harm said seriously, "and not a second before."

"And you know that's one thing I'm never going to asked you to do, don't you? I told Carolyn that weeks ago, when you went out to the PH on that flight deck mishap FUBAR."

Harm smiled, "No, I didn't know that. But I do know that you've never mentioned my flying to me." 'Unlike a certain Light Colonel I could mention, or a Navy Shrink,' he added silently.

"No of course I didn't! It's part of you. And I fell in love with that part along with every other part of you!" Loren said with a gentle smile.

Then her brow creased as she accepted a mug of coffee from harm, "And talking of love, the strangest thing happened this afternoon…"

"Oh?" Harm said with markedly mild interest.

"Yeah… after court was adjourned for the day, Harriet Sims ambushed me in my office."

'Ouch… that doesn't sound very promising,' Harm told himself, but said "Go on…"

"Yeah… I thought she was coming to bitch at me like she usually does whenever she thinks she's found something that I might be responsible for, but instead she asked, politely, if I could spare her a few minutes." Loren gave a snort of laughter. "I never thought that I'd see the time when I'd give her the time of day, but then again I never thought I'd hear her being polite… and almost… friendly… but she sure surprised me. Earlier I tried to tell her that we'd met Sue MacKenzie over the weekend and that Mac had enjoyed her visit to Fort Sill. Well… Sims just about bit my head off and more or less told me to butt out of anything concerning her and Mac. Okay… I was pretty damn mad and if I wouldn't have had to go to court I might have said or done something I'd have regretted later. So I wasn't feeling too charitable but then she turned around and made me the handsomest apology I've ever gotten in my life, and I would normally just shrug it off as bullshit, but the strange thing was it sounded as if she meant it!"

Harm nodded, "I think she did."

"You knew about it?" Loren demanded bristling a little.

"Yeah, she came to me while you were in court, and it was strange, she seemed very upset with herself, and I didn't give her an easy time, then she explained what she'd done, and that she felt bad not only over that incident but for being so… inveterate, so obdurate in her dislike of you and conceded that she really had no reason to. I didn't make any excuses for you, but I told her that your attitude to life had changed, and although I couldn't guarantee that you'd become instant friends, that if she approached you with an honest apology, then you'd be happy to accept it. Was I wrong?"

Loren fumed silently for a few seconds and then grudgingly admitted, "No, you weren't wrong, so yes, I accepted the apology, but I still don't like the sanctimonious bitch!"

"H'mm…" Harm took a sip of his coffee, "But there was a time you weren't too keen on Mac, either," he observed.

Loren glared at him for a few seconds and the let her shoulders slump, "Damn it, I hate it when you do that!"

"That's why we love each other!" Harm grinned and then drained his coffee before he beat a hasty retreat to the bedroom in search of spare bedding.

Their work on packing the remaining books went swiftly, only interrupted after forty minutes or so by the chirp of Harm's cell phone. Both he and Loren caught their breath at its summons as Harm reached across to the occasional table.

"Rabb!"

"_Hey, hon, it's Andie. Just to let you know that you're a genius_!"

"Hell, I knew that!" Harm smiled. He could tell just from the tone of her voice that Andie's application for the injunction had been successful.

"_In this instance, it was your genius linked to my brilliance that won the day. We got the injunction, but it was touch and go until I showed the Judge the receipts you sent me. He would have been happier if you'd sent them all, and still wants to see them, but accepted them as a prima facie case that your colleague was a member of the bar. He growled something about not letting lard-assed civilians screw with the Navy and granted me the injunction, so I'm heading back to the Bar association in the morning – hopefully before they start destroying pertinent records_!"

"You really think they'd try that?" Harm asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"_Well… probably not," Andie conceded, "But there's something about this whole case that stinks to high heavens. If they've made a mistake, why don't they just 'fess up and admit it_?"

"Probably because they're lawyers. They're afraid that if they admit their actions had a detrimental effect on Carolyn's career that she'll sue their pants off!"

"_Would she_?" Andie wanted to know.

"I don't know," Harm admitted, "I don't think so, I think she'd be satisfied with an apology, but I don't really know enough to be able to speak for her on something like this."

"_H'mm… could you speak with her tomorrow? And maybe if she'll give an undertaking not to sue, they'll become more open._"

"Okay… I'll ask her, but I can't promise anything!"

"_Fair enough_!" Andie agreed and then added, "_Oh, by the way, I sent my RSVP off to you today, for me and a plus one_!"

"Plus one? Is there something you're not telling me, my old friend?"

"_That's for me to know and you to wait and see_!" Andie chuckled. "_Speak with you tomorrow, Harm_!"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Goodnight Andie." Harm smiled and closed his phone, "Andie," he explained unnecessarily to Loren, "She got an injunction telling the Bar Association that they have got to give her access to their records!"

Loren grinned up at him, "That's great, and you can tell me all about it later! But now, Mister Mover Man, hand me that next book!"

By the time they had had enough for the evening the bookshelf stood emptied of books, but still attached to the wall, and the living room floor was cluttered with the filled boxes.

Loren sat back on her heels and pouted discontentedly, "I hate this!" she grumped.

Harm lowered himself into an armchair and nodded glumly, staring at the piled boxes and as he did so a thought that had been nagging at his subconscious broke through, "That movers' place where we got the boxes… they have a storage facility don't they? I think I saw the rates on a poster on the wall…"

"Hire a storage unit?" Loren said doubtfully, "Harm those law books weren't cheap, and I'd hate to think of them getting lost or damaged."

"Yeah, I know, but there aren't any of them out of print, or are antiques are there?"

"No… I leave collecting antiques to you," Loren smiled, "But the cost of replacing them…"

Harm studiously ignored the crack that Loren had made about antiques, knowing full well that she had the Stearman and the Indian in mind, "The storage facility should carry insurance against loss or damage, and we could always temporarily insure them ourselves. Face it, sweetheart, we can barely move now, what's it going to be like in another couple of weeks when we really start packing?"

Loren looked around the cluttered living space and saw the disorder that was anathema to her. Moodily she nodded her head, "Agreed, we can't love like this until the wedding!"

"Especially not with your move to your new billet coming up in just over four weeks," Harm added.

"Oh crap, it's really happening, isn't it?" Loren gasped.

"Worried, sweetheart?" Harm leaned forward and stretched pout a hand which when Loren took it, he used to tug her up off the floor and onto his knee, where she immediately snuggled as close as she could, one arm going around his neck and her head tucked in just under his chin,

"Not worried, not really…" she said slowly, "But it seemed so far off at one time and now it's all just around the corner… the new billet, the new house, the wedding… it's all coming at once…"

"Or, how about 'it's all coming together'?" Harm asked gently.

"M'mm… that's a much more positive spin," Loren agreed happily and then fell silent.

Harm was content to let her sit in comfortable silence for a while, but eventually he sighed, "You're going to have to take the Miata in tomorrow."

"H'mm… why?"

"I've got to take Barlow down to Oceana for the second part of the Kruger investigation. My failure to do that was the subject of a considerable portion of the ass-chewing the Admiral gave me this afternoon. So Oceana and back in one day is going to make it a pretty long one."

"M'mm…" Loren agreed and then a thought occurred to her, "Should I make a start on dismantling the shelves if you're late back?"

"No… don't do anything like that, I haven't had a proper look at how they're put together and I'm pretty sure you don't want them damaged."

"Are you saying that I'd be too clumsy?" Loren challenged him sitting upright.

"Not at all, but if those shelves have been glued as well as screwed we may need a specialist solvent plus an applicator to avoid getting the solvent where we don't want it. That could cost us a pretty penny in getting the French Polished again, as well as causing a delay in getting them installed in our new home!"

"Our new home…" Loren said softly as she snuggled back into Harm's embrace, "I like the sound of that!"

"I thought you might," Harm smiled and dropped a kiss onto her sweet smelling hair.


	74. Chapter 74

**Enough Is Enough**

**Chapter 74**

**Wednesday May 16****th****, 2001, 1300hrs EDT, OIC Air Traffic Control's Office, NAS Oceana, VA, (161800ZMay01)**

"This looks like it, Mister Barlow!" Harm declared as he rapped firmly on the door frame and waited for an invitation to enter, and barely had the invitation reached his ears when he twisted the door handle and stepped into the office, where the solitary occupant, a Lieutenant Commander with NFO wings above his medal ribbons looked up in enquiry and on seeing Harm out-ranked him almost leapt to his feet.

"At ease, please, Commander…" Harm told him, leaving the end of the sentence hanging as a question.

"Buford, John Buford, Sir."

"Harmon Rabb and Lieutenant Peter Barlow. You are AC2 Kruger's CO?"

"Yes… but… won't you please sit down? Both of you?"

"Thank you," Harm smiled in an attempt to put the suddenly nervous NFO at his ease. Nodding at the wings on the other man's chest he asked casually, "What's your ride?"

Buford grinned, "Prowlers, sir. But by the time I get back into the air full-time, I'll probably have to convert to the Growler. In the meantime, I try to grab as many hours as I can, just to keep in practice."

Harm nodded, "I know how that goes," he said sympathetically.

"Yes, Sir. But you didn't travel all the way down from DC just to make small talk about flying. And you've mentioned AC2 Kruger… So, how may I help you, Sir?"

"To your knowledge, has AC2 Kruger ever reported for duty showing any signs of having being involved in a physical altercation?"

Buford hesitated for a moment before he answered, "No, she hasn't…"

"But?" Harm prompted.

Buford hesitated a second time, "I have never seen Kruger with any physical injuries, but scuttlebutt has it that she and her husband had been involved in some pretty… raucous arguments."

"Scuttlebutt, Sir?" Peter Barlow asked disapprovingly.

"Yes, scuttlebutt, Lieutenant. And you know what they say about scuttlebutt?"

Harm replied before Barlow could talk himself into a charge of insubordination, "Yeah, it's usually true." He sent a quelling frown at Barlow before he continued, "So Kruger has a temper?" He asked Buford.

Buford nodded "She has, and has received counselling in the past for losing her cool with junior ratings, and just recently she stood a Captain's mast for insubordination to a Senior Chief."

"Are you aware that not only has her husband claims that she assaulted him, but that she has also denied that assault claim and that it was he who assaulted her?"

Buford nodded again, "Yes, or at least I was aware she was interviewed by the Norfolk NCIS Office last week concerning domestic violence, but no report was raised so I figured there was nothing to it. But…?"

"Yeah, there's always a but," Harm said heavily, "and in this case we have the 'he said, she said,' scenario. The only problem is with your AC2 Kruger's version of events is that her husband _has_ turned up for duty showing signs of a physical altercation. In fact, his OIC had him investigated as possibly being involved with an illegal street fighting club. It was during the course of that investigation that the allegations of domestic violence arose."

Buford grimaced, "So now…?"

"So now we, JAG that is, also want to interview your Kruger," Harm said, "That is if you can find us an office to use, and get us a printout of Kruger's SRB?"

"You can use this office, I have to go to pri-fly at some stage this morning, so it might as well be now. The SRB could take a few minutes, I'll have to call the Personnel Department, and get it sent over here. In the meantime I'll have Kruger sent over, and while you're waiting, there's a crew room just down the Hall with a more or less constant supply of coffee. I'll make sure you're told when Kruger and her SRB show up."

**xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx**

The coffee in the crew room had been as bad as Harm had feared it would be, and it was with almost a feeling of relief that he dumped the second half of the beverage into the sink when a Yeoman Petty Officer second-class respectfully tapped on the door frame and stuck his head into the crew room and announced, "AC2 Kruger has arrived, sir."

"Thank you, Yeoman Two, have her wait outside the OIC's office; we'll be there directly."

Harm mustered a grin as Barlow hastily followed his example and dumped what was left of his coffee with what looked like a relieved expression, before he quickly rinsed the two mugs and left them on the draining board to dry.

"Ready, Mister?" Harm asked.

"Ready, aye, Sir!" Barlow responded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, it was pretty bad coffee," Harm commented as he reached for his briefcase and cover.

Harm and Peter headed back to the OIC's office, Harm snapping out a curt "with us, AC2!" as they passed the young woman waiting in the hallway.

Once in the office and the door close behind them Harm indicated one of the chairs in front of the desk and invited Kruger to take a seat. While she did so, Peter Barlow also seated himself as to Harm, but in his case behind the desk. Fishing his portable voice recorder from his briefcase Harm positioned it in the middle of the desk and also brought out a legal pad and pencil before he spoke.

"You are AC2 Kruger?" he asked eyeing the rather stocky moderately attractive redhead on the opposite side of the desk.

Kruger nervously licked her lips, "Yes, Sir," she answered in a husky whisper.

Harm nodded in acknowledgement, "I am Commander Rabb, JAG Corps, and this is Lieutenant Barlow also JAG Corps. Do you have any idea why we wish to speak with you?"

Kruger shook her head, "No, sir. No idea," she replied.

"It's about your husband, AT1 Kruger, you claim that he assaulted you and that you want to press charges?"

A light of interest appeared in Kruger's eye as she sat a little more upright in her chair, "Yes, Sir!"

Harm nodded and with a finger resting on the voice recorder's button said, "I'm going to record our conversation, AC2. I find that capturing the tone of what is said not just the words is helpful. Do you object?"

Kruger looked slightly anxious but as again she licked her lips she also shook her head, "No, sir, go ahead…"

"Thanks…" Harm pressed the button, "Now, for the record, please state your rate and rating, name and duty station."

"Yes, sir. Air Traffic Controller Petty Officer Second Class, Kruger, Alice, M, presently assigned to Air Traffic Control, Naval Air Station, Oceana, Virginia."

"Thank you… and you are married?"

"Yes, sir."

"To Aviation Technician Petty Officer First Class Kruger, Michael, P, currently assigned to VAQ 209 at Andrews Joint Base?"

"Yes, sir."

"Whom you allege recently assaulted you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well… at one time, you must have been very much in love with him… after all, you did marry him!" Harm said gently.

For a moment it seemed that Kruger's eyes teared up, but she gulped, nodded her head and answered, "Yes, sir."

"So… You've been married, what…" Harm checked her Page Two, "Just over two years?"

"Yes, sir. As soon as Mike got advanced to AT1…"

"So things went sour pretty quickly, then?" Harm suggested.

Surprisingly Kruger shook her head, "No… not really. Everything was okay until about six months ago. Mike started talking about having a family, but I said I wasn't ready to have baby just yet."

"And?" Harm prompted.

"Well… he wouldn't leave it alone… he kept pressuring me, and then the arguments started and then when I still said no, well, that's when the arguments started to get physical."

"Uh-huh, and how long ago was this?"

"Uh… about a month ago, I guess…"

"About? You guess? Most women in your situation remember very clearly the day, date and when their husbands first raised a fist against them." Harm observed, and from the corner of her eye Kruger could see Peter Barlow nodding his agreement.

"It's the watch pattern, sir. Pri-fly is manned twenty-four seven and the watch system really screws with my head, it's difficult sometimes to remember what day of the week it is, let alone what day of the month, sir." Kruger defended herself.

"H'mm… Okay… and yet your DO says he can't recall you showing any signs of being assaulted. No fat lips, no black eyes or swollen nose…" Harm observed.

Kruger nodded, "Well, the first time, I used concealer and a foundation and then a blusher to hide a bruise on my face. I got gigged for that; for wearing too much make-up, but then after that Mike got cunning. He stopped hitting me in the face, and kept his punches to where the marks wouldn't show: my ribs, my stomach, my breasts… he really knows how to hurt a woman without leaving too much evidence… It wouldn't surprise me if there was a string of battered girlfriends in his past…"

"And these beatings," Peter Barlow interrupted, "They all came out of nowhere?"

"Oh, no, sir. They were always started by an argument, and then as tempers rose, he'd start hitting me…"

"Ah, okay, thanks for clearing that up," Barlow answered with an apologetic look at Harm's raised eyebrow.

"Your husband's a pretty big guy, isn't he?" Harm asked. "About six, maybe six one and a hundred and ninety, two hundred pounds?"

Kruger almost giggled, "Yes, sir. In fact he nearly got put on extra PT 'cause he was so near the Navy's height and weight limit; that is until they realised that there was barely a pound of fat on him!"

Harm nodded, "Yeah, I've met him. He's in pretty good shape, does he work out a lot?"

"Yes, sir. That was where I first met him, at the base gym, we were both working on weights and we got to talking and then we spotted for each other, and then…"

"Yeah, we get the picture. Okay, thank you. We'll take a break now. Go grab some fresh air and maybe a cup of coffee, and we'll pick up, back in here in thirty minutes. Okay?"

"Sir! Yessir!"

"Very good, dismiss!" Harm told her and reaching out turned off the voice recorder.

Harm and Peter waited until Kruger had left the office before Harm turned to Peter, "Well? What's your instinct?"

"She's lying, sir. I don't know why I'm so sure of it, but I am certain she's lying."

"Yes, so am I. Her answers are too glib, and they don't make sense. Firstly if her husband is keen for them to start a family, body blows, risking damage to her womb and ovaries just doesn't make sense. And bearing that claim in mind neither does her statement that the assaults didn't seem to be planned but occurred only after an argument when her husband lost his temper. If you lose your temper with someone to the extent that you want to hit them, what's your immediate target?"

"You want to smash their face in, sir?"

"Correct! Now, how tall would you say AC2 Kruger is?"

"About five-seven, maybe five-eight."

"Yeah, about average height, but with a little more body mass than average. But she wasn't fat, or even chubby…"

"No, sir. But that could be accounted for by her pumping iron…"

"My thoughts exactly, and pumping iron consistently, would add to her upper body strength, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Making her strong enough to leave marks on her husband of she were to lose her temper and hit him."

"Yes, sir," Peter agreed, although he hadn't quite reached that conclusion himself.

"So…" Harm levered himself out of the chair, "Are you brave enough to try the coffee in the crew room again?"

"Gods! No, sir!" Peter said emphatically, but I'd welcome the chance to get at the scuttle butt," he added, using the old navy term for the water cooler.

"Good thinking!" Harm agreed and the two officers locking their briefcases strolled down the hallway to the crew room.

**Wednesday May 16****th****, 2001, 1422hrs EDT, OIC Air Traffic Control's Office, NAS Oceana, VA, (161922ZMay01)**

"Come on in, AC2," Harm invited Kruger as he and Peter walked back to the office. Once inside, however, Harm made no attempt to invite the young woman to sit. Instead he made a show of reading through her SRB, while Peter sat in the chair he had previously used. At length Harm looked up from the file.

"You seem to have quite a temper, AC2 Kruger, you've been written up for losing it with junior rates and you've just stood a Captain's Mast for insubordination to a Senior Chief when you lost your temper because he was giving you a reaming out."

Kruger looked uncomfortable, "Yes, sir. That's true. I don't like sloppy work on my watch, and the Senior Chief, well he was gigging me for something that someone else had done, sir."

"But that still doesn't excuse insubordination, does it, Lieutenant," Harm asked Peter, as if for confirmation.

"Not in my book, sir!" Peter declared.

"And not in mine. Nor in the Captain's, apparently," Harm directed his attention back to Kruger. "He docked you half a month's pay for two months. I bet that went down well with your husband?"

"No, sir." Kruger said stiffly.

"H'mm… did he lose his temper with you on that occasion? Your husband, I mean."

"No, sir."

"Strange… I mean if your husband loses his temper during a family argument, you'd figure he'd be pretty mad at the reduction in household income… Oh, well never mind, it's not really pertinent, is it Lieutenant?"

"Hardly, sir."

"No… AC2, your husband as we discussed before the break, well, he's a pretty big guy, keeps himself in good shape too. And did you know, that when he was interviewed by NCIS that at first, he wouldn't say how it was he came to appear on duty all marked up. His face was pretty bruised up, and on the last occasion he had busted knuckles too. It really looked like he'd been fighting. It looked like he'd been fighting someone who had really had a go at him, somebody who had lost their temper with him. At first, the NCIS agent couldn't figure out why your husband wouldn't talk. And then of course, once he'd admitted that it was you that had marked him up…"

"I didn't!" Kruger exclaimed hotly.

"I didn't, what?" Harm asked coldly.

"I didn't mark him up, sir! I never laid a finger on him!"

"That's not what he said, and to be frank AC2, I've looked at his SRB and spoken with his DO. Your husband doesn't have a name for having a quick temper. Most of the guys and girls up at Andrews refer to him as being quiet. And, AC2 your husband struck me as being that quiet man, and although he is big and strong, one that doesn't use physical violence to impose his will on others. In fact, come to think of it, his size and strength might just be the reason he didn't want to say that you'd assaulted him. After all, to confess to being an abused husband would make it seem that he's pretty much of a wimp…"

"He is a God damned wimp, sir!" Kruger practically shouted in a voice full of self-righteous anger. "Quiet and gentle? Hell he's a damned coward, he won't even fight back when I…" Kruger abruptly fell silent after her outburst as she realised that she had betrayed herself.

Harm stood, all warmth and sympathy gone from his eyes, "After you what, AC2? After you struck him? Attacked him? Assaulted him?"

"Sir, I think I…"

"No, AC2, I'll tell you what I think! Even if your husband won't press charges against you. I certainly will, for making false official statements, and for wilfully obstructing a JAG investigation. I shall also point out to your husband that with your established pattern of behaviour, it is unlikely that you will ever change, and that for as long as he is married to you, he is at risk of further assault."

"Sir! I…"

"I didn't give you permission to speak, AC2. Dismissed!"

**Wednesday May 16****th****, 2001, 1556hrs EDT, I-64 West, Newport News, VA, (162056ZMay01)**

Peter Barlow sat in silence as Harm drove the Navy sedan back towards Richmond and the I-95 to DC, in fact he was so quiet that Harm giving him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye eventually asked, "Something wrong, Lieutenant?"

"Not wrong, sir, well… Not exactly. Please don't think I'm criticising sir, more trying to get a handle on what went down back there."

Harm nodded, "Spit it out, then."

"I… uh… I thought maybe you were a bit hard on Kruger, at the end there."

"Maybe I was, but if I was, it was deliberate. I don't like liars, I don't like people who try to… who think they can play me for a fool, I don't like domestic abusers and I don't, definitely don't like bullies – and women who hit men, knowing that the man won't strike back are bullies. From where you were sitting the angle may have been wrong, but when I sent her for a coffee, she had a smug little smirk on her face, the kind of smirk that said she thought she had us just where she wanted. So when she came back I figured it was time to bust her little bubble, and I figured that with her temper, only a little needling would be enough to tip her over the edge."

Peter nodded and looked crestfallen, "I figured that's what you were doing, sir, what I couldn't figure out was just why you did it. That is until you just explained, sir."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Peter, I've had a few more years practice at this game than you have and you were quick enough on the uptake to spot that she was lying without me having to prompt you. That was well done."

"Thank you, sir." Satisfied that he had made a favourable impression and that it was only his fears that made him think that he had contradicted that impression Peter lapsed back into silence, but this time the silence in the car was comfortable.

**Wednesday May 16****th****, 2001, 1919hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (162056ZMay01)**

"M'mm… You look tired," Loren murmured as she hung back against the support of Harm's hands on her hips.

"Yeah, well, Oceana and back in a day will do that," Harm replied wryly.

Loren nodded and smiled, "I guess it would, and before you say anything, I just didn't feel safe without locking the door, and I'm sorry I kept you waiting but I was kinda busy."

Harm hadn't been going to mention that he'd been stood outside the triple deadlocked door for nearly five minutes. His repeated knocking having ben to no avail and in the end it had taken a phone call to bring Loren to the door and let him in. She had stymied all immediate protests by the simple method of winding her arms around his neck and lip-locking him into silence, but on her disclaimer he frowned, "A bit busy? Doing what?"

Loren gave him an exasperated look, "Girl stuff," she said flatly.

Harm looked at her blankly for a long moment and then as he took her meaning he blushed, "Oh," was all he could say.

"Just so," Loren told him. "But to make it up, I've made up a mushroom and three cheese sauce, so if I put the water for the pasta on now, that will give you about fifteen minutes to shower and change. That okay?"

Harm dropped a swift, light, gentle kiss on Loren's lips, smiled and said, "That's more than okay, see you in ten minutes!"

Thirty minutes later Harm used the last corner of his ciabatta roll to wipe up the last of the cheese sauce from his plate, popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed before he regretfully pushed his plate away and looked across at Loren. He half lifted his wine glass, but before he raised it to his lips he smiled at her and said, "Have I ever told you just how wonderful you are?"

"You might have done in the past, but I could stand hearing it again," Loren smiled in return as she tried to suppress her blush reflex, but only half-succeeded so that her cheeks were suffused with pink.

"How shall I count the numbers of your perfection…" Harm began, but was immediately cut off by a burst of stunned laughter from Loren.

"What's so funny?" he demanded in surprise.

"You, misquoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning!" Loren choked.

"Was I? I didn't realise," Harm protested.

"Well trying wax lyrical at any rate!" Loren gurgled.

Harm threw his hands up in mock surrender, and grinned, "Okay, I'll plead guilty to that, all I was really trying to say was that you are not only beautiful, incredibly smart, a brilliant attorney and a good officer but you are also an extremely talented cook, and you are going to be a wonderful wife."

Loren's blush deepened as Harm spoke and although she dropped her eyes, she couldn't help the smile of pleasure that spread across her face, even as her eyes brimmed. With a slight sniffle she raised her head and looked Harm straight in the eyes, "And, in the fullness of time I hope I'm going to be as wonderful a mother as you will be a father."

Harm nodded, his own delighted grin spreading across his face as he raised his glass, "I'll drink to that!" he declared.

**Thursday May 17****th****, 2001, 1142hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (171642ZMay01)**

"Damn!" Harm swore softly as he put his phone back on the cradle. "Just when I could really use Mac, she's on the other side of the world dammit!"

Meg, her hand poised to rap on Harm's doorframe paused and raised her eyebrows, "You-all seem a little heated?"

Harm looked up and the rather discontented scowl he wore evaporated on the instant, "Oh, hi Meg, come on in. Is there something I can do for you?"

Meg nodded to the visitors chairs, "May I?"

"Of course, help yourself, was there something, or is this just a social call?"

Meg nodded, "Yes, this Slocum case…"

"Slocum?" Harm frowned.

Meg shook her head and gave him an exasperated look, "Weren't you listening at staff call? Senior Chief Slocum, Henry W, Logistics Specialist, caught with his hand in the cookie jar – we think."

"You think?"

"M'mm…" Meg agreed, "And just to refresh your memory, Sturgis is prosecuting and I'm defending. The thing is I'm pretty damned sure Slocum is guilty, but he's swearing black is white that he isn't. I know it's not supposed to make a difference, but I don't feel I can furnish him with an adequate defence when I really want to see him behind bars and kicked out of the Navy…"

"How much is he supposed to have filched from the jar?"

"A little under three hundred and twenty thousand over the last two years!"

Harm whistled in dismay, "That's a hell of a lot of cookies!" he observed.

"Yeah, it's a hell of a big jar! He was responsible for the procurement of heavy plant for Sea Bees deploying to the sand box. There are purchase orders signed for equipment that was never delivered, so now the government is out to the tune of well drilling rigs, bulldozers, graders, asphalt spreaders… God, Harm, you name it, and he siphoned off the costs!" Meg gave a little laugh, "Well, that's my sob story for the day… As I said, I don't think I can defend this case, and I'm not about to detail one of my team to do something I'm not prepared to do… but if I went to the Admiral do you think he might… I mean if I said I'd spoken to you and you had agreed that he might transfer the case to your team?"

"He might just tear you a new one instead!" Harm said firmly, "And there's one other thing that's a little off the mark in your little scenario, and that is I haven't agreed, and at the moment Meg I don't think I can agree. My team is already handling the same number of cases as everyone else despite the fact that we are still two team members short of everyone else's team, and added into that I'm helping Loren as much as I can until Carolyn is returned to duty. So, no, sorry to be disobliging, but I'm not prepared to go that route at the moment!"

Maybe slumped back in her chair's shoulders sag, her face of picture of comically exaggerated dejection, "Oh well, I figured it was worth a try."

Harm grinned in reply, "No, Meg, no it wasn't. And what's more, you knew it wasn't right from the get go!"

"Well, you might have gone for it," Meg said defensively, but still with a twinkle in her blue eyes. "But, what was it that got you all so fired up?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean what was I damning and cussing about?" he asked, and when Meg nodded he continued, "The Kruger case, it's the wife that's the guilty party, but Kruger won't hear a word against her. He keeps repeating, like it was some sort of mantra, that she'll change, that as she matures, and once she has a baby then she'll calm down and I've tried to explain to him that abusers don't change, they don't grow up or settle down. He has made all sorts of excuses for her, that she grew up in a rough area of South Philly and that she learned at an early age that a girl's got to stand up for herself, that her parents were in an abusive relationship, and violence is the only way she knows to express her anger, and the rest of that sort of crap. When you appeared at the door I had just finished speaking with him over the phone, and I was wishing that Mac was here, her first-hand experience of witnessing a life-long abusive relationship might have got through to him when my arguments didn't."

Meg's forehead and creased into a frown as Harm spoke and when he had finished she said gently, "Harm, we are not social workers, you gave him your advice, it's up to him whether he takes it or not."

Harm snorted, "I know that, but I just don't want to see him stretched out on Ducky's slab in six months' time because he trusted that she would mend her ways."

Meg stood, smoothing down the front of her skirt and with a sympathetic smile on her face, "Harm, we do what we can but we can't save everyone particularly from themselves, and especially when they don't want to be saved."

"I guess," Harm conceded a managed a weak smile as Meg turned to leave with a sigh and a slight shake of his head reached for the file on top of the stack in his in-tray but before you can open the file's attention was once again demanded by the ring of his desk phone.

"Rabb," he said curtly.

"_Hey, somebody doesn't sound very cheerful this morning, let's see if I can brighten your day a bit_."

The grin spread across Harm's face was the real thing as he answered, "Andie, you always brighten my day!"

"_I reckon I must do, hon, because that sounds better already_."

"That, my very dear friend, is purely and simply because I feel better already."

Andie's voice gurgled with laughter as she responded, "_In that case, tighten your seat harness, because I think I'm just about to send you to the moon and back_!"

"You've got something?" Harm asked eagerly and then recollecting himself added, "Of course you have, first you wouldn't be calling if you hadn't and second I knew you'd get it because you're just about the best there is!"

"_In Michigan, yeah, I am just about the best. And yes, I have here in my hot, sweaty little hands incontrovertible proof that there were two Carolyn Imes who were and are members of the Michigan State Bar Association_."

Harm relaxed back against his chair, "So what happened, why were they so adamant that Carolyn wasn't a member of the bar?"

"_Apparently it was due to an imperfect grasp of English by what they are claiming was agency help when the records were updated from paper to computer. Carolyn was filed under the name of Eames. These agency staff work in teams, some reading the particulars while others did the data entry. In some languages the letter 'I' is pronounced as 'E', so when the name was spelled out it was with an initial 'E' sound_."

Harm shook his head in disbelief, "Haven't they ever heard of gross error-checking?"

Andie's voice was full of irony as she replied, "_Apparently not_!"

Harm cast his eyes heavenwards, "Do I take it that the hard copy has all Carolyn's particulars accurately?"

"_It sure does, Harm honey_."

"In that case can you scan it into a computer somewhere and send it to me via email, or maybe just fax it?"

"_Probably quicker and easier to send a fax, and I'll also send a printout of the computerised record comparison. Will that be enough to get your friend called back to duty_?"

"I hope so, I really hope so. Andie, I really, really owe you for this one, so when you come up for the wedding, make it for a long weekend at least, and we'll take a look at dinner at Romano's!"

Andie's answer was a gurgle of delighted laughter, "_Harm, honey, you just made yourself a date_!"

"Until then, ciao cara!"

"_Yeah, see you then, 'bye_!" With a click line went dead.

With nothing more that he could do until Andie's fax arrived Harm once more turned his attention to the file on his blotter, which contains a statement of charges against a Marine Corporal for reckless endangerment in that while on manoeuvres he drove an M1 Abrams tank over his battalion commander's command tent, fortunately the three officers in the tent managed to make an escape before it was overrun. The CO had wanted the corporal charged with attempted murder, but after he had been interviewed by NCIS and the case reviewed by JAG the convening authority had opted for the lesser charge of reckless endangerment. Also in the file was a draft opening argument by Lieutenant Commander Faith Morrison, to whom he allocated the task of defending the case. Settling down to read her argument, and making margin notes in pencil, he let the time slip away from him until a familiar voice said, "Is you is or is you isn't coming to lunch?"

Harm looked up and smiled at Loren, framed in his doorway, "Lunch? Definitely! We've got a couple of slices of your asparagus quiche and some salad, haven't we?"

"We have," Loren agreed with a smile, "So I'll go grab them from the fridge while you secure here, okay?"

"Okay! The table under the shade tree?"

Loren nodded and smiled brightly before she turned and walked away with just, to Harm's eyes, what seemed to be just a little extra swing of her hips. A suspicion in which he was confirmed as she paused half-way across the bull pen and glanced back over her shoulder, a teasing smile on her lips.

**Thursday May 17****th****, 2001, 1319hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (171819ZMay01)**

Lunch over, Harm had made his way back to his office, and unlocking his desk drawers retrieved his three trays – 'In', 'Pending' and 'Out' and replaced them on his desk. Reaching for the next file from the top of the stack in the in-tray he was once more interrupted by a tapping, a somewhat tentative tapping, on his door frame.

"Yes, what is it, Legalman Three?" he asked.

"Edwards, sir. Tracy Edwards…I… I work a lot with Commander Imes, and I heard that you were helping her with… with… with her problem with the bar, sir. And I was, well, I was waiting to use the fax when these came in, and I thought you'd want them ASAP, sir. So I brought them right over instead of leaving them for the office messenger, sir…" she offered Harm a slim sheaf of fax print-outs.

Harm hastily scanned the documents and then his grin lit up his face but brought a flush to Edwards' cheeks and made her wish for a chair into which she could collapse as her knees seemed to turn to water. "Thank you, Legalman Three, thank you very much! This is exactly what I've been waiting for!" Harm's grin grew even wider, if that were possible, as he rose to his feet. "Thank you!" he repeated

Edwards own smile flashed out in answer, "So, if that's all sir, then by your leave?"

"Of course, dismissed!" Harm chuckled as he slipped the fax sheets into a blank file cover and tucked it under his arm. He waited until Edwards had cleared the doorway before he strode determinedly across the bullpen towards the Admiral's office.

**Thursday May 17****th****, 2001, 1323hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (171819ZMay01)**

"Tiner, is the Admiral free?" Harm demanded of the Admiral's Yeoman.

"No, sir. He has a visitor in with him," Tiner said almost apologetically.

Harm made a face of discontent but then sighed, "Okay, I'll wait… you carry on, Tiner…"

"Aye, aye, sir!" the Yeoman acknowledged as Harm dropped onto one of the two seats ranged against the outer wall of the Admiral's inner sanctum.

While he waited and became aware curious glances directed his way and emanating from the bullpen. He shrugged inwardly, well aware he was diverted from his normal practice of waiting in his office until the Admiral was free to see him. Not that he had long to wait, by his reckoning was less than ten minutes later the door to the Admiral's inner office opened and his visitor stepped out, and tensed ready to leap to his feet just in case the visitor should be of a higher rank, but then relaxed as you recognise the uniform and badges of rank of a major, USMC, which stiffened into a momentary brace as he said, "Good afternoon, Sir."

Harm rose leisurely, "Major," he acknowledged the other's greeting, "Carry on."

"Aye, aye, sir!" The visiting officer paused for a further second before crossing into the bullpen, heading for the swing doors that led to the elevator, as Harm turned back towards Tiner.

However before he could say anything Tiner grinned up at him, "Already on it, Sir," he said as his thumb stabbed the call button on the intercom.

"_Yes, Tiner_?" The Admiral gruffly answered his Yeoman's call.

"Sir, Commander Rabb would like to see you, if you can spare him a few minutes?"

"_Send him in, Tiner_!"

"Sir!" Tiner released the call button and looked up again at Harm, "Sir, the Admiral said…"

"Already on it, Tiner!" Harm grinned, delighted to be able to use the Yeoman's own words against him, and turned to tap on the door frame, waiting for an invitation to enter.

On hearing the word, Harm opened the door quietly closing it behind him approached the Admiral's desk, where Chegwidden leaned back in his chair and carried out a swift visual appraisal of his subordinate's demeanour.

"Well, Commander?" he asked.

"Very well, Sir. Or so I believe. By your leave sir," Harm held out the folder for his CO to take, and then stepped back in assuming the position of Parade Rest while Chegwidden picked up his reading glasses, popped them on his nose and opened the file.

As he read, a grim smile settle over the older man's face and he nodded, "Good, very good! But it took you a couple of days longer than I had expected, Commander?"

"Yes Sir, we had to get a court order to allow Andie sight of the hard copy records. Fortunately, the judge spoke with is a former JAG, and was only too glad to be able to help. But it all took time, an extra day or so."

"Former Navy JAG?" Chegwidden asked.

"Of that, I'm not quite sure, Sir, but, yes, I think so."

"Find out, Mister Rabb, and find out his name too!"

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

Chegwidden continued reading, nodding again in approval, "And the covering letter from this A Nichols – your law school friend, I assume – makes it quite plain that there was a FUBAR of gigantic proportions at Lansing."

"Yes, sir, that certainly seems to be the case and so, Commander Imes is…"

"Yes." By now the Admiral's grin was the broadest that Harm had ever seen it and looked devoid of any trace of irony, wryness or ruefulness. In fact, to Harm's analytical eye it looked like a grin of pure pleasure. "Yes," the Admiral repeated, "Commander Imes is confirmed as being a member of the Michigan State Bar in good standing, and consequently is in no breach of Navy regulations governing the appointment of Judge Advocate Generals."

His grin still on his face Chegwidden stabbed the call button on the intercom, "Tiner!"

"_Yes, Sir?"_

"Tiner, get me Commander Imes' home phone number!"

"_Aye, aye, Sir!"_ Quick to add two plus two, Tiner's enthusiastic response sounded as happy as the smile on Chegwidden's face.

Within seconds the Admiral's phone rang, "Yes, Tiner?"

"_Ringing for you now, Sir."_

"_Imes' apartment, __Murray speaking_."

"This is Admiral Chegwidden, I wish to speak with Commander Imes."

"_Yes, Sir!"_

Chegwidden covered the mouthpiece the phone with his hand, looked at Rabb and said quietly, "Murray?"

"Ah, yes, Sir. Commander Imes' boyfriend from what I understand."

"Military? He certainly sounded like it…"

"Yes Sir, Captain Murray, from the security detachment, Sir." Harm held his breath for a moment half expecting an eruption from his somewhat irascible commanding officer, but to his great surprise Chegwidden nodded as if in approval.

"_Sir_?"

"Commander Imes, good! One moment please while I put you on speaker phone, Commander Rabb has something I think he wants to say to you!" And with a grin Chegwidden pressed the appropriate button on the phone's base.

"Carolyn, it's Harm. Just about half an hour ago I received a faxed package from Andie Nichols in Lansing. It's definitive proof that you are a member of the Michigan State Bar…

"_Oh! Harm! Does that mean I…_"

"It means, Commander Imes, that you will report for duty, as normal, tomorrow morning!" Chegwidden interrupted with a grin.

"_Aye, aye, Sir_!" Carolyn replied enthusiastically.

"I suspect that you owe Commander Rabb a drink, and his legal friend in Michigan box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers!"

"_Oh, much, much more than that, Sir_!"

"Well, I'll leave you to sort that out with the Commander – on your own time!"

"_Yes, Sir_!"

"Good," Chegwidden grunted, "we'll see you tomorrow morning then. Goodbye, Commander."

"_Goodbye, Sir_!"

**Thursday May 17****th****, 2001, 1948hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (170048ZMay01)**

"And that's it?" Loren snorted indignantly, "He just ordered her back to duty, and that was it? No regrets, no apology, no nothing?"

Harm paused, a roll of duct tape in one hand and a box cutter in the other, "There's not a lot he had to apologise for, sweetheart. After all he didn't screw the pooch over her bar membership, and once the doubt was raised, he had no option other than to suspend her from duty."

Loren finished folding her sheepskin winter coat and placed it in the box, "I know it wasn't his fault, but some sort of… Oh, I don't know… Some sort of gesture, some sort of recognition might have been in order…"

Harm sat back on his heels and regarded Loren gravely, "Now, be honest with yourself, could you really see A J Chegwidden, Rear Admiral (Upper Half), explaining himself, or apologising for his actions to a Commander?"

Loren chewed on her bottom lip as she folded the flaps of the box shut and then nodded to Harm for him to tape them down. "No, I guess not… But it still doesn't feel… right, somehow."

Harm cut the tape to length and nodded, "I see where you're coming from, but… in a way, restoring her to duty without delay was probably the best thing he could do, and I'll bet a dollar to a cent that Carolyn is so happy about being returned to duty, that she couldn't give a fig about an apology from the Admiral. I won't go as far as to say she won't want some sort of apology from Lansing but…"

This time Harm was interrupted by the buzz of the door intercom. Loren gave him a questioning look, "Are you expecting anyone?" She asked as she rose from her cross-legged position.

"Not guilty," Harm protested.

Loren crossed the intercom and pressed the answer button, "Hello?" she asked cautiously.

"Hey, Loren, it's Carolyn, can we come up?"

Loren exchanged a glance with Harm who shrugged his shoulders.

Loren frowned at him then turned back to the intercom, pressing the button that buzzed the front door open, "Sure, come on up…" Loren released the button and then with a sly grin looked across the room at Harm, "You'd best get up off your butt, sailor, it looks like another member of your adoring public has come to see you!"

Harm grunted as he uses hands on his knees to lever himself to a standing position. "Adoring public? My left foot! The only person I need in my fan club is you!"

"Well, you got me," then Loren's grin grew positively wicked, "but I got you too!"

If Harm had a come back for that it was lost forever is a sharp triple tap on the apartment door announced Carolyn's arrival.

Loren opened the door and stepped back to allow Carolyn and Pete Murray into the apartment. Carolyn wore just about the biggest grin that either Harm or Loren had ever seen on anybody's face and her eyes sparkled brilliantly, "Harm! This is our own time! So I've come over, per the Admiral's instructions to thank you personally… and to help us celebrate I've brought a bottle of what I hope is a pretty good champagne, a '95 Pierre Moncuit**… **Not that I know anything about wine," Carolyn laughed self-deprecatingly, "But the clerk in the liquor store seemed to know what he was talking about!"

Harm and Loren gave each other a resigned look while Carolyn was too busy laughing to notice, and then almost simultaneously gave a shrug. With a smile Loren said, "Of course you want to celebrate, come on and sit down while Harm scouts out some glasses for us, and tell me all the details, Harm is being infuriatingly close-mouthed – as usual!" Loren exclaimed with a fair degree of terminological inexactitude.

Pete Murray however cast a quick eye around the apartment, and seeing the half packed and open boxes winced in embarrassment, "We've… uh… interrupted your packing, haven't we, sir?" he said quietly to Harm as he returned to the lounge.

"Well, yes, you have, but we've another couple of weeks in hand, so it's not that vital but more importantly, we're not on duty, so we can skip the 'sir', I think." Harm's eyes gleamed mischievously as he added, "And I'm pretty sure that you don't call Carolyn, 'ma'am', so in the interests of equitable treatment…"

Pete Murray grinned, "Okay… Harm, in that case I'm Pete…"

"Are you two going to stand there talking all evening?" Carolyn demanded, "Pete, take the glasses from Harm, open the wine and start pouring, before it gets warm!"

Shooting a meaningful look at Harm, which was mixed with a great deal of humour, Pete replied smartly, "Aye, aye, ma'am!"

He and Harm broke into a chuckle and the two women exchanged puzzled glances and it was left to Loren to say in a bemused fashion, "Men!"

It took Carolyn almost all her glass of wine to bring Loren up to date, her story being sprinkled with her observations on how she had felt at various stages of the proceedings, while Harm sat back to listen and Pete, who had obviously heard all this before tried to keep an expression of interest on his face. It wasn't until Carolyn had finished her story and run out of steam that she finally took time to look around, interested to see how Loren lived rather than just how she worked, and like the Admiral before her she saw that the apartment was a home, it was neat and tidy, sure, but without the almost fanatical neatness that Loren imposed on her office, but it was also without the clutter that characterised Carolyn's own apartment, well that is except for the moving boxes, "Oh, Loren… you're in the middle of packing, and I've been rambling on…"

"No, it's alright. It was getting pretty old this evening," Loren dissembled, shooting a quick warning glance at Harm.

"She's right," Harm agreed, smiling pleasantly, "We needed a break especially as I'm still trying to figure a way to get those shelves down, without either damaging them or the wall behind them!"

"Um… I could maybe give you a hand with them?" Pete suggested.

"They look pretty substantial and it would be easy to hurt your back if they should slip and you tried to catch them on your own. I am pretty good with hand tools…"

Harm gave the Marine a considering look, "Yeah… thanks… if you could come over maybe Saturday, say… mid-morning? I don't reckon that with the two of us it should take more than the afternoon."

"So when are you planning to move, and more importantly, where to?" Carolyn inquired as she shared out the rest of the wine, about another half-glass each.

"Out to Gainesville, and we hope to move by the end of the month!" Loren said firmly.

"I could maybe ask around and perhaps get some of the guys to give you a hand…" Pete started to suggest, but was interrupted by Harm.

"Already in hand!" he grinned, "Gunny Waters tells me he has half a dozen guys lined up to help out. Gunny Galindez was going to help us, but he's been back in Bethesda and now he's still on hospital leave…"

Carolyn nodded, "Yes, I know… I haven't been kept entirely out of the loop, and from what I've heard it doesn't look too good for his continuing in the Corps."

Both Harm and Loren looked concerned at hearing Carolyn's news, "That's not just scuttlebutt, is it?" Loren asked worriedly.

"No… That's direct from the Gunny himself. We… I've been running errands for him, making sure he's got groceries in his apartment. Well, me among others. Sergeant Hernandez and his girlfriend…"

"I didn't hear that!" Pete interjected firmly.

"No, of course not… anyway they've been looking in on him, as has his brother and his wife… but the main thing is that the surgeons are talking about removing another piece of his liver, or maybe even a liver transplant…"

"And if that happens, he's out of the Corps," Pete finished stonily, "and that's a hell of an end for a good Marine!"

The other three nodded soberly, and as the subject seemed to have killed the atmosphere, it wasn't many minutes before Carolyn and Pete stood, "Well, we're sorry to have interrupted your evening, so we'll be going now," Carolyn said, but then as Harm stood to make his farewells she suddenly grinned roguishly, "But there is just one thing more: Loren, with your permission?" and before Harm could move or even say anything, she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek, whispering in his ear as she did so, "Thank you, Harm, thank you so very much…" and released him, grinning at Loren as she did so, "You can have him back now, and there isn't even a mark on him!"

"H'mph!" Loren snorted, pretending indignation, although her amusement was revealed by the glint in her eye, "You get away with that only because there are extenuating circumstances! And the next – and last time – time you kiss him will be on our wedding day!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Carolyn laughed, and then sobering up she added "But really Harm, thank you!"

Harm, his cheeks pinkened cleared his throat, "It was my privilege, Carolyn, but the person you really need to thank is Andie Nichols…."

"Oh, I will. I'll be coming to you in the morning for her address so I can write her a formal thank you. But is she coming to your wedding?"

Harm nodded, "She is."

"Then I look forward to being able to thank her in person too!" Carolyn declared, and then to Pete as he cleared his throat impatiently, "Oh, alright, alright, I'm coming! Good night, you two!"

Loren waited for the door to close behind the visitors before she turned to Harm who had already started to gather up the empty glasses, "Well, I don't think I've ever seen Carolyn quite so giddy!"

"No," Harm smiled, "But you can hardly blame her. There she was facing not only the loss of her career but also a lengthy term behind bars if she'd been convicted!"

"Ah, but she hasn't been and she won't be, and it's all down to you – my hero!" Loren simpered.

"Ouch," Harm groaned, "Gonna get you for that!"

"Yeah, bring it on Mister Hero Man – after we've finished packing those boxes!"

**Friday May 18****th****, 2001, 0902hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (181402ZMay01)**

"Admiral on deck!" Tiner's voice brought the staff to their feet as A J Chegwidden entered the conference room, the Marine Corps Major that harm had seen yesterday hard on his heels.

Chegwidden looked around, surveying the assembled officers, and gave a satisfied grunt. "As you were!" he ordered, taking his own seat as he did so and waited for the clatter of chair legs on the floor to subside before he continued.

"First things first. Welcome back Commander Imes. I'm sure you'll all join in me in being pleased that the absence of the Commander's name from her State Bar roll was due to a mistake in data input, and that she rejoins us with an unblemished record!"

There was a general murmur of agreement as Carolyn smiled, somewhat sheepishly, "Thank you, sir. I am both glad and relived to be back on duty!"

"Just so!" Chegwidden agreed, "Next, I want you all to meet Major Bob Lee, who will be joining Commander Imes' team. I'm sure that his presence will add to the already formidable efficiency of that team and this office! Please find a seat, Major! You can all make your number with Major as time and caseload permit." He glared around the table and as no-one said anything he nodded again. "Right, moving right on, Commander Mattoni, your team's current cases are?"

Harm studied the newcomer as Alan Mattoni detailed the half-dozen cases his people were working through, Lee looked very much the Marine, his hair in a whitewall cut and not, as far as Harm could tell, with an ounce of fat on his frame. Not that there was any room for fat in the Marine's slim but muscular looking frame and a line from Shakespeare ran through Harm's head 'he hath a lean and hungry look…' and then incongruously, 'such men are dangerous…'

He was brought back to the here and now by a meaningful cough and he became aware of an anticipatory silence and that every eye at the table, including those belong to A J Chegwidden, were fixed expectantly on him.

"Back from wherever you were, Commander?" Chegwidden asked in a dangerous voice.

"Sir, yes sir! My apologies… I was… I was trying to figure out where I had seen the Major before… he hath… uh… he has a familiar look about him…" Harm finished lamely.

Chegwidden gave a strange look on which concern seemed to be mixed in with impatience as he shook his head, "Well if you are back with us, do you think we could prevail on you to tell us what your team is up to?"

"Yes, sir! First, the Kruger case. I have completed my investigation and have prepared the reports for both convening authorities. I submitted them to you, via Tiner, just before this meeting started sir. Commander Morrison's cases…"

Harm spoke for nearly five minutes detailing the progress he and the team had made on each of their cases, before he finished with "And Lieutenant Barlow is ready for the article thirty-twos on the belligerent sailors who attempted to exterminate the USMC in its entirety, sir."

"Levity in that case is out of order, Commander!" Chegwidden spoke severely enough, but to those that could see his face and knew him well enough, it was plain that he was fighting back a grin.

"Now, new cases… Commander Mattoni… a DDO and a striking a superior officer. Commander Austin… Wilful or Negligent Destruction of United States Property – to whit one M1 Abrams tank that slipped off a dock into twelve fathoms as it was being loaded onto an LCU in preparation for wargames… Commander Rabb, nothing so exotic for your team… a joint investigation with NCIS into an attempted robbery at the Marine Credit Unit at Quantico, the perp or perps tried to tunnel in overnight… I know you got on so well with our green brethren the last time you were down there, but perhaps you might care to give Commander Morrison or Mister Barlow a crack at this one?" Chegwidden finished with heavy irony.

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm replied glumly, "But perhaps if Lieutenant Singer hasn't got anything new, then maybe she could assist on the investigation. According to Colonel Mackenzie. She did well at LeJeune…"

"She did indeed! That was well thought Commander! Lieutenant Singer, you'll liaise with whomever Commander Rabb hands the case to!"

"Aye, ate, sir!" Loren said, not having much room for anything else, but the quick glance she shot at Harm promised later retribution.

"Well, if there's nothing else, people? No? Good, dismissed!"

The clatter of chairs on the floor accompanied the surge of officers rising to their feet as the Admiral nodded his dismissal, and Tiner in tow left the room. Harm shuffled his files into order and was about to slip them into his briefcase when he became aware that Major Lee was stood at his side, obviously waiting to speak with him. "May I help you, Major?"

"Yes, suh…" Lee's accent was Harm guessed from the more southern reaches of Virginia, or maybe North Carolina, "I can't r'collect as that we ever crossed paths before, suh, so if you-all do happen to remember, then I would be mightily obliged if you would then enlighten me, suh."

Harm nodded and gave the man a tight grin, "If I remember, Major, I'll certainly do that!"

Lee nodded and then with a "By your leave, suh," he turned and left the room.

Harm found himself cornered in the hallway by Loren who spoke through gritted teeth, "Gonna get you in the schoolyard for volunteering me like that!"

"And if you do, I'll dunk your pigtails on the inkwell!" Harm grinned down at her. "Anyway, it can't be all that bad. I mean, how bright is this perp going to be? Staging an armed robbery on a base swarming with gung-ho Marines! Not to mention assorted gun-toting Federal Agents from FLETC!"

"You have a point," Loren conceded thoughtfully, but then turned the full power of her pale blue eyes on him, "But you're still gonna pay!"

"In trouble again, Rabb?" Admiral Morris' voice came from behind the couple, making them both jump, and then Loren's face fell as he added, "And you, Miss Singer, have less than ten minutes before you're due in court – my court! So don't be late!"

"Of course not, sir!" Loren squeaked and blushed as she practically fled in the direction of her office.

"Commander," Admiral Morris nodded to Harm as he passed him, and Harm was almost certain he saw the beginnings of a grin on the Chief Judge's face.


	75. Chapter 75

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 75**

**Friday, May 18th, 1650hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (182150ZMay01)**

After the whirl of the last few days Harm was more than happy to take a breather, even if that did mean he was tied to his desk, going through the interminable amount of paperwork that seems to accrue the second he walked out of the door. Not that this aspect of his work was as onerous as it had been in the past, there were some definite advantages in the team system, he decided, as he divided the less appealing tasks into two stacks; one each for Faith Morrison and Peter Barlow. This still left him with more than enough work for the day, maybe not the sheer number of files in each stack, but he had reserved the more complex tasks for himself.

But as the day wore on with barely an interruption, Harm became aware that he was uneasily waiting for something to happen, for the other shoe to drop, to be summoned by the Admiral and sent TAD somewhere to resolve some hideously complicated legal question or solve an apparently unsolvable shipboard crime somewhere in the Mediterranean or in the middle of the Pacific. So it was with a feeling of immense relief he greeted Loren's tap on the doorframe and looked up to see her, briefcase in hand and cover tucked under her arm.

"Thinking of going home any time soon, sailor?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"That depends, are you thinking of coming home with me?" Harm grinned.

"And if I wasn't?" Loren teased.

"Well, in that case I have two choices. I can either stay here and work through the night, or I could find some other sexy young lady to come home with me."

"And your preference would be?" Loren asked, a smile still on her lips, but with a dangerous glint in her eye.

Harm stretched and then carefully put the cap back on his pen, pursed his lips and shook his head sorrowfully, "Decisions, decisions… So many choices…"

"And so many of them are so wrong," Loren supplied meaningfully, the tone of her voice contradicting her posture as she leaned nonchalantly against the door frame.

"True, true," Harm agreed with a nod and then pretended to give the matter a few more seconds thought, "but if I'm really pushed to make a choice, then it would be for you to come home with me."

"Good choice," Loren said approvingly, but then in a more questioning tone said, "Once you've got me home, what would you do with me?"

"Ah, I think that tonight, I'd feed you. Something light, maybe some gently steamed fish with aromatic rice and salad, and then," his grin broadened and Loren groaned, just knowing that a punchline was on its way, "and then, I put you to work packing up the apartment!"

Loren sent him a mock pout, "Slave driver!"

"Not slave driving, because there would be a reward at the end of the evening."

Loren blushed, "Harm, have you forgotten…?"

"No, I have not forgotten. But that wasn't the sort of reward I had in mind."

"Do tell!" Loren straightened up and smiled.

Harm finished locking away his files on his desk drawers, and he turned his head and smiled back at Loren, "Nuh-huh, if I told it would spoil the surprise!"

"Dammit, Harm, you know I hate surprises!" Loren whined.

Harm threw her a cynically incredulous look, "Yeah, right. I know you too well by now Loren Singer, you do not hate surprises; you love 'em!"

Loren's face fell, "Busted?"

Harm pushed his chair back, stood, picked up his briefcase and grabbed his cover off the credenza by the door "Damn straight! Now, do you want to go home, or would you rather just prop up the door frame and beat your gums all evening?"

Loren surrendered, "Home, please!"

**Friday, May 18th, 1923hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer and Commander Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (182150ZMay01)**

"What are you in such an all-fired hurry for this evening?" a puzzled Loren asked. Harm had whipped their plates away from the table almost the second they had finished eating and now, a scant twenty minutes after they had sat down the dishes were already drying in the plate rack and he and Loren has just about finished restoring the kitchen to its usual pristine state.

"I want to get the rest of the living room packed this evening," Harm said as he paused to use the back of his wrist to wipe a few beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Okay… but why?" Loren persisted, drying her hands.

"Had you forgotten that Pete Murray is coming around in the morning to help me with the bookshelves? And it's more than likely that Carolyn will be with him!"

Loren folded here arms across her chest, "No, I hadn't forgotten, but as far as I knew it was just a suggestion!"

"Yeah, well so did I!" Harm said defensively, "That is until he called this afternoon to check what time he should arrive."

"And what time did you tell him?" Loren demanded.

"Uh… ten hundred," Harm answered.

Loren shook he head in a disapproving fashion, "Oh, well, we'd best get the rest of the living room stowed away!"

"Yeah, and we might want to try to see if we can slide the carpet out from under the bookshelf's footer. It would be best if we didn't spill any solvent on it. We don't want to have to replace the carpet!"

Loren winced, "No we don't! All right, let's get started!"

By the time Loren unilaterally declared an end to the evening's work, a further four movers' boxes had been assembled, packed and sealed and so Harm was able to accept her declaration with equanimity. He hauled himself to his feet and holding out a hand for Loren to grab he helped her upright, grinned and said, "I guess you couldn't wait any longer, or are you going to play the 'forgotten' card?"

Loren opened her eyes to their most innocent widest, "Forgotten what?" she asked.

Harm shook his head, "Nope, not going to work! So… why don't you go take your shower, while I get set up?"

"Set up?" Loren frowned, "Just what is going on here?"

"The sooner you get freshened up, the sooner you'll find out – so get!"

Loren smiled, shook her head, "Will you ever grow up?" and then 'got'.

Harm smiled fondly as she disappeared into the bedroom and then turned quickly towards the kitchen area. He knew he had to work fast, he figured he had less than ten minutes before Loren returned, no doubt eager to experience whatever surprise he had planned for her.

He finished all but one of his preparations in time, the lights were low, smooth jazz was playing on the music centre and all but one element of the pièce de résistance were on the coffee table and he was stood in front of the stove, gently stirring the last item.

Loren came out of the bathroom, wrapped in her white terry-towel bathrobe and frowned at the lowered light level until she saw what Harm had done. All the throw pillows on the couch had been stacked at one end, a magnum of champagne in an ice bucket stood on the coffee table together with a single, long-stemmed red rose and her best crystal bowl which was heaped with… she moved closer and a smile of delight broke across her face… chilled, fresh strawberries.

"Harm…" she started to say but broke off as he moved out from behind the kitchen counter a gently steaming dish in his hands.

"Lie down, and prepare to be spoiled," he grinned.

Loren shook her head bemusedly and kicking off her slippers propped herself one on elbow as she took up a sideways position on the couch while Harm sat on a throw pillow on the floor facing her, "Open wide," he grinned, taking a strawberry from the bowl and dipping it into the dish of liquid chocolate he had brought from the kitchen.

Loren moaned in delight as using her teeth she delicately took the confection from his fingers and then reached for the flute of champagne that Harm had poured for her.

"Oh, God… this… this is…"

"Enjoying yourself?" Harm asked gently.

"Oh, yes…" Loren paused to take another chocolate covered strawberry from Harm's fingers and a further sip of champagne, "But you do know this isn't going to lead anywhere…"

"I know," Harm leaned in and kissed her gently, "Except to one very happy fiancée, I hope."

"M'mm…" Loren agreed opening her mouth to accept another strawberry.

**Saturday, May 19th, 1358hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer and Commander Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (191858ZMay01)**

Harm finished buckling the last strop that bound the bundle of individually blanket-wrapped shelves and said, "Okay, Pete, that's done it!"

"At last!" Peter Murray grinned as he carefully propped the heavy bundle against the side wall, "Next time, I think I'll think more carefully about volunteering my services; I never dreamed such a simple job would take so long!"

Harm used a sweatshirt clad forearm to wipe the perspiration from his forehead and nodded, "I really owe you, thanks Pete. It would have been a nightmare trying to do the job single-handed. But think about it. In its way, that it took us so long to disassemble the unit is a testament to the craftsmanship of whoever put it together in the first place!"

"True, and a testament to the strength of the glue he used. That was no ordinary white glue holding those joints!"

"True enough," Harm agreed as he gestured for Pete to take a seat, while he headed for the kitchen area.

He returned a minute or so later a chilled bottle of beer in each hand and passed one to Pete, dropping gracelessly on to the couch and twisting the cap off his drink. "Cheers!" he offered, raising the bottle in Pete's general direction and then gratefully taking a swallow of beer.

"Amen!" Pete countered fervently and followed suit.

For a moment or two the two men sat quietly relishing the coolness of their drinks until Pete cocked an eye at the wall clock and asked, "What time do you think the girls will be back?"

Loren and Carolyn had hung around for the first forty minutes or so of Harm and Pete's labours, offering moral support, but after the third or fourth volley of really ripe cussing they had made a command decision and announced that the atmosphere in the apartment was no long fit for ladies and that they were going shopping.

"After all," Loren pointed out in tones of eminent reason, "We are going to need more soft furnishing for the new place!"

Harm has been so intent on using a padded mallet to knock one of the shelves free from its supporting upright that he had missed the significance of what Loren had said and had merely grunted, "Okay, sweetheart, see you when you get back."

Now he looked at Pete with such an expression of dismay on his face that the Marine nearly choked while trying not laugh through a mouthful of beer.

"Oh, God. How long have they been gone?" he asked.

"Um… I think they were here for about an hour after Carolyn and I arrived," Pete said, his forehead furrowing as he tried to put the morning's events into chronological order, "I think it was your volley of oaths when you hit your finger with the mallet that drove them out."

Harm nodded gloomily and waved his injured hand in the air, "That really stung! And unless I miss my guess, that nail is going to turn black! I can't believe I was so stupid. I've been handling woodworking tools on a regular basis for over ten years, and I had plenty of practice before that. I know not to take my eye off the object I'm aiming at!"

"Well, if Loren wouldn't have chosen that particular second to distract you by asking if she should brew some more coffee, I'm pretty sure you would have kept your mind on the job." Pete argued.

"Probably very true," Harm nodded his agreement, "But you don't think I'm going to be dumb enough to tell her that, do you?"

Pete shuddered in not-quite-pretended horror, "No!" he exclaimed explosively. "Only someone with a death wish would say anything like that to his girlfriend!"

"Exactly!" Harm said but then it was his turn to wrinkle his forehead, "Can you remember what Loren said she and Carolyn were looking for?"

Pete had to think back, it had been hard to concentrate on what Loren had said, he had been too busy at the time trying not to laugh as Harm turned the air blue. For some reason a man hitting his hand with a hammer or hammer-like object, was way up there on the schadenfreude scale, along with banana skins. "Um, I think she said something about soft furnishings…" he eventually offered.

"Damn! Why couldn't she wait until we'd moved? Now we'll just have more stuff to pack!"

Pete half-grinned in sympathy, "And don't say that to her either!"

"No fear!" Harm agreed, and both men chuckled.

Pete swallowed the last of his beer, "That surely did hit the spot," he said appreciatively, "But while we're waiting for the girls to get home, is there anything else I can do to help?"

"No, no thanks, Pete, you've done enough… and…" he looked at his watch. "It's way past lunchtime, and I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Would a sandwich and another beer go down with you?"

"Uh… yeah… thanks. Now that you come to mention it, I could do with a bite, and another beer is always welcome. It just means that Carolyn will have to drive us back to her place."

Harm had pushed himself up off of the couch and had taken a step or two towards the kitchen but now he paused, "Yeah… about that… Pete, I don't want to pry into your personal business, but the Admiral was pretty surprised when you answered Carolyn's phone a couple of days back…"

Pete gave a rueful half-smile, "No, we're not living together, although I won't deny that I do spend some nights with Carolyn, but not on a frequent enough basis to form any cause for wrongful co-habitation."

Harm looked thoughtful, "Well… from the expression on his face, I don't think the Admiral has thoughts along those lines, but he might 'casually' mention it to you, or more likely to Carolyn. Just thought I'd give you a heads up," he finished.

Pete nodded, "Yeah, thanks for that, Harm. I'll give the nod to Carolyn so she won't be taken completely by surprise. She finds it very hard to read the Admiral, y' know?"

"No, I didn't know that," Harm admitted, "but now you've mentioned it, that might explain why she also seems to be a little on edge when she's talking to him. Now, about that sandwich, egg-salad okay? We're pretty much a meat-free zone here."

"Fine by me, thanks. Do you want any help?"

"Nope, the eggs are already boiled and it won't take a minute to slice a tomato and shred some lettuce!"

The two men had eaten their sandwiches and finished their second beers a good hour before a tired by happy Loren and Carolyn returned from their expedition. Harm had been expecting to see the two women loaded down with parcels, but to his surprise and relief, only Loren carried anything, and that was just one bag which Harm identified as coming from a mid-range home furnishing store on Wisconsin Venue.

With a surprised arch of his eyebrow Harm glanced at his watch, "Well it took you a time to make just that one purchase," he smiled. "You must be exhausted, sit down while I put the coffee on!"

Loren reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Ugh… you've been drinking," she complained

"Just a couple of very well-earned beers after we'd finished," Harm pointed out, "and that wasn't until nearly fourteen hundred!"

"Just as well we did go shopping, then!" Loren exclaimed to Carolyn who had dropped into the second armchair with a look of bliss on her face as she took the weight off her feet. Loren grinned at her friend's expression of relief before she turned back to Harm, "This isn't the only thing I bought. But we do need a couple more dish towels, and these were on offer, Egyptian cotton, three for two, so I got half a dozen."

Harm stifled groan, "So you left the rest in the car?" he asked as he climbed back onto his feet.

"Do I look stupid?" Loren challenged him, the light of battle in her eye. "Of course they're not in the car. Bringing them here would only mean having to pack them. No, I arranged with the store to have them delivered to our new place after we move in! And I bought them on my credit card, so if the store screws up on the delivery, I can reclaim the price!"

"Good thinking, there!" Pete said quickly, willing to both draw fire on himself and prevent Harm from making what could have been a condescending remark.

Loren eyed Pete severely for a moment or two before she allowed herself a smug grin, "Yeah, I thought so, too. Now… was I hearing things, or did someone mention coffee?"

"Someone did," Harm agreed with a smile and headed for the kitchen.

Loren dropped onto the couch, toed her moccasins off and wriggled her toes in the carpet, "Oh… that feels so good," she sighed.

Harm returned in no more than three minutes to interrupt a casual and intermittent conversation, by placing on the occasional table a tray with a carafe of coffee and four mugs as well as the necessary creamer and sweeteners. He busied himself with pouring and distributing the coffees, only speaking to ask how Pete took his, knowing that Carolyn liked her coffee very white and very sweet, but at last he could sit back on the couch and reward himself for his efforts by a grateful sip of his own very black coffee.

"So… you two were gone for a while, did you spend all that time trudging around the stores?"

Carolyn and Loren exchanged a look that Harm could have sworn was brim-full of rueful amusement and he cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Loren, "You have something to confess?" he asked.

"Well… kinda… when we left we went straight to Adler's on Wisconsin, but I couldn't find what I wanted there, so we headed up north along Wisconsin, checking each likely store on the way. We had just got up to the sixteen hundred block, about level with the gas station when we bumped into Sidney Walden… you remember her, we saw her when we had dinner out a couple of weeks ago…"

"Yes, I remember her," Harm agreed sending a look at Loren that he hoped she would correctly interpret as a warning not to say too much.

"Anyway," Loren continued, disregarding Harm's warning glance, "she stopped us and invited us for coffee. It Carolyn a second or two to recognise but she did in the end and we went to that Italian ice cream place, just opposite the bank?" She turned the sentence into a question by the rising inflection.

"Yes, I know the place," Harm agreed.

"Well, we went in and ordered and while we were waiting, Sidney said that she remembered me from the restaurant and from JAG and asked if I was surprised to see her with the Admiral."

"And I nearly passed out on the spot!" Carolyn admitted with a chuckle, "I thought that particular relationship was over long ago!"

"Which is exactly what you blurted out!" Loren scolded her, but then grinned, "So Sidney asked if the Admiral had ever said anything as to why they had separated, and when I said no she said that it was entirely her fault, because she wouldn't believe her son was guilty of a felony, and even worse, guilty of lying to her. Anyway, as you know her son, Daniel, enlisted instead of doing jail time or probation, and contrary to all expectations he's doing very well. In fact he's doing so well he's waiting for the next OCS course on the Seaman to Admiral Programme, and apparently to ease his conscience, he wrote to his mother and admitted that he had been guilty of the drugs charge and of lying to her and to the Admiral. Sidney says she had a total melt down, but once she'd recovered, she called on the Admiral at home one evening about six weeks ago to apologise to him. Seems like the Admiral wasn't entirely over her, so he invited her for drinks one evening, and then dinner on another, and they've gradually been re-establishing their relationship. Oh, yes, Daniel also wrote to the Admiral apologising for what he'd done!"

"Six weeks, h'mm?" Harm mused and then a grin split his face, "The dates tie in and I did wonder why the old sea dog was becoming more affable!"

"Yep," Carolyn added, "It seems like the love of a good woman can work miracles!"

Harm nodded again, his grin widening, "So that's what took you so long!"

"Not quite! Loren denied hotly, "We still had the shopping to do, and we were all the way north to Theodore's before I found what I was looking for!"

"Yeah, I noticed the logo on the bag." He shrugged, "It could have been worse, you could have had to trek clear across to that place on U Street before you found what you wanted!"

Loren and Carolyn's eyes met as both of their faces dissolved into masks of horror at the prospect of a trudge along the hot sidewalks thronged with Saturday afternoon shoppers all the way across to U Street, before they joined Harm and Pete in a shout of laughter.

**Sunday, May 20th, 0622hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer and Commander Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (201122ZMay01)**

"Ready!" Loren announced as she emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed in her leathers and carrying her helmet and gloves on her hand.

"Okay… but we've got time for this before we leave," Harm said, handing her a mug of steaming coffee.

"M'mm… oh yeah, thanks, sweetheart," Loren smiled.

Harm blinked in surprise. He had no doubts that Loren loved him, but she very rarely called him by an endearment, and Harm had a gut feeling that this measure of reserve was owed in large measure to her unhappy childhood. So, far from showering him with the more obviously loving pet names that most couples used, she was far more like to tease him with one of her "Mister… Man" tags, so he was always surprised but very, very happy, when she let her feelings show through.

"Have I told you yet this morning, that I love you?" he smiled into her eyes.

Loren felt her cheeks glowing, but she managed a smile and a "No, why?"

"Because I don't want to get into the habit of not telling you enough, and you getting the feeling that I'm taking you for granted."

"Oh, Harm, I happen to know you love me, and yes, it is nice to hear it now and again… but do you know what? I think it's one of those phrases that people over use, so a lot of the time it loses its impact. And I think I've told you before, that as long as you remember to tell me every once in a while, then I don't need to hear it repeated on the hour, every hour."

Harm took the mug from Loren's hand, ignoring her "What…" and put it down on the kitchen counter next to his. He then turned back to her, scooped her in to his embrace with one long arm and with his other hand, tilted her chin upwards, before he claimed her lips with his, only releasing her when he felt her begin to sag against him."

"Oh… wow…" Loren gasped, "That is so not fair!"

"No?" Harm smiled as he handed her half-full mug back to her, "All's fair in love and war, or so they say. Come on, drink up, we need to get going."

"You are so going to pay for that! Harmon Rabb," Loren tried to scowl at him, but the emotion clear in his eyes completely disarmed her, "It just wasn't fair…" she almost whimpered, "Apart from the fact that we're both zipped into our leathers, it's the wrong…"

Harm laid a gentle finger on her lips, "I know, I know, but if what's going through your mind is anything like what's going through mine, then…" he grinned wickedly, "hold that thought!"

"Oh, I will, I will," Loren said fervently.

"Good… now, if you've finished your coffee, let's hit the road!"

**Sunday, May 20th, 0811hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Municipal Airport, Charlottesville, VA (201311ZMay01)**

"So… why didn't you want to stop at that diner for coffee and a bagel?" Harm asked as he pulled his helmet off.

Loren fumbled with the buckle on her own helmet for a moment and then she too tugged it clear of her head, shaking her hair free as she did so. Her ritual completed, she turned to the patiently waiting Harm, "Because I didn't want to have to sit in the local jail all day while you arranged bail for me!"

"Huh?" Harm said, completely mystified.

"Because that's what would have happened if I'd gone in there and had to watch that stupid girl making calves' eyes at you for half an hour, I'd have wiped the floor with her!"

Harm's forehead wrinkled in a frown but then he caught the mischief in Loren's eye and instead he threw his head and let out a bark of laughter, "Wow! Jealous, much!"

"And you have a problem with that?" Loren twinkled.

"Nope… come to think of it, it's one of the things I love about you, unless you let it lead you into wiping the floor with every teenage girl you meet!"

"Well, I wouldn't have to, if you didn't lead them on so outrageously!" Loren claimed, determined to have the last word. She succeeded in her aim, Harm was rendered temporarily speechless by her words, so that Loren was able to give him a saccharine sweet smile before she turned on her heel and sashayed – that was the only word for it Harm decided – towards the hangar.

Shaking his head and with a resigned mile on his lips he followed her towards Pop's soon to be Alison Johnson's office, and taking the opportunity to appreciate the extra sway she gave her hips, just for his benefit.

Although Harm had been concerned about Pop selling the business, he had to nod with approval as he walked into the hangar. Everything was neatly squared away, even the usually untidy huddle of trestles that lurked in the near right hand corner had been lined up in rank and file. "The new broom is certainly sweeping clean – more ways than one!" he remarked to Loren as he handed over her sea bag containing her flying gear.

"M'mm… I was thinking the same thing… It will probably be more efficiently run and probably tidier than when Pop was running the place, but y'know, it won't seem the same without all the clutter."

"Won't be the same as in better, or won't be the same as in worse?" Harm grinned.

Loren just shook her head and laughed, "Nope, not biting. It won't be the same as in it'll be different!"

Harm chuckled and veered off towards the men's washroom while Loren headed to the 'Ladie's Room', both with the idea of changing from their motorcycling leathers into their flying gear.

Five minutes later, their leather draped over one arm while the other hand held boots and helmet, they met just outside the office door, "You were right," Loren conceded gracefully,

"Of course I was!" Harm replied and then added ingenuously, "What was I right about this time?"

Loren gave him a darkling look as he grabbed the door handle. "This time you were right about not really noticing the leathers… well, I didn't until I took them off!"

"Ah... that right!" Harm said with satisfaction as he stepped back to allow Loren into the office before him.

Pretending to ignore Harm's condescension Loren greeted the inhabitants of the office, "Good morning, Pop, Alison… and Mattie!"

Pop acknowledged Loren's greeting with a grunt and vague wave of his hand as he concentrated on the sheet of paper he was squinting at through a pair of reading glasses, the lenses of which were in desperate need of cleaning while Alison's "Good morning to you, both," was nearly drowned out by her daughter's "You've come! Cool!"

"'Morning," Harm beamed, "You got the message that we were coming down this morning?"

A further grunt was all the answer Harm received from Pop, but after a withering look at the oldster, to which he was completely oblivious, Alison turned back to Harm with a smile, "Yes, we got the message okay. She's all gassed up, and I can get a couple of the boys to wheel her out for you.

"That's okay, Alison. We can do that, it won't be the first time that Loren and I have dragged her out onto the apron."

"Uh… no, you can't… I'm afraid it's not okay, Harm. You're not covered by insurance, and if you were to injure ourselves, or damage your plane, or anyone else's for that matter, then we couldn't stand the lawsuit, so any aircraft to be wheeled in or out will have to be moved by my employees."

"Oh, wow, the winds of change are blowing, I guess," Harm shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs, "Well, it's your bat, your ball and your back yard, so I guess we'll have to play by your rules!" Then he had a second thought.

"Unless we gave you a written undertaking that whatever happened, we wouldn't sue?"

"And pay for any and all damage you might cause to the building or any of its contents? No, I'm sorry Harm. And that wouldn't work anyway… You're an attorney, you ought to know that a piece of paper like that would be as effective as the Munich Agreement!"

"Ah… we're trial lawyers, not civil lawyers," Loren pointed out just a shade defensively.

Alison smiled, but she was inflexible, "I just can't take the risk. One six figure award against us, and we'd pretty much go under. Sorry, I know you don't mind helping, but those are the grim facts."

Harm gave an impatient snort which brought a disapproving look from both Loren and Alison, "You do realise that in the time we've spent arguing about this, we could have pushed-back the plane already?"

"I'm sorry, Harm but that's just the way it's got to be. I'll have her out for you in less than three…" Alison started to get up from her chair.

"Nope, y'all can leave it ter me. I can't make head nor tail of this damned legal gobbledegook, nohow!" Pop grumbled as he hauled himself upright, "C'mon, 'Mander, let's get y'all ready for the wild blue yonder!"

Harm and Loren followed Pop out into the hangar, the old man grumbling to himself the whole time.

"Lots of changes, huh, Pop?" Harm asked sympathetically.

"Huh? Oh, Yeah. Damn' straight!" the oldster replied. "Mind you, I ain't a-sayin' that all her notions are bad ones, it's jest that I kinda wish she'd let me get clean aways afore she started in to makin' them! She's not bad kid, 'Mander but she's all business, an' I guess if that paper I was tryin' to cypher out is any hint, then I reckon she's got to be! But…"

"Yeah. Change is difficult sometimes, but like I said it's her home ground advantage, so we have to play by her rules. But…" Harm frowned. "That's going to make life awkward – and expensive – if I want to do some maintenance on my own bird!" he commented as they stepped through the hangar doors out onto the apron and Pop peeled off to shout for a couple of hands to move the Stearman,

"Why's that?" Loren asked with an equally deep frown on her face.

"Well, if we can't handle the Stearman in the hangar, because we're not insured. Then it's a pretty fair guess that we won't be able to do any work on her. And even if we get her outside, what's the betting that she'd let us have use of any of the company's tools? So it looks like extra costs for mechanics' time or extra costs to buy a full set of tools and all the rest of the gear we need. Either way it's going to hit me in the pocket!"

"Us, Harm. It's going to hit us!"

Harm reached out a long arm and snaked around Loren's waist, pulling her in close, "There's no need for you to suffer, sweetheart, she's not your plane!"

Loren grinned up at Harm, "She will be!"

How do you figure that?" Harm asked.

"Have you forgotten that teeny tiny phrase in the wedding vows, 'and with all my goods I thee endow'?" Loren smirked.

"Damn! Maybe we ought to give some thought to writing our own vows!" Harm joked.

"Nah, too much hassle. Why try and re-invent the wheel? Besides there's the 'for richer or for poorer' bit as well. So if you're going to be poorer, then I'll just have to shoulder my share of the burden," Loren finished on a triumphant note.

Harm squinted down at her, "You know, it's just as well you're moving to the Pentagon. You're getting too damned good at ad hoc arguments. I'm not sure I'd want to face you in court anymore!"

"Flattery will get you almost anything!" Loren chuckled and then nodded towards the hangar, "Here she comes!"

Two of Pop's boys carefully manoeuvred the Stearman between Sue MacKenzie's Chipmunk and one of the Johnson's AgCats, letting it roll along the apron towards Harm and Loren. "There ya go, Commander, she's all ready for you!" Frank, one of Pop's long serving ground crew called out.

Harm and Loren spent the next ten minutes giving the veteran biplane its customary pre-flight until as they came back to the port wing-tip, their starting point, Harm asked, "Happy?"

Loren nodded, "Yeah, she's good to go!"

Harm smiled and reaching put caught Loren by one hand, pulling her into his arms even as she turned her face up to his for his kiss. "Ready now?" he smiled when they broke apart.

"Oh, yeah…" Loren breathed, a sunny smile breaking out across her face.

"Okay, then, up you go!"

Loren stepped up onto the reinforced panel at the inboard end of the lower plane and then stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"Yeah? Is there something else?" Harm asked, pausing as he crammed his flying helmet on his head.

"Just making sure you still think my butt is worth drooling over!"

"Loren, that's never going to change!"

Loren grinned, "That's nice to know."

"G'wan, get strapped in, we're wasting daylight," Ham admonished her but his grin almost matched hers.

Ten minutes later with the engine thoroughly warmed up and purring like a kitten, Loren called in to the tower for clearance and was given the okay to taxi to runway two one and nudging the throttle open so that the purr became a low growl she took her feet of the brakes and the yellow biplane rolled off the apron and north onto the taxi way, passing a US Airways Embraer Legacy 600, waiting on a feeder ramp for its turn to taxi to the end of the runway.

Loren applied the brakes and called in that she was at two one' threshold and asked for clearance to take off and proceed to the WMA. Clearance given she pushed the throttle to the firewall and the Stearman rumbled down the runway at ever increasing speed until at just under seventy knots its wings bit the air and it lifted clear of the ground.

Climbing to eight thousand feet on a westerly heading Loren soon had the plane over the Shenandoah Valley and well on its way to GW National Forest.

"Okay, now that you've got me here, what are you going to do with me?" Harm joked through the intercom.

"Oh… just a series of basic manoeuvres… starting with some moderate banks and turns, and then moving on up through loops and Immelmann's then some falling leafs and spin and stall recoveries?" Loren suggested.

Harm nodded, "Go to it!" he confirmed and settled back to enjoy the ride, but ready at an instant's notice to take over the controls should Loren get into difficulties. Harm's intervention wasn't needed however as Loren relaxed into the sensation of the flight, it seemed to her that she only had to think of a manoeuvre and the plane was already beginning the evolution and at one point Harm was sure she threw her head back and laughed out loud from sheer pleasure as she successfully and with the minimum loss of height, pulled out of the first spin of the day.

The aerobatics consumed much more fuel than would straight and level flight and Harm kept an eagle eye on the fuel gauge, knowing too well how easy it would be for Loren to miss that fuel consumption was up, but just as he was considering giving her a heads up, the intercom crackled in his ear, "Harm, I'm going to head back to the field. I've used a lot of gas and I really don't want you to rip me a new one for coming in on bingo fuel!"

"You're the PIC," Harm told her, "Go for it!"

Loren had to orbit the field a she waited for a DC-9, one of the many commercial lights that used Charlottesville landed ahead of her. The big jet airliner needing much more space and time on its approach than the Stearman, that in comparison looked almost like a child's toy, eventually thumped down on to the runway, where Loren from her position above and aft of the airliner could see the puffs of burnt rubber spewing up behind the wheels as the tyres bit. Still she was required to orbit the field one more time until at last the tower called her and gave her clearance to land.

The Stearman's approach was dead accurate, Loren having to apply just a fraction of port rudder against the slight side wind to keep the biplane straight and in line with the centre of the runway, but crossing the airport boundary at just the right height for the wheels to kiss the runway no more than sixty feet beyond the threshold. Loren gently throttled back and as the wings lost lift the tail slowly dropped until the tailwheel in its turn made gentle contact with the asphalt.

Keeping the throttle on reduced power, Loren turned off the runway and headed south towards the GA section of the airport, gently weaving from side to side so she could see ahead without her view being blocked by the forward fuselage and engine. Rolling finally onto the apron she blipped the engine to clear the cylinders before switching off and for a moment or two she and Harm stayed in their seats listening to the engine pinging in the comparative quiet as it started to cool down.

Harm unbuckled his seat harness and pulled himself to his feet and then stepped over the rim of the aft cockpit, lowering himself lightly to the ground and then turning to face forward as Loren stepped off the trailing edge of the wing and straight into his arms.

"That was fantastic!" Loren breathed, her arms still around Harm's neck.

"Yeah, I'm general reckoned to be pretty good," Harm preened himself.

Loren giggled, "I was talking about the flight – and you know it!" she accused him, "But, yeah, the kiss was pretty damn good too!"

Whatever Harm might have said in reply was lost when a youthful voice from the end of the port wing broke in on them. "You two finished making out yet? 'Cause I don't want to end up being scarred for life by public displays!"

Loren sighed and just for a moment a flash of irritation appeared in her eyes but then with a slight lift of her eyebrow to Harm she turned and smiled at the intruder, "Hi Mattie, yeah, we've just about finished…"

'Well we have now!' Harm thought.

"Uh-huh," the youngster nodded, "Can I speak with you?"

"That depends, Squirt," Harm replied with a grin.

"Well, it's about what Mom said earlier…" the youngster replied as she fell into step with Harm and Loren. Harm exchanged a quick look with Loren before turning his attention back to Mattie, "Well, what your Mom said to me and Loren, well, that's really grown up business, Mattie," he said gently.

"Yeah, I know… but I could see you didn't like it. And… and… it wouldn't make you take your 'plane somewhere else would it? Mom tries to hide it, but she needs every cent we can make, that's why she's so worried about having to go to court…"

"And how would you know this?" Harm asked, torn between irritation at the girl poking her nose into adult affairs and amusement at her precociously grave manner.

"I… I… uh… hear things. Mom and Dad aren't always quiet when they argue, and sometimes when I've gone to bed… well, when they shout at each other, it wakes me up…" Mattie stumbled to a stop but then took a deep breath and raising earnest eyes to harm's she added falteringly, "I… I could maybe talk with Mom, y'know, get her to relax the rules a bit. I mean, you are a Navy pilot, and you know what you're doing around 'planes…"

"No, no thank you, Mattie. If I need to then I'll speak to your Mom. In the meantime, we'll do just what she says, and see how it works out okay?"

Mattie didn't look very happy at Harm's words, but she sighed, nodded and answered, "'Kay…" and fell silent, continuing to walk alongside the couple until they reached the hangar when she peeled off and disappeared into its darker recesses.

"Probably going off to hide in one of the planes," Loren observed as their eyes followed her. "She does that when she needs time and space to think…"

"M'mm," Harm agreed, "and when she tries to avoid her dad. Hold on a second, Loren. Frank, can you refuel the Stearman for this afternoon please? We'll be needing it in about an hour!"!

"On it, Commander," Frank, the newest and youngest of Pop's ex-Air Force boys replied cheerfully, allowing Harm to return his attention to Loren. "That family, the Johnsons, Loren, is a family in trouble!"

"You think so?" Loren asked.

Harm gave her a cynical look, "Yeah, I do think so. I think the strain of running the business isn't helping the marriage, and I think that Tom Johnson has got a drinking problem. And that's not going to help either!"

"No," Loren agreed thoughtfully, "Not in so many different ways. There's the stress of watching him destroy himself and the family, and if he's spending on booze, that's going to add to any financial problems… and Mattie more or less just admitted the business is struggling."

"Dunno about that. After all they just bought Pop out. Maybe that's depleted their cash reserves so although they aren't broke, they do have a temporary cash-flow problem." Harm demurred.

Loren said nothing but her frown indicated she was taking in what Harm said and thinking it over. "Okay, if we go by your reading of the situation, it's a temporary thing. But what concerns me more is Johnson's drinking. Do you think he's an abusive spouse or father when he drinks? I mean physically abusive…?" Loren's voice tailed off miserably.

Harm slipped his arm around her waist. "Wait up a second, my 'reading' of the situation as you put it is only a possibility. They really might be in financial trouble. And as for Johnson being abusive? No, I don't think so. I know where you're coming from Loren, but I really don't believe he is. I mean can you imagine Alison Johnson putting up with domestic abuse for even one second, whether it was directed at her or Mattie?"

"I'd hope not, but I think I'd like to keep an eye on things for a while… so maybe, if you were thinking of moving to another hangar or field, you could put it on hold for a few months?"

Harm pursed his lips, "Well, that's something I'll have to think about. I can put up with petty restrictions while I'm on duty," he was interrupted by a disbelieving snort from Loren but continued as if he hadn't heard her, "but flying Sarah is a hobby, and I don't know that I'd be happy not being able to work on her, and that's leaving aside any extra costs."

Loren replied, "Okay… I can see where that might irk, but be honest, how much work have you done on her since you started to teach me to fly? Even Pop remarked on that if you remember?"

"Yes, he did, and no, I haven't done that much work on her this year, but some of that is due to the amount of work I did on her last year and over the winter, and of course to the maintenance that Pop and his boys have done on her. But hush up about that now," he finished as they reached the office door.

"Hi Alison," Loren smiled as they entered the office, "we've come for our lunch… that is if Pop's still providing it?"

"Help yourself," Alison Johnson smiled, looking pointedly at the filing cabinets on top which sat a large brown paper bag, "And I've just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. I hope it's not too strong, I followed Mattie's instructions!"

"Should be fine, then," Harm agreed, setting two of the mugs upright – sparkling clean mugs too – and preparing to pour, while Loren snagged the bag of sandwiches and pulled a couple of chairs to the side table, carefully clearing a space for the coffee mugs.

Harm carefully carried the mugs over to the desk and sat down, reaching for, and taking a bite out of one of Pop's famous tuna and mayo sandwiches. Carefully chewing before he swallowed, he took another sip of coffee before he spoke.

"Haven't seen Tom around today," he said with elaborate casualness, "Is he okay? Not sick or anything?"

"No, he's not sick, he's fine. In fact he's better than fine," Alison answered in a neutral voice. "We got a charter and he's taken the Cessna down to Lexington, Kentucky with a party who want to buy a racehorse. He should be back this evening, unless they decide to party on down there, in which case he won't be back until tomorrow."

Harm nodded, knowing that Alison meant the Cessna 425 twin turbo prop. An older but still viable model, particularly if it had been subject to careful maintenance and maybe even a professional overhaul, and Harm had a feeling that as the most expensive airplane at Grace Aviation, it was very well looked after indeed.

Harm and Loren ate in silence while Alison concentrated in the paperwork in front of her until after a few minutes she dropped her pen with an impatient snort, and rose to her feet, arching her back in a stretch. "I don't suppose you saw Mattie on your way in?" she asked.

Loren snatched a quick look at Harm and saw from his expression that he had no intention of answering that question, so with a momentary scowl at him she turned towards Alison, "I think she's in the hangar…" she began.

"Probably sitting in one the 'planes," Alison grumped. "She knows she shouldn't, but she's been around the things since she was knee high to a cricket. Would you believe by the time she was seven, she was helping Tom to switch out engine plugs!"

Harm looked up at that and a grin crossed his face, "Yeah, I would believe that, I really would!"

"Oh, why?" Loren asked.

"Just strikes me as that kind of kid," Harm shrugged as Alison left the office to go in search of her daughter.

"You like her, don't you?" Loren asked.

"Alison or Mattie?" Harm asked innocently.

Loren favoured him with a ramped up version of her angry kitten glare, "Mattie! And you'd better not like Alison too much!"

"Not when I've got you." Harm agreed with a smile, "and as for Mattie, what's not to like?"

"Well for a start, she's mouthy, nosey, pushy…" Loren began.

"Well according to what we read in the papers and see on the TV news, most kids are like that today. But yeah, I do like Mattie, what you've just called as mouthy and pushy I see as standing up for herself and initiative. So yes, I see a lot to like in her, and," he added shrewdly "I reckon you do too!"

"I never said I didn't like her," Loren grinned, "after all, in some ways she reminds me of me! I just wouldn't want to see her take the same road I did!"

Harm considered the proposition for a few seconds and then shook his head decisively, "Nope, I can't see that happening. Alison's got a whole lot of common sense, and I reckon that Mattie will have inherited a good portion of that, so she should be able to avoid the trap you fell into." Harm suddenly realised what he had just implied and fell into a horrified silence while he tried to dig his foot out of his mouth. But it was too late.

Loren glared at him, "Are you trying to tell me that I lack common sense?" she asked in a dangerous voice.

"No! No, not all! I guess I was trying to say that although you have common sense, a lot of it, you got target fixated on your career and ambitions, and just didn't pay attention to your inner voice for a while." Harm knew it was a pathetically weak defence, but given the circumstances and the urgent need to slap a band aid on the hurt he had just caused, he hoped that his words would get him off the hook.

It seemed however that Loren was in no mood to let him slide, "You guess? You mean you don't know what you mean?"

"Um… yeah… I know what I mean… saying 'I guess' was just a formula… Loren, you know that I don't think you've not got any common sense. Okay, sometimes you're a bit hard-headed and it takes some persuasion for you to do what's right… like when we got you your leathers…" Harm broke off in confusion as Loren suddenly burst into laughter.

"Oh, Harm, Harm, didn't anyone ever tell you that when you're already in a deep, deep hole you should stop digging?"

Harm looked at Loren, her eyes now brimming with tears of laughter, his confusion written large on his face, "Uh… you aren't mad at me?" he ventured.

"Oh, I am… no… I was mad at you, but when you tried to talk your way out of that hole every word you said just made it deeper, and it was so funny watching you flounder. Y'know, if I wouldn't have stopped you, we'd have had our very own China Syndrome right here in the office!"

"I was making that big a mess of it, huh?" Harm grinned weakly.

"Oh Harm, you have no idea!" Loren chuckled and rummaged in her pockets for her travel pack of Kleenex, "So to make up for it, how about you fix me another coffee?"

"On it!" Harm agreed readily, more than happy to have gotten off so lightly, although he still wasn't totally sure just what he had done wrong.

Harm was still pouring when the office door opened again to allow Alison, Mattie and Pop to enter. Alison cocked an eyebrow at Loren who still had a huge grin on her face and was still dabbing the tears from her eyes.

"Somebody been telling jokes?" he asked. "I could do with cheering up, you wouldn't believe how dirty this one can get in just a few minutes!" she nodded at Mattie, who with a scowl on what looked to be a freshly scrubbed face dropped gracelessly onto one of the hard chairs and used her foot to hook her book bag out from underneath it. Opening the bag she retrieved a closed Tupperware box and held it out wordlessly to her mother.

"Thank you, Matilda," Alison said coolly, which only deepened the scowl on Mattie's face.

Harm took a quick look at Mattie and decided that he would answer Alison's question, something he had been inclined not to do. "No, no joke telling, well, not intentionally anyway. Just me making a bigger klutz of myself than normal and affording no little amusement to my beloved!"

"Do tell," Pop grunted from where he had propped a hip against a table and was engaged in devouring what looked like a nine inch sub sandwich.

"Well, it all started quite innocently, when I remarked that Mattie had a lot of common sense…" Harm began to tell the story of his recent discomfiture, even exaggerating the faux pas he had made, and to such good effect that by the time he'd finished, Pop was grinning, Alison was quietly chuckling to herself and even Mattie was giggling, having been seduced by the story into forgetting that she was supposed to be sulking after a telling-off and a forcible wash of her hands and face by her mother.

With the tension in the atmosphere dissipated, Harm eased back in his chair, pleased with the outcome of his diversionary tactics and unseen by all but Loren, dropped her an exaggerated wink. Loren was quick to seize on the opportunity, and gathering up the mugs she said, "I'll go give these a quick wash, if you want to do the pre-flight – seeing as you're flying this afternoon – and I'll join you on the apron!"

"Yes, ma'am," Harm grinned, and chuckled as Loren, masked from the others' view by his bulk poked her tongue out at him before she whirled away through the door.

Pop swallowed a mouthful of his sandwich and took a slurping sip of his coffee, "I've said it afore, 'Mander, an' I'll say it agin: You've got yer hands full with that one!"

"Oh Pop, you don't really expect me to agree with you in front of witnesses – and potential informers – do you?" Harm protested with a sly glance at Mattie.

"Nope, I guess, not!" the old timer grinned.

"In which case, I'll be seeing you later. Alison, Mattie," he nodded to each in turn and touched his fore and middle fingers to an imaginary cover before he turned and sauntered out of the door and across the hangar, leaving at least one of the Johnson women spluttering with indignation.

Harm was only half-way through his pre-flight walk round, when Loren came out through the hangar doors, her flying helmet dangling from her hand and a smile on her face. She marched straight up to Harm and grabbed both his forearms, rising on tiptoes to pant a firm kiss on his lips.

Harm gave her a guarded look, "Okay… now, I'm not complaining, but what was that for?"

"That's for being a clever boy and defusing what looked like developing into a family argument back there. Yep," Loren planted her fists on her hips and laughed up at him, "In this case, I reckon an impartial judge's verdict would have to be 'the boy done good!'"

"Yeah, I thought so too!" Harm smirked.

"H'mph, well don't let your halo slip!" Loren retorted with a further laugh.

Harm chuckled and slipped an arm around Loren's waist tugging her along with him while he finished the pre-flight. Satisfied that all was in order – he would have been mightily surprised if it wouldn't have been – Harm used his arm to pull Loren in close for another kiss.

"Time to give me another opportunity to drool," he smiled as he let he go, "Onwards and upwards, sweetheart!"

"I thought that was an Air Force saying?" Loren teased him as she paused, one foot on the inboard end of the lower wing.

Harm's forehead creased in a frown, "Damn it! It is!" he acknowledged and joined Loren in a further laugh.

Fifteen minutes later, after the usual engine warm-up and taxi to the end of the runway Harm applied the brakes and thumbed the radio switch.

"Charlottesville Rower this is Stearman November Six. Holding at threshold Runway two one and requesting clearance for take-off and departure for Mifflin County Airport on VFR."

"This is Charlottesville Tower, you are cleared for take-off and departure for Mifflin Field on VFR, clear skies!"

"Stearman November Six, thank you, departing now!" Harm pushed the throttle forward and released the brakes. The Stearman rolled down the runway to lift gracefully into the air, banking even while it was climbing until Harm had her on a heading just East of North at five and a half thousand feet.


	76. Chapter 76

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 76**

**Sunday, May 20th, 1515hrs EDT, In the Air, Somewhere Over Pennsylvania (201915ZMay01)**

Loren had smiled to herself as she heard Harm's voice in her headset announcing their destination. Mifflin Airport was only a fifteen minute or so drive from Belleville, and that meant they would be paying a visit to Harm's wonderful grandmother.

Never before her meeting with Grams had Loren ever received such grandmotherly or even motherly affection in her life, and she had glowed with the prospect of seeing Sarah Rabb again. Of course, the anticipation of a cup of home brewed steaming hot coffee helped as well. It may have been about eighty degrees down on the ground, but up here it was certainly cool enough, even with a fur lined flying jacket and helmet, to make the idea of a hot drink highly appealing, so she had settled back in her seat to watch the landscape unfold in front of and beneath her and enjoy the just over two hours the flight would take.

Now, although flight clearance had been for Mifflin Airport, Loren was hardly surprised when Harm pulled the vintage plane into an almost vertical bank and flew a tight left-handed circle above Grams' farmhouse. Peering over the edge of the cockpit as the plane circled, Loren was sure she could make out a diminutive figure on the porch steps just before Harm straightened up and waggled his wings and reduced the angle of the bank to make a wide circle around the house. Sure enough, in a matter of a few moments a plume of white smoke belched from the farmhouse chimney showing Harm from which direction the wind was blowing and giving him some idea of its speed.

Harm for his part was satisfied that a landing could be made safely and turning in a wide shallow descent he lined up with the forty acre pasture to the rear of the farmhouse and began his let down. Within a couple of minutes the veteran biplane's wheels contacted the short cropped grass of the pasture and the Stearman rumbled to stop before Harm turned the plane and headed downwind before turning once again at the end of the pasture ready for take-off.

Switching off the engine, once he was satisfied that the Stearman was properly positioned, Harm climbed out of the rear cockpit and dropped lightly to the ground, turning to face forward Just as Loren jumped off the lower plane and almost straight into his arms, her face already turned up to his for her post-flight kiss. For a few long moments they stayed enfolded in each other's arms, reaffirming their bond, until the need to breathe broke them apart.

Loren laughed for sheer pleasure and unbuckled the strap of her helmet shaking her hair free as she did so and then following Harm's example unzipped and shrugged out of her now unnecessary – and overly warm – flying jacket.

Their flight jackets and helmets placed in the aft compartment stowage they walked hand in hand across the field to the gate, where the tall, spare figure of Sarah Rabb, leaning on her stick, waited for them. As they neared the fence line Harm dropped Loren's hand and unlatching the gate stepped through and took his grandmother in a warm hug, kissing her gently on the cheek, "Hi, Grams," he smiled.

Sarah Rabb stepped back, mischief warring with pleasure in her eyes, "That's no way to greet your grandmother!" she scolded, and reaching out drew Harm into a much fiercer hug than he would dare to attempt on her, and kissed him soundly on both cheeks before letting him go and with a smile of welcome turned to Loren.

"Loren, how wonderful to see you again!" she exclaimed, holding out both her hands to the blonde. But no sooner had Loren accepted the silent invitation of those hands than she realised she had been tricked, Sarah drew he into a hug that wasn't quite as fierce as the one to which she had subjected Harm, and gain kissed Loren soundly on the cheek.

"It is so, so, good to see you again! That scamp…" she nodded towards Harm, "…doesn't bring you to see me often enough! Mind…" she subjected Loren to a penetrating and slightly reproachful look, "…now that you know where I am, there's nothing to stop you coming to visit with me on your own, you know. You do have a car, I take it?"

"Uh… yes, ma'a… uh… Grams… but we've been really, really busy these past few weeks…"

"Nonsense, child!" Grams refuted Loren's explanation before she had a chance to unroll it.

Harm came to Loren and his defence, "It's true, Grams, we really have been busy. If we can get indoors and maybe a cup of coffee…?" he suggested.

"Of course!" Sarah replied instantly. "Come on! My old bones won't take all this standing about for too long. Here, give me your arm child, and while we walk you can tell me just how that great lump of a grandson of mine has been treating you!"

Loren threw back her head and laughed, "Oh, Grams! He's been treating me more than just very well…"

**Sunday, May 20th, 1540hrs EDT, Sarah Rabb's Farm, Belleville, PA (201940ZMay01)**

Grams put her old-fashioned blue enamelled coffee pot onto one the front burners of her old sold-fuel range, which although made the kitchen almost uncomfortably warm, she refused to swap out for anything newer. To accommodate the extra heat the kitchen door and windows were left almost permanently open except for the fly screens that kept most flying bugs out of the house, and the similarly open front door allowed whatever breeze there was to flow through the house. "Just the way it was intended!" Grams claimed every time the subject of heating control and ventilation came up, "This is how our fathers lived; the trouble with you youngsters is that you're all spoiled. What with your central heating in winter and air conditioning in summer!"

But for the moment Harm had no intention of raising the old argument, instead he leaned back in his chair, "Grams, how about you coming to sit down, and while the coffee's brewing, Loren and I will try to bring you up to date." He paused significantly. "And there are some logistics to be worked out!"

"Well… let's leave them until later," Sarah replied, "But bring me up to date on what's happening… but before you do that, how long can you stay?"

Harm blinked, he knew of course that Grams wasn't urging him to leave, but just as all service families did, she wanted to know how long he could spare her.

"Well, we're both back on duty at zero eight hundred tomorrow, so we can't stay over – besides we haven't got any overnight stuff with us, and it'll be sunset at Charlottesville at about twenty twenty hours, so I'd like to be wheels up by about eighteen hundred so we don't have to worry about a night landing." He cocked an eye at Loren waiting for her response.

"Sounds about right to me," she agreed.

"Very well," said Grams, hauling herself back to her feet and opening the pantry door where she rummaged on the shelves for a minute before returning to the table, "Here…" she pushed an old enamel bowl of potatoes towards Loren, "You can peel those while we're talking… there's an old paring knife in the table draw right where you're sat – be careful with it, it's sharp! And you…" she turned to Harm, "can shred some salad leaves. I figure a Spanish Omelette with a salad will do you for an early dinner, it won't take more than about twenty minutes to cook, so we'll eat at about five, and that should hold you until you get home in time for supper!"

Harm and Loren exchanged rueful grins, "Yes, ma'am!" they chorused obediently.

"H'mph!" Sarah Rabb snorted as she sat down and started to break what seemed to be a dozen eggs into an old brown-glazed pottery bowl. "Now, what's all this news you have for me?"

"Well… firstly as an explanation, not an excuse for not visiting, Loren and I are in the process of buying a house at Gainesville… It's little bit further out from Falls Church than is ideal, but off-setting that is it's just about on the junction of the I-29 and US 66, giving easy access to the DC area and south to Charlottesville..."

"Yes, yes, yes," Grams almost snapped, but what about the house itself?"

"Well… it's a traditional white clapboard house with a double garage – oh and a basketball hoop," Harm grinned.

"Never mind about your pesky basketball!" Grams retorted, the amusement in her eyes showing that she knew that Harm was deliberately dragging out his description.

"The house…" Loren shot a quelling glance at Harm, "is on three storeys, plus a basement, it has five bedrooms, two baths and two half-baths and a lumber room. Then in the basement is a family room plus an office cum study and library…"

Grams frowned slightly, "It sounds like it's quite a big property dear. Are you sure you aren't reaching for something that's outside your grasp?"

"No, we don't think so, Grams. We're hoping to make it a family home in the truest sense… eventually," Harm replied with a broad grin aimed at a now furiously blushing Loren.

"And besides," that flustered young woman hurriedly continued, "With Harm's family all out of town, it will be good to have somewhere where they can stay if they come and visit with us!"

"H'mm…" Grams nodded in what Harm hoped was approval. Not that he needed his grandmother's permission, but it was always good to know that she was on-side with his plans, which to be fair to the old lady she usually was.

"Which brings us to the logistics part of the reason for our visit," Loren interjected, realising that Harm was, for some strange reason, pussy-footing around the subject. "As you know, the wedding is on June Thirtieth, and like we said when we gave you your invitation, what we would like is for you to come down to Gainesville on Friday June Twenty-Ninth, and stay with me overnight…."

"We will be moved in by then, Grams," Harm added, "But I shall be spending that night somewhere else. Carolyn Imes, one of the other attorneys, will be staying over with Loren too, as her maid of honour, so I'm hoping that I can stay at her place with her boyfriend, or if not there, then maybe with the Roberts…"

Grams saw Loren's flicker of distaste on her face as Harm mentioned the Roberts, but decided to leave the subject alone for the time being, there was obviously a bone of contention there that maybe Harm and Loren weren't yet ready to discuss. However… "And how do you propose I get my old bones down to Gainesville?" she challenged them as she stood to pour the now-brewed coffee.

"Well… I haven't had a reply from Jack Keeter, so I suppose the invitation hasn't caught up with yet – wherever he is, but I still don't quite see you wanting to drive that distance in your jeep," Harm replied with a smile. He may have been a decorated Navy Aviator, but he darn well knew better than to suggest that his grandmother couldn't make the drive – which he was absolutely certain she couldn't.

"So… I figured I'd drive up Friday morning in the Lexus and deliver you to Loren's tender mercies before I go off to wherever it is I'm a going!"

"And you don't know where that is?" Grams asked somewhat acidly. "Here you are, trying to arrange my life for me, and you haven't got yourself sorted out yet!"

Harm took a sip from his steaming coffee and swallowed it before he answered, "Well… here's the thing, Mom and Frank are coming in from California, obviously, and because of the lack of reply from Keeter, Frank is going to be my Best Man. Normally we'd stay overnight in an hotel together, but I'm sure Frank would rather stay with Mom at our place in Gainesville."

"H'mm… I wouldn't be too sure of that, Harmon Rabb!" his grandmother commented. "Think about it, there will be Loren, Trish, this Carolyn woman, and me – if I decide to take you up on your offer. Somehow I can see Frank feeling pretty well out-numbered. And anyway, if that is the case, if I do agree to allowing you to drive me from here to the DC area, how am I going to get back to Belleville? I assume that you two will be departing on some sort of honeymoon!"

"We will indeed, Grams!" Harm said a broad smile appearing on his face.

"H'mph! Don't know why you youngsters bother with a honeymoon, with all this living together you do! Does she," she nodded at Loren, "know where the honeymoon is?"

"No Grams I don't! And it's really getting under my skin!" Loren broke in hotly. How can I know what to pack if he won't tell me where we're going?"

"Patience, Grasshopper. All shall be revealed in good time… and Mom has already taken care of the packing for you!"

"Ooh!" Loren ground pout in frustration, "You mean your Mom, and probably Frank, know where we're headed, and I don't!"

"Exactly!" Harm smirked.

"Don't get upset child… the keeping the bride in ignorance of the honeymoon destination is as much a tradition as the groom not seeing the bride from the day before the wedding until she meets him in church! Speaking of which, I'm surprised Harmon Rabb, that you didn't go for the Academy chapel!"

"Neither of us wanted quite that much fuss, Grams," Loren came to Harm's defence.

Grams drained the last of her coffee, put the cup down on the table and leant back in her chair with a smile, "Seems to me that maybe Harm got something right for once! You two make a pretty formidable team!"

"Thanks, Grams – I think! So… have we convinced you that the best plan is for me to drive up here on the Friday, collect you, take you down to the new house and get Frank to bring you back up on the Sunday… or in fact, you could stay at Gainesville until we get back from the… uh… wherever it is we're going!"

"And who would look after this place for all that time? No, thank you for the offer, but I wouldn't have a hen left on the place. What, with raccoons stealing their eggs and a fox or two that are always on the prowl. Why… the nights I've sat up in that old rocker on the porch with my old ten gauge across my knee, waiting for some varmint to come a-calling."

"Grams! I thought we'd agreed that you wouldn't do that anymore!" Harm protested.

"You said it, Harm; I just ignored it!" the old lady grinned unrepentantly.

Harm shook his head in resignation, "Grams, what are we going to do with you!"

"I don't know about that – but I do know what I'm going to do with you. I'm going to feed you, that is if the pair of you have stopped messing about and actually got those chores finished!"

"All done, Grams, see?" Harm offered her the bowl of shredded salad leaves and sliced tomatoes for inspection.

"H'mm… it'll have to do, I suppose, Grams sniffed, "Now… what about you child?" she asked Loren.

"All done and dusted," Loren agreed cheerfully.

"Good! At least there'll be someone in your family who knows how to act in the kitchen!"

"Oh! That's not fair Grams, Harm is a damn… uh… a darned good hand in the kitchen!"

"Why, bless you child," Grams' face split into a grin, "Of course he is! I taught him to cook!"

**Sunday, May 20th, 2015hrs EDT, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (210015ZMay01)**

Harm taxied the Stearman on to the hangar apron and switched off the engine, and unusually didn't immediately climb out of the cockpit, but undoing his seat harness leaned forward and tapped Loren on the shoulder.

Loren who had been about to climb out of the front cockpit twisted around, a questioning look on her face. Harm said nothing but just grinned and pointed to the setting sun, whose bottom edge was just on the verge of dipping below the horizon, turning the sky into bands of brilliant red and orange light.

Loren took Harm's meaning and sat back down again and the two of them watched the brilliant sunset together in silence, broken only by the soft metallic pinging of the engine as it cooled down.

As the top edge of the sun disappeared Harm gave a sigh of pleasure, albeit tinged for some unknown reason with a touch of melancholy, after a last few seconds gazing westwards he gave a regretful shake of his head and hauled himself out of his seat, once again dropping to the ground and turning to catch Loren as she stepped off the lower plane, folding her in his arms and kissing her thoroughly.

"That was quite something, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Nope… not really… it wasn't bad, but you have achieved better kisses in the past," Loren smirked.

"Clown!" Harm chided her, "I was referring to the sunset!"

"I know," Loren chuckled, "But I couldn't resist the tease… oh… and by the way, that kiss was quite something too!"

"Uh… Is it safe to approach?" Alison Johnson's amused voice reached them from just in front of the Stearman's nose.

"Yeah, come ahead, it was no more than PG, anyway!" Harm quipped.

"Unfortunately," Loren whispered.

Alison walked around the propeller and into view, "We just need get this lady under cover and then we can lock up for the night – you're the last one home," she explained.

"Tom make it back okay?" Harm asked craning his neck to try to see into the hangar's dark interior.

"Yep. He landed about twenty minutes ago and deplaned a very happy bunch of brand new race horse owners!"

"Okay… if you can give us… say… ten minutes so we can changed into out leathers, we'll be out of your way."

Alison nodded, "Will you be coming down again next weekend?"

"That's the plan," Harm agreed, "That is if God's willing and the creek don't rise!"

Alison smiled at the old country saying and said, "Okay… I 'll make sure she's ready to go when you get here."

"Thanks, Alison," Harm smiled and then with a nod to the new owner of the hangar, he looped an arm around Loren's waist and the pair of them headed in to the make-shift changing room.

Harm as the first ready and stood, his flying jacket, jeans and helmet stuffed into one the Indian's panniers while he waited for Loren, who when she appeared had a look of discontent in her face.

"Something wrong?" Harm asked as he packed her flight gear into the other pannier.

"Damned new broom," Loren complained. "It's not enough that she's cleaned up the women's room… which I admit has improved the place no end, but she's also taken down Pop's old sign, and put up a new one that's spelled properly!"

Harm nodded and slipped his arm around Loren's waist as they headed for the hangar side door – the main doors were in the process of being wound shut by two of Pop's mechanics.

"I know Alison's keen to make a success out of running the place – and I sincerely wish her well – but she also seems just a little too eager to make her mark. I'm pretty sure that although it was his decision to sell up – and who can blame him at his age – Pop feels like he's being pushed out before he's quite ready to jump."

"So…" Loren paused by the side of the Indian, her helmet poised ready to be put on her head, "Are you thinking of moving Sarah?"

Harm shook his head, "Not for a while. I know, I know," he held a hand up to prevent Loren interrupting him, "Alison's changing everything, or so it seems, but in fairness, our dissatisfaction may be nothing more than resistance to change. So I'm willing to give it a while and see if things improve. If not, then I'll look into moving Sarah over the winter and get all the arrangements made for next spring. Besides, if we moved her now, it would play hell with getting Mike to come anywhere else to finish your lessons!"

"I s'pose" Loren agreed unhappily, but then with a lightning-swift change of mood she grinned impishly, "Well… do you think you persuaded Grams to follow your suggestions?"

Harm laughed as he zipped up his jacket, "Loren, sometimes Grams makes a mule look like the most tractable of beasts, but, yes, this time I think she'll go along with me. After all the not so subtle pressure on me to settle down – from Trish and from Grams – there is no way on God's good earth that she won't want to be at the wedding. And if that means she has to put up with going along with my ideas then she will. Although probably not without some silent cussing and damning though," Harm finished thoughtfully.

Loren chuckled as she pulled her helmet on and stood waiting for Harm to mount the Indian before she climbed onto the pillion seat.

**Monday, May 21st, 0849hrs EDT, Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (2112490ZMay01)**

'Just this once, I'll surprise everybody by being first in for Staff Call," Harm grinned to himself as he walked along the hall towards the conference. He paused for a moment outside the door and satisfied that he could hear no buzz of conversation from within, his grin grew broader into one of triumph. 'So little it takes to amuse me these days!' he said ruefully to himself and turning the handle opened the door.

To stop dead in his tracks. Far from being the first in the room, at the far end of the long table four strange officers looked up as he entered the room and immediately scrambled to their feet with an out-of-sync mumble of "Good morning, sir!"

Harm blinked, "Good morning people, as you were." And waited until they had all re-taken their seats while he put his briefcase and cover down on the table in front of his customary chair.

Straightening up he took another look at the strangers, two male and two female officers, who were, in turn, regarding him with slightly nervous curiosity. A quick but thorough glance at their rank slides confirmed that all were Lieutenants and all wore the JAG Corps Mill Rindes above their rings. "Good morning, ladies, gentlemen. I'm Commander Rabb, and you are?" He fixed the nearest officer with a look and asked, "And you are?"

"Lieutenant David Hunter, sir!" the Lieutenant replied crisply.

"And you are here because?" Harm asked, although he already had a shrewd suspicion.

"Reporting for duty on PCS to JAG HQ, Sir!"

Harm nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "And the rest of you, also on PCS?"

A second somewhat ragged chorus of "Yes, sir!" was sufficient response, but Harm realised that one of these officers would undoubtedly be assigned to his team, and regarded the quartet with renewed interest. "And your names?" he asked the remaining three officers. He noticed immediately that the remaining male officer made a gesture for the two women to speak up first. 'That either shows a lack of confidence, or good manners in waiting for the women to precede him,' Harm thought and turned his eye on the nearer of the two female officers.

"Lieutenant Louise Arnold, sir."

"Lieutenant Angela Wilson, sir."

"Lieutenant Stuart Woodford, sir."

Harm smiled in a friendly fashion, "Well, I don't know if anyone else has said it, but welcome aboard!"

Barely had he finished speaking when the door to his right opened to admit Meg Austin and Bud Roberts, interrupting the murmurs of "Thank you, sir," from the far end of the table. But Bud and Meg were merely the front runners as the room filled up with, just for once, the full complement of JAGs. Just for once, no-one was TAD on an investigation anywhere. Naturally the newcomers were the subject of a barrage of stares and a few repetitions of "Good morning", but before anyone had much time to interrogate them, the door opened again and Tiner barked out, "Admiral on deck!"

The usual clatter of chair legs on the hardwood floor signalled the simultaneous rising of eighteen officers from their seats. Chegwidden nodded and took his own seat, saying as he did so, "Be seated, please!"

He paused and sent a long, slow, searching look around the table, "Well… we seem to have a hundred per cent turn-out today, that must signify that there are no outstanding investigations… which in turn means that we have an exceptionally well-behaved Navy and Marine Corps!"

"Or it's just the lull before the storm, sir?" Sturgis Turner remarked, taking advantage, Harm thought, of his new position as Chief of Staff.

Chegwidden fixed him with a steely eyed glare, "Commander Turner, that was either a joke in very bad taste, or you were playing Devil's Advocate, neither of which scenarios amuse me. I make the jokes on here – Admiral's Privilege! And you are one of my attorneys, not Old Nick's! Understood?"

"Sir, yessir!" Tuner rapped out in his best plebe voice.

'He still hasn't worked out the limits of what his new job permits!' Harm thought as he desperately fought to conceal a grin at the other officer's discomfiture.

Chegwidden favoured Turner with another stern look, before he his face relaxed into less forbidding lines, "Moving on now to happier, if more serious matters. First off, BUPERS finally bestirred themselves and met my requests for further manning to fill gapped positions! Well, most of 'em! I'm still looking for an XO! But in the meantime I'm happy to introduce you all to our four new members of staff. I'm sure that in the not too distant future, you'll all introduce yourselves and make them all feel welcome." He looked down the length of the table at the newcomers, "Please raise a hand, or otherwise acknowledge your names, so that everyone may know who you are… Now…Lieutenant Wilson?"

"Sir!" The brunette held up her hand as Chegwidden called her name.

"Assigned to Commander Mattoni's team! Commander?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Lieutenant Woodford?"

"Sir!" Again a raised hand identified the officer in question.

"You are assigned to Commander Austin's team!"

Meg raised a hand to attract Woodford's attention, and the two exchanged nods of recognition.

The Admiral vented a grunt that might have signified satisfaction before he spoke again, "Lieutenant Hunter."

"Yes, sir" Stuart Hunter raised his head and half stood, the blood rising to his freckled face.

Harm's ears caught the unmistakable New England twang in the voice, and from his sharp look so did Major Lee. But the Admiral continued blithely, "You will be part of Commander Imes' team!"

Again the nasal twang was clearly audible as Hunter replied and Carolyn offered him a welcoming smile.

"And last but not least, "Lieutenant Arnold… I am consigning you to the tender mercies of Commander Rabb."

"Yes, sir!" The young Lieutenant replied as she looked from Sturgis Turner to Harm, seeking a clue as to whom she would working.

Harm half raised his hand and gave a brief incline of his head and limited his smile of welcome to the attractive red-head to the slightest lift of the corners of his mouth, to which she responded with a shy smile of her own.

The introductions and team assignments, scant as they were, were quickly completed and Harm leant back against his chair expecting the Admiral to start handing out cases, but instead Chegwidden leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table and he tapped the pile of folders in front of him.

"I'll get to these in a minute or so, but first, a change in policy." He paused to look around the table, pleased to see the spark of interest in the assorted faces that were all turned towards him.

"Now that we have a full, complete set of four by four strong teams of attorneys, a daily staff call for all hands will waste too many man-hours, so with immediate effect although there will continue to be a full staff call in here each and every Monday morning, or the first morning of the working week after a Federal holiday, the rest of the time there will be a team leader and Chief of staff meeting in my office at zero nine hundred hours every other morning." He looked around the table once more and allowed a swift grin to pass over his face. "No questions? Good! Now… down to brass tacks…" he opened the first folder in front of him. "Commander Imes… this one is for your team, and as a word of advice, considering that it seems to involve computer fraud, I suggest you let Lieutenant Roberts have a look at the case."

"Indeed sir!" Carolyn agreed.

And so the Admiral continued to hand out cases until each team leader had two files in front of them then he smirked, "And just so that the independent lawyers don't feel left out… Commander Turner, you and Lieutenant Singer will defend Corporal Morris on the desertion charge that I've just handed to Commander Mattoni. Any questions?"

The two named officers shot each other glance, a glance made of roughly equal amounts of consternation and mutual antipathy.

Loren was the first to recover her wits, but the look she and Turner had given each had not gone unnoticed and her hasty "No, sir!" wasn't totally convincing.

But neither was Turner's "Of course not, sir."

"H'mph!" The Admiral snorted again, "Very well, that just about wraps up this morning's business… Oh… not quite, Commander Imes and Lieutenant Singer, I would like to see you both in my office in five minutes. That is all – dismissed!"

**Monday, May 21st, 0953hrs EDT, Galley, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (2113530ZMay01)**

"That didn't take long!" Harm remarked in surprise as Loren and Carolyn walked into the Galley, here Harm was waiting for the coffee machine to gurgle through its brewing cycle.

"M'mm…" Loren looked around to check if there were any other ears within hearing distance and satisfied that there weren't any said quietly, "It was a bit strange… The Admiral said that Doctor Walden had told him about bumping to Carolyn and me on Saturday, and he said that he thought she had been 'a little more forthcoming' about their revised status than he thought necessary and… well… he couldn't exactly order us to keep quiet about what we had been told, but he did make a very emphatic request!"

Harm choked back a laugh and nearly misdirected the stream of coffee from the carafe, "I'll just bet he did! But, seeing as how it seems that he's been much more approachable since they started dating, let's do him and ourselves a favour, and not mention it to anyone else!"

"Not mention what to anyone else, Harm?" Sturgis Turner asked as he entered the galley just in time to hear Harm's last sentence.

"Well, Sturgis, I tell you what," Harm answered coolly, "If I was to tell you, then I'd be contradicting myself, now, wouldn't I? Was there anything else you wanted, other perhaps than a cup of coffee?"

"Well, yes, I'll take a coffee if there's one left in the jug," Sturgis replied, apparently impervious to Harm's snub, "But I actually came looking for Lieutenant Singer so we can schedule a case meeting for this deserting Marine!"

Loren looked at her watch, "Well, sir, I'm due to leave for Quantico with Commander Morrison at thirteen hundred, anytime between now and then is okay by me…"

Sturgis nodded, "Very well, make it eleven hundred hours in my office."

"Aye, aye, sir," Loren replied formally.

Sturgis nodded again and took a sip of his coffee, "Good Coffee, Harm, thanks," and with a slight nod to Carolyn and Loren he left the trio alone again, with Carolyn staring pensively at the door. "Sometimes, I think the Admiral made an error of judgement making Sturgis his Chief of Staff, it seems to me that he's got even stiffer and more hidebound than ever before!"

"Hey! Easy on the criticism, Carolyn," Harm cautioned, "At least here at the office!"

"Well, it's true, Commander Turner seems have a main yard arm jammed hard up his butt!" Carolyn defended herself.

"That may be so, and I suppose we've all felt that from time to time, but for the Lord's sake don't question the wisdom of his appointment. Even indirectly criticising the Admiral could be construed as contemptuous words and if Sturgis was to hear you, he's that hidebound by the regs, that he might just decide to file charges. And as for you, Loren, I don't like the idea of you working with him, he doesn't like you – and he's still pissed at me over the flight deck mishap, so he might try to get to me through you – so be very careful about what you say, or even your attitude while you're working with him!"

Carolyn took the last sip of coffee from her mug and turned a puzzled face to Harm, "I thought he was your friend?"

"He was!" Harm agreed, "And he might be again at some stage in the future, but not unless he radically adjusts his attitude, and gets over himself! Now… Carolyn and I each have a new team member to greet and brief!"

**Monday, May 21st, 1713hrs EDT, Parking Lot, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (2121130ZMay01)**

Harm had seen the look on Loren's face when she emerged from Sturgis Turner's office at the end of their case conference. It seemed to have gone on for a surprisingly long time, leaving Loren barely enough time to buy a can of soda from the vending machine before, with a face like thunder, she reported to Faith Morrison that she was ready to leave for Quantico. She and Faith had only just returned, but all the time she could spare for Harm was a hurried, "Wait for me in the car, please!" as the two female officers marched determinedly towards the Admiral's office.

Harm wasn't beginning to fret yet, but he'd been sitting in Lexus for the past five or so minutes and he couldn't resist taking a glance at his watch. A glance he repeated about ten minutes later, and fortunately for him his eyes had returned to front and centre when the passenger door opened and Loren climbed into her seat, where she laid her head back against the head rest, toed off her shoes and sighed dramatically as she fumbled her seat belt into place.

Hearing the click, Harm leaned forward and turned the key in the ignition, but before he released the parking brake and knocked the gear selector into drive, he turned towards Loren and asked, "Rough day?"

Loren grudgingly opened her eyes and turned a wan smile on Harm, "I really don't want to talk about it until we get home and I can open a bottle of wine! So could you just get us home, please?"

"We're on our way!" Harm confirmed, steering the silver SUV towards the parking lot exit.

"M'mm… So… how was your day?" Loren murmured lazily.

"Pretty quiet, checked over young Barlow's opening statement for his unlawful misappropriation case. He did well on the statement, and I think he's got the potential for turning into a pretty good young attorney. I think the next major case that Faith Morrison has I'll have him sit second chair…"

"M'mm… Not sit second chair with you? Or are you going to be concentrating your efforts on the latest member of your fan club?" Loren's voice was just as lazy, but Harm was pretty sure he'd detected a sharp edge to the slow delivery.

"What? Or rather who? Do you mean that new Lieutenant? Louise Arnold?"

"If that's the name of the simpering red-head who arrived this morning, then, yes, that's exactly who I mean!"

"Well, we sat down for half an hour after lunch and I went through her SRB and her trial summaries. This is her second tour as a Lieutenant; she spent her JG tour with the TSO in Jacksonville, and her first tour as a Lieutenant on board the Carl Vinson. College at Georgia State and Law School at John Marshall, Georgia."

"Uh-huh… Married, single or engaged?"

Harm blinked in surprise and chanced a quick glance at Loren to see if she was smiling. She wasn't.

"I didn't ask, and I don't think I saw from her SRB that she was married, and I don't think I saw a ring on her finger… so my guess is that she's single…"

Loren gave a resigned sigh, "What is it with you and red-heads!" she asked with a tired smile.

"What do you mean?" Harm asked as a frown appeared in his forehead.

"Well… Mattie's got a huge crush on you… don't tell me you haven't noticed! And her mom isn't far behind her, now there's this…. this… Louise did you say?"

"Mattie? Really? And Alison?" Harm asked in honest surprise.

"M'mm… don't tell me you haven't noticed!" Loren exclaimed and then turned her head to take her first proper look at Harm since she got into the car. "Oh my word! You hadn't noticed, had you?!" Loren exclaimed.

"So… that makes it okay, then?" Harm asked in hope.

"Well… no… not really…Look Harm, I know that you don't purposefully encourage them, but you just being you is enough to create fa… uh feelings in most women's hearts… well, if they're under forty and straight that is! But however unconsciously you do it, you do kind of encourage them…"

"Oh… crap… is that why that young LN Two keeps giggling and blushing every time I have to speak to her?"

"Probably!" Loren grinned."

Harm was silent for a moment or two as he negotiated the traffic to filter into the right hand land for the turn off the Custiss Memorial Parkway to take the Key Memorial to Georgetown. Once settled in the slower moving traffic he sent a mischief filled glance out of the corner of his, "So… what about these fa… uh… feelings that red-blooded women under forty have? You sounded as if you knew exactly what you were talking about!"

Loren blushed crimson, and once mentality berated the genes that made her blushing so noticeable. "Trust you to pick up on that!" she fumed.

"No, do tell, because |I didn't have any idea… So you had them too?" Harm asked in voice that was just too innocent to Loren's ears.

"Yes, dammit!" Loren exploded, half-laughing, "Yes! All right, Yes, I used to have fantasies about you and me… well… before we actually made love for the first time, that is. Now, I'm much happier with the real thing."

"And these fantasies consisted of what, exactly?" Harm asked.

"Oh no, Muster Curiosity Man, there is no way that I am going to sit here in broad daylight, and drag out the innermost secrets of my soul!"

"So… it would be all right if it was dark?" Harm queried in that same guileless tone.

"No, it damn well wouldn't! So just shut and drive, will you!" Loren choked out in a long-suffering but reluctantly amused voice.

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Harm grinned, well content with the effect of the last few minutes on Loren's mood.

**Monday, May 21st, 1927hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (2123270ZMay01)**

Harm had started dinner while Loren showered and changed and then they had swapped their roles, so that by the time he had re-appeared their simple meal of linguini with shrimps in a creamy garlic sauce and salad was just about ready to be served, and true to the promise she had made herself on the drive home, Loren had opened a bottle of her favourite Italian Pinot Grigio white wine and poured a glass each for herself and Ham.

Harm noticed that Loren was unusually quiet throughout the meal, and barely registered his occasional comments to show that she had recognised that he was speaking, although he had grave misdoubts as to whether or not she'd actually heard what he had to say. Mentally kicking himself for thinking that he had cajoled her back into a sunnier frame of mind, in the light of that failure he decided to let her brood for a while before tackling her again.

However, it was Loren who took the initiative. Looking up from her fruit salad, she said lovingly, "Bastard!"

"Huh? What…?" Harm began.

"Nope, playing the innocent card ain't gonna help you this time Mister Shyster Man!"

Harm spread his hands in perplexity, "Loren… right at this moment, I honestly don't have a clue…"

"You deliberately played me earlier. In the car! I was all set to have a richly deserved hissy-fit when you spoiled it all by playing me back into a good mood and made me start laughing! Gonna get you on the school yard for that!"

"Yeah?" a much relived Harm jeered, "And if you try, I'll dunk your pig-tails in the inkwell!"

"I don't have pig-tails!" Loren shot back.

"No… but we don't have a school-yard either, so that it makes this whole conversation totally ludicrous!" Harm ended triumphantly.

"True," Loren acknowledged with a shrug, "So… shall we get on with the washing up?" she grinned.

"Hah! I know that grin!" Ham declared, "And if you have any sort of nefarious little plan that includes hot soapy water as ammunition…" he left the end of the sentence hanging.

"Oh, dammit! Busted?"

"Yep!" Harm grinned.

Once up to his elbows in the aforesaid hot soapy water Harm glanced at Loren, "So what did put you in a foul mood this afternoon? It was more than just an 'I'm so happy this day has finished' sort of mood wasn't it?"

Loren finished drying the plate she was holding and placed it on the rack above the draining board, "Yep, firstly it was Mister Sanctimonious, Hypocritical, Smug Man himself…"

"Sturgis?" Harm asked.

"That's the one! I'm pretty sure that everyone at JAG knows that he and I rarely see eye to eye on anything! Our philosophies of life run counter to each other's on practically every subject under the sun!"

"Except one," Harm remarked, "And that might just be the reason for his change of attitude…"

"Oh, and what's the one thing you think that the he and I have got in common?" Loren asked, her interest piqued.

"Ambition. I reckon that's why you and he are constantly banging heads. You're a threat to him. You still want to become the first female JAG, right?"

"Yeah, I do… but it's not likely is it? Apart from female Commanders ahead of me, there are at least four Captains, plus there's Admiral Longstreet and Admiral Tucker, so realistically…" Loren shrugged, "Yeah, it might still happen, but it don't look likely. But what I don't understand is why you think that should be any sort of threat to Mister High and Mighty Turner?"

"Sturgis has his heart set on becoming the first black JAG…"

"M'mm but what's that got do with me? How can our two different ambitions… Oh…"

"Yeah. When you become the first female JAG there's going to be a lot of bru-ha-ha over it, and you will probably become nationally famous for a while until the novelty of the situation wears off. The same goes for Sturgis. The first black JAG would receive just as much publicity. But he seems to think that if there is a female JAG before he gets to be the first black JAG then his 'achievement' will be somehow be side-lined…"

"Yeah… that makes sense… sort of," Loren agreed, but then shook her head. "Look, I know he is your friend, and I know he is a good attorney, otherwise he wouldn't be at Jag, but his personnel management skills on both the professional and personal levels are way down the scale. No, if he becomes JAG at any stage, I'd give it six months before the situation implodes. I mean, come on, didn't you tell me that he'd fallen out with Meg Austin, and she's one of the easiest going people I've ever met!"

"Even if she was my first partner here at JAG?" Harm teased Loren who merely shot him a disgusted look in return and took a hand full of flatware from him return before she continued.

"And anyway, even with those faults, he need to stand back and weigh up the odds just the way I did!"

"Inasmuch as?" Harm asked.

"Well… Captains Ayres and Lincoln are both black, so they're ahead of him and then of course there's our very own Admiral Morris. No, I reckon he's got as much chance of becoming the first black JAG as I do of becoming the first female one!"

"So… it could still happen?"

"What? Commander Turner becoming JAG? Well, yes, I suppose it could, but the day he does is the day I resign!"

"You mean that?" Harm asked in surprise.

"Yeah… I think I do… Just think about it, with Sturgis at the helm, what sort of JAG Corps would we have? And you've done it again, damn you!" Loren complained. "You side-tracked me!"

"Not on purpose, the conversation just seemed to take charge of itself and wander off into the forest of murky ambition!" Harm defended himself. "So apart from his generally aggravating personality, just what did Sturgis do to tick you off today?"

"Hah! Just thinking about it is likely to make me mad all over again! Firstly this so-called case conference! I reported to his office as directed and we started to go through the case… well… I did, anyway… but Sturgis had already made his mind up about what strategy he was going to follow, the sort of questions he intended to ask witnesses, and had even drafted his opening statement!"

"Wow, considering he only got the file at staff call this morning, that was quick work!" Harm said pulling the corners of his mouth down in disapproval.

"Yeah… but the worst was, every time I put forward an alternative he shut me down, wouldn't even listen to any reasons I might have for disagreeing with him, and then at the very end he more less told me that I was to serve as a law clerk. His words were 'I'm first chair in this case and what I say goes. When I want your input then I will ask for it, until then just do what I tell you to do, keep your mouth shut and toe the line! If you have a problem with that Lieutenant, then I suggest you take it to the Admiral! Are there any questions?' Well of course I just buttoned up after that, said 'yes, sir', and got out of Dodge just as soon as he said I was dismissed. But the thing that irks me is that I while can see his strategy might work, it's too full of holes, and what should be a seventy-thirty case could go right down to a fifty-fifty split. He's risking the case because he won't listen! He's got one idea in his head and it seems that there is no room for dissent or alternatives!"

"Target fixation!" Harm commented, "He's got so fixated on the goal that he can't see the forest for the trees! Otherwise known as loss of situational awareness. Do you want me have a word with him?"

Loren chewed he bottom lip for a few moments and then reluctantly shook her head, "No… he's so set on this strategy that there won't be any shifting him, and I doubt he'd be happy with another attorney offering unsolicited advice, and I don't want your friendship to unravel even further than it already has. Besides, I don't want him thinking that I can't handle the 'situation' without your help!"

"H'mm… okay… but it obviously really annoyed you if you kept brooding about it all afternoon…"

"Oh! No, that was just the tip of the iceberg. Faith Morrison and I drove down to Quantico to talk with the on-site NCIS team who was handling the major part of the investigation…"

"Hah! Let me guess!" Harm interjected, "The wonderfully helpful and charming Leroy Jethro Gibbs!"

Loren couldn't restrain a chuckle as she dried her hands and then hung the towel up in the rail, "No it wasn't Gibbs! But…" again she nibbled on her bottom lip, "But it might as well have been a Gibbs clone. The agent in charge obviously went to the same NCIS charm school!"

Harm shook his dolefully, "I preferred it when it was just NIS… What was this prize specimen's name?"

"Special Agent Lara Macy," Loren sarcastically emphasised the 'special' in Macy's title.

"And what was her problem?" Harm asked as he poured two more glasses of wine and nodded towards the couch.

"God knows! Maybe she was just having a 'look at me, this me hating the entire world day!' Her three team members didn't seem any too happy with her. But whatever her problem is she made it clear to Faith and myself that we were attorneys, so stay out of her investigation, and leave it to her team of highly trained and skilled investigators until she can hand the perps over to whatever the appropriate authority may be, and if that turns out to be the Navy, then she'll graciously allow us to prosecute them. And this time around, I don't think it was just me, or even a personality clash between me and Macy; Faith didn't say a word the whole way back to Falls Church, and from where I was sitting she was fuming as much as me!"

Harm nodded, "I don't know what the hell is wrong with NCIS, but the surprising thing is, despite having what seems to be the most dysfunctional crew that have ever been assembled, they do occasionally get things right! Did I ever tell you about 'Very Special Agent DiNozzo' – his self-description, believe it or not; that's how he introduced himself to Meg and Tracy while he was drooling all over them!"

"Oh God, he didn't! Tell me he didn't!" Loren laughed, "I can't imagine either Tracy or Meg responding well to that!"

"No, they didn't, if the looks they turned on him were anything to go by, they would only have to have been ratched up a bit for him to end up as a crispy critter. As it was he crashed and burned!"

"Oh well… that was then, this is now," Loren said making a determined effort to change the subject once and for all, "Come on you, rinse those glasses out while I start assembling another couple of boxes…"

Harm put out a hand and gently grasped Loren by the wrist, "Hey, let's take a night off. We're ahead of schedule. All our winter gear is packed, the spare bedding is packed, your books are packed, the pictures are packed, and the bookshelf is all taped… come on, we owe ourselves a break. About the only thing left to pack is the rest of our clothes and the kitchen. And that won't take more than an evening or maybe two."

"So?" Loren queried.

"So… why don't you go and take a long hot bath while I clear up in here and make everything secure, and then we can make an early night of it…"

"H'mm… I like the way you think, sometimes!" Loren smiled, and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips.

"Attagirl! You just hold that thought until later!" Harm grinned.

Later as they lay spooned in bed, hot, sweaty and pleasantly tired, Harm slid a hand under Loren's upper arm and gently cupped her breast.

"Loren?"

"H'mm?" she answered sleepily.

"These fa… uh… feelings you mentioned earlier, in the car, feel like sharing?"

It took Loren's almost asleep brain a few seconds to realise what Harm said and then with a silent chuckle, she craned he head back over shoulder to try and look at him, "Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to sleep!"


	77. Chapter 77

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 77**

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 0905hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221305ZMay01)**

Harm looked up as Meg Austin's voice reached his ears from his open office doorway, "Hi, got a moment or two to spare?"

"Sure, come on in, take a pew and tell me what's bothering you," Harm invited with a smile as his old partner took advantage of his invitation, but when she looked at him there were two vertical creases between her eyebrows and she said "How do you know something's bothering me?"

Harm shook his head, "I don't know really, it's just that we got to know each so well back in the day that I can still read your moods. So, what's up?"

"That's where you got me. I feel unsettled… staff call was one of those immutable things, no matter what else changed in JAG, staff call was still staff call, and now it's gone, and although I've cursed it as a waste of time so many different times, now I feel like I've been cut adrift."

Harm thought for a second or two before he nodded, "Yeah, it hasn't affected me like that, but I can see how it might feel that way to someone else. But the Admiral was right; with eighteen or nineteen people at staff call every day, that's eighteen or nineteen man-hours, and I wouldn't betting that was he had in mind all along when he formed us into teams. To save man-hours I mean. Can you imagine a civil law firm losing maybe a hundred billable hours per week?"

Meg shook her head, "No… when you put it like that, it makes sense. But, I still feel at a loss."

Harm grinned, "Maybe so, but I'll bet if you were to tackle your in-tray, you wouldn't be feeling so adrift!"

Meg chuckled, "Damn you! But you're right. And I'll bet that's also what the Admiral had in mind. Thanks, Harm!" Meg stood up and with one of her devastating smiles left Harm, shaking his head in amused disbelief, to return his attention to the stack of files in his own in-tray.

Two files later he was frowning and reaching out he picked up his phone and tapped in Faith Morrison's number.

"_Commander Morrison_."

"Faith, it's Harm. Round up the kids will you please, and then all three of you come to my office."

"_Something wrong_?"

"Not wrong, not really. I'll explain when you get here."

Five minutes later a tap on his door frame alerted him to the arrival of his team. "Come on in, take a seat and close the door please."

Harm waited until Faith and Louise had taken seats and Peter had propped his hip against the credenza under the window before he spoke, "What we have here," he tapped the file in front of him, "is a case where a Marine Major serving aboard the Peleliu, a Wasp Class LHD, has been charged with negligent homicide after the death of one of his officers during amphibious assault training. The convening authority is the skipper of the Peleliu and he has preferred the charges and also stipulated that this Major be tried by a Special Court Martial to be held aboard ship."

"Isn't that unusual, sir?" Peter Barlow asked. "I mean in two ways, first officers aren't usually tried by Special Courts Martial, they're usually reserved for seamen and Marines, and to be held aboard ship?"

"I agree it's unusual, as does the Major concerned. He has countered with a charge of selective prosecution against the skipper. Apparently there is a history of bad blood between them. Commander Morrison, this one is yours. Pack a sea-bag and report to the motor pool for transport at zero eight hundred tomorrow, Peter, you are to accompany the Commander as her assistant and second chair. I want both the case and the allegations against the skipper thoroughly investigated. You will be travelling with members of Commander Mattoni's team – I don't who he has detailed for the case – and also by Commander Helfman and her Legalman. She will preside over the trial. I don't know how long this case will take, a minimum of ten days, I suspect, but that's why they pay us the big bucks. Lieutenant," Harm turned to Louise Arnold, "This means that you and I will necessarily have to cover any and all other cases that crop up during the absence of Commander Morrison and Lieutenant Barlow, so be prepared to work back on occasion, although I will try to limit that as much as possible. Are there any questions?"

"Just one, sir," Faith Morrison said, "Which way are we headed, East or West?"

"West. The Peleliu is deployed in the far Pacific, engaging in war games with the Indonesian Navy. So you'll need peanut butters, and I recommend that you take dress whites. You may not need them, but you'll be in a hell of mess if you do and you don't have them! Any more questions? No? Good. Try to get your desks clear before secure. Anything left over bring to me. Dismissed."

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 0911hrs EDT, Commander Sturgis Turner's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221311May01)**

"Lieutenant Singer reporting as ordered, sir!" Loren said stiffly as she came to a brace in front of Sturgis' desk.

"Lieutenant," Turner acknowledged her presence without looking up from the legal pad on which he was writing, and neither did he order Loren to relax into the 'parade rest' position. After thirty seconds or so he finally paused in his writing and looked up. "I need you to go to the law library and look up any cases in any of the services where the defence mounted has been that the accused's conduct was in response to discrimination, whether it be racial, sexual, homophobic, ageist or religious. Is that understood?"

Loren could feel her temper nearing breaking point, "It is understood sir. But may I speak freely?"

"No, Lieutenant, you may not. What you may do is expeditiously carry out the orders I've just given you!"

Loren stood still, fighting her temper. To lose it now with Turner would be, in career terms, almost suicidal. Glaring down at the smug smile on his face Loren was suddenly struck by what seemed to be an anticipatory gleam in his dark eyes and the suspicion dawned that he was deliberately goading her, trying to provoke her into an outburst. That realisation gave her pause and with a convulsive swallow she replied "Aye, aye, sir!"

"Very well, you are dismissed!"

Without further word Loren turned on her heel, left his office and crossed the bull pen, heading for the refuge of the women's heads, where she hoped she would find five minutes' solitude to rein in her raging temper. She was a bar-qualified attorney, a good one! How dare the man treat her as if she was just his law-clerk? The orders he had just given were for her to complete a task that would normally be handled by a Legalman! Given that he had switched designator from being a submariner, Loren wondered if perhaps she had more experience as an attorney than he had, and that was the root cause of his attitude towards her.

Having made sure that she was alone in the heads Loren let loose a flow of vituperative obscenity all aimed at the unwitting head of Sturgis Turner. Profanity wouldn't affect him or the orders he had just given, but it did act as a safety valve and as Loren leaned on braced arms against the cool surround of the washbasin in the women's heads she could feel her temper slowly, oh so slowly, ebbing until after a good ten minutes she felt composed enough to stand upright and check her appearance in the mirror over the washbasin. She was still a little pale but the worst visible effects of her loss of temper had receded so that she felt able to walk down to Law Library without her complexion giving her mood away to all and sundry. He wanted precedents? Very well, then precedents he should have!

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 1023hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221423May01)**

"Commanders Austin and Rabb reporting as ordered, sir!" Meg snapped out as she and Harm halted in front of the Admiral's desk.

"Stand easy, at ease!" Chegwidden replied, and when the two officers had adopted the parade rest position he too relaxed slightly, "Take a seat," he invited them and Meg and Harm sank into the pair of wing chairs in front of the desk.

Chegwidden looked first at Rabb, "Who from your team is tackling the negligent homicide case on the Peleliu?"

"Commander Morrison, with Lieutenant Barlow as second chair, sir."

"And your thinking behind that, Commander?" Chegwidden asked.

Harm shot a cautionary glance at Meg and then looked back at the Admiral before answering, "I don't want to appear critical of a senior officer, sir. But reading between the lines it seems that the skipper of the Peleliu has a problem with the accused. His specifying a Special Court Martial to be held on board is unusual to say the least and has the appearance of vindictiveness. By sending Commander Morrison I'm hoping to avert, or at least reduce the risk of, confrontation between the skipper and Jag, sir."

"H'mm… Do I take it that you would provoke a confrontation?" Chegwidden demanded severely.

"No, sir. Not deliberately, but Commander Morrison is less argumentative than I and she is more diplomatic when it comes to dealing with senior officers."

"As that sentence goes a long way to illustrate. But then, you intended it should, didn't you?"

"No, sir!" Harm denied emphatically, "That was not my intention!"

"H'mm, very well. Now, Lieutenant Barlow?"

"Sir, back in the day when Commander Austin was my partner I, and I mean no offence Meg, I learned that men and women have very different ways of viewing the same situation, that their thought processes often complement each other. So I have made it a policy that investigative and trial teams should be mixed wherever possible. If I had thought that the case would be better served by going out to the Peleliu myself, my choice for second chair would have been Lieutenant Arnold."

"I see. Well, I may not agree with your logic but I see how you reached your decision. Now for something completely different," the Admiral gave a thin-lipped wintry smile and slid two files across the desk towards Harm and Meg. "This one is a lot closer to home. Last night a naval officer was involved in a moving vehicle accident. Rabb, you will defend, and I expect you to give this case your undivided attention. "

Harm leaned forward and picked up both files, neither were marked for prosecution or defence so he passed one at random to Meg. Both attorneys opened their files and read the single sheet inside. Both files contained nothing but the charge sheet, the particulars of the accused and the police report submitted by the civilian officer attending the scene.

For a second Harm felt like checking the date but April 1 was long gone, "Captain Sebring, sir?" he queried.

"If that's the name of the accused on the charge sheet, then yes, it is Captain Sebring."

"Vehicular homicide?" Meg queried.

"Vehicular homicide, just as it says. There were no witnesses apart from the other driver and Captain Sebring. The mother maintains that Captain Sebring clipped her car from behind and pushed it off the road and down an embankment. According to the Virginia State Police report, based entirely on the mother's statement, Captain Sebring suffered an attack of road rage on his way home and ran the other car off the road. The car was occupied by a single mother and her infant, just six months old. The mother survived; the baby did not."

"Sir," Meg interrupted, "Please don't ask me to prosecute…"

"Commander, I'm not asking, I'm ordering you to prosecute Captain Sebring."

"Yes, sir," Meg replied reluctantly.

Chegwidden gave her a sharp look, "Captain Sebring is a fine officer and a personal friend."

"No statement from Captain Sebring, sir?" Harm asked.

Chegwidden shook his head, "He knows better. Apart from giving his personal details to the police and proving that he had a driver's licence and insurance he said nothing. I know I don't have to tell you that the conduct of this case has to be beyond reproach. It is well known that Captain Sebring is one of our own, and as such everything must be totally transparent if it needs to be held up to public scrutiny so that we may easily refute any hint of favouritism or prejudice. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Meg and Harm chorused.

"Just one more thing, Commander Rabb. I have temporarily relieved Captain Sebring of duty, so you will need to arrange a time and a place to interview him at his convenience, bearing in mind that the sooner this… unsavoury mess is resolved, the better for all parties concerned."

"Yes, sir!" Harm replied once again.

"Any questions? Either of you?"

"No, sir!" Harm replied.

"Not from me, sir!" Meg's answer followed a split second later.

Chegwidden regarded them both for five long seconds before he nodded, "Very, well. Dismissed!"

Meg and Harm came to their feet and in chorus answered "aye, aye, sir!" before performing matching about faces and heading for the door, Meg unconsciously falling behind a pace to allow Harm to open the door for her.

Once outside the admiral's office and past Tiner's desk Harm glanced at Meg, "Galley, coffee," he suggested.

Meg nodded, "Agreed."

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 1037hrs EDT, Galley, JAG Ops, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221427May01)**

"Still feeling cut adrift, Meg?" Harm asked as he filled the coffee machine reservoir with water while Meg spooned coffee into the filter.

Meg chuckled and looked up from her task, a rueful smile on her lips, but her eyes sparkling with amusement, "Not hardly!" she responded but then her smile faded, "It's a hell of case Harm… I don't want Captain Sebring to be guilty, but that poor woman… losing her child like that…"

Harm looked at her in concern, "Meg, one of the things I have always valued in you is your fund of compassion, but this time around if it's going to distort your professional judgement…"

Meg stiffened, "Harm, in the admiral's office you said that you knew me pretty well, and that you valued the different way we look at things. Well, let me tell you that although I do feel for the mother, I also feel for Captain Sebring, but I will not let my personal feelings interfere with my professional responsibilities." Meg relaxed slightly as she added in less accusatory tones, "Harm I was your second partner, remember, not your third!"

"I know that Meg! Oh God, how I know that! I know that they say you should never get too comfortable with a billet or the personnel there, but the day you left was one of the blackest in my career. And then when Mac showed up… So like Diane, physically, but totally different in character. I think for a while I got confused between the two. And in fairness to Mac, she did support me through some tricky situations, but then again I had her back a time or two as well. We might even have made a go of it romantically if that damned Australian hadn't gotten in the way…"

Meg gave Harm a sympathetic smile as he poured the two mugs of coffee, "That's nonsense Harm, and you know it. If there had been any genuine feeling between you then all the Australians that ever were, still are and ever will be couldn't have come between you!"

Harm nodded, "You're right of course."

Meg smiled, "Of course I am! I was always right, even when we disagreed – and you pulled rank on me!"

"I didn't!" Harm said in shock.

"Oh no? Then just for one example, how about that investigation in Miramar, with the Howlers? I forget what we were arguing about, but we were 'Harm' and 'Meg' until I started to prove my point, then all of a sudden I was 'Lieutenant'! Now if that's not pulling rank, what is?"

Harm looked at her in horror, "I didn't, did I?"

"Yep, but it was a long time ago, and I forgave you almost instantly – just after Tess McKee asked me if we were sleeping together!"

"She did what!?" Harm almost yelped.

"Oh, I don't blame her. If you recall we were trying to find out why Luke Pendry died, and there were all sorts of insinuations being made by that snake-oil salesman from the computer development company… in fact, do you remember he had a mock-up newspaper purporting to claim that Tess and Luke were lovers and that she'd had a recent abortion to get rid of his illegitimate baby?"

"Oh yeah, him I remember!" Harm said bitterly, "and then when we proved it was computer glitch, he couldn't try to back pedal fast enough, 'only doing my job'," Harm sneered contemptuously.

Meg nodded, "Yeah, even just remembering him leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but we had to quash those allegations, so I tackled Tess, seeing how she and Luke were so close. She came right back at me and pointed out the apparent closeness between you and me and outright asked if _we_ were more than just work partners. Of course I said no, and she gave me a withering look and said that neither were she and Luke. Got up and stalked out of the room. And I can't say I blame her." Meg took a sip from her coffee and then grinned, "I also heard how you carried her kicking and screaming out of a bar fight she'd picked with some jarhead who was twice her size! Do you ever hear from her these days?"

Harm's expression grew bleak and Meg, recognising it, breathed, "Oh, no…"

Harm nodded, "Yeah, she took a bird strike the following year. Her RIO ejected, but her Tomcat was too low and Tess didn't have time to eject before her bird hit the water…"

Meg stared wide-eyed and wordless at Harm, in truth there was nothing she could say after all this time that wouldn't sound trite, so she just shook her head and reaching out gripped Harm's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

In return Harm gave a smile that was more of a grimace, "That's the chance aviators take every time they strap on a jet," he said in a voice that was meant to sound casual but resonated with remembered grief.

"What chance is that?" Loren asked as she and Carolyn Imes walked into the galley.

Harm shot Meg a warning look and grinned at the newcomers, "Might have known it would be you two that were the first to smell fresh coffee!" he quipped.

Carolyn chuckled and Loren smiled while Harm poured two more mugs of coffee and handed them over. Loren gratefully accepted the mug of coffee he handed her but she noted Harm's side-stepping of her questions and her eyes searched his face and detected the forced quality of his smile, but she said nothing, deciding to leave the questions until they were alone. A quick glance at Meg satisfied her that she too was troubled by whatever she and Harm had been talking about, firming her resolve to get to the bottom of whatever had concerned the two senior attorneys, but later, much later when she and Harm were alone.

Loren was jerked from her thoughts by Carolyn's comment, "So, there I was all ready to go into court and whip Tracy's butt when one of the bailiffs appears at my office door and presents Admiral Morris' compliments but Captain Sebring was unavailable today and for the foreseeable future, so that with Commander Helfman going TAD, the whole court schedule would have to be rearranged! Does anyone know what's going on?"

Harm and Meg exchanged a further glance, one that was not unnoticed by Loren, and then Harm, thinking that it was better for the unvarnished truth be known rather than have wild and probably inaccurate scuttlebutt circulating through the hallways sighed and said, "Last night Judge Sebring was involved in an MVA and has been charged with vehicular homicide. Meg and I are trying the case. I'm defending. That is all we know." He added holding up a hand to forestall the questions he could almost see forming on Carolyn's lips.

"And unless asked directly, it might be best if you didn't mention it? I'm pretty sure that the Admiral will make it known as and when he sees fit." Meg added in her turn.

Carolyn bit her lip, her expression sombre, "Of course… what an unholy mess…"

"Yeah, you said it… Now… Harm rinsed his mug under the faucet and turned it upside down on the draining board to dry, "I do still have some other work to get to grips with… Ladies," he dipped his head in farewell and edged past the three female officers heading back to his own office.

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 1101hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221501ZMay01)**

Harm shut his office door behind him and closed the blinds before he sat down to stare at Captain Sebring's case file. Opening the file he once more read through the charge and specification before he turned to the police report. As he read, he frowned, the only evidence against Captain Sebring was the statement given by the distraught young mother, a very young mother, he noted. He also noted that she was listed as 'Miss' rather than 'Mrs' leading him to suspect that she was either a single mother or at the very least, unmarried. His suspicions were further raised by the age, make and model of her car, which was a twelve year old Ford Escort.

Was this, he wondered, an attempted insurance fraud that had gone horribly, tragically wrong? He found it hard to believe, surely no mother would risk her baby in such a fashion, but on the other hand having a baby in the car would serve to deflect suspicion, just as it had so very nearly done with him.

Although he was pretty sure of the answer he's get Harm needed to check one more thing before he called his client and arranged an interview.

"_JAG's Office, Yeoman Two Tiner, sir_!"

"Tiner, it's Commander Rabb. Do you know if Captain Sebring has yet been notified of the charges against him?"

"_He should have received them by now sir. They were given to his Legalman to hand deliver a couple of hours ago._"

"Thank you, Tiner." Harm put the phone down and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He didn't know how this was going to be received by Captain Sebring, he had a suspicion that the older man didn't like him very much. Well, with the possible exception of Amy Helfman, that probably applied to most if not all of the judiciary at Falls Church, and he wasn't too sure about her.

Now, however, he needed to make another phone call, but before he did… He got up from behind his desk and opened both blinds and door. Retaking his seat he made the call. "Lieutenant Arnold, it's Commander Rabb. I'd like to see you in my office, please."

Although Louise Arnold's reply consisted only of "_Aye, aye, sir_," her voice still managed to convey nervousness, causing Harm to raise his eyebrows as he centred two files on his blotter while he waited.

But not for long. In under two minutes came a tap on his door frame and "Lieutenant Arnold, reporting as ordered, sir!"

Harm looked up and smiled, "Come on in, Louise, and take a seat. And you can drop the plebe formality, a simple 'You wanted to see me, sir?' will normally be sufficient.

Realising that she wasn't in trouble, the young woman relaxed and sat in one of the visitor's chairs. Harm smiled at her again and said, "I know I gave you a case file this morning, but something's come up, and I need to concentrate on a highly sensitive case. These are two cases that are almost ready for their Article Thirty-Two hearings, the first is an FC Two, dereliction of duty; it is alleged that he failed to carry out scheduled routine maintenance properly on a CIWS and as a result two seamen were injured during an exercise when the weapon's control system malfunctioned and the weapon fire in the wrong direction, causing them to jump from the signal bridge onto the deck some twelve feet below them. I have interviewed the accused, who has been sent ashore and is currently awaiting court martial. He's TAD at the weapons facility at the Navy Yard if he's needed before his trial. And just when that will be I don't know. With Commander Helfman and Captain Sebring out for various reasons, I understand that Admiral Morris' staff are rejigging the court schedule, so keep an eye on that. It wouldn't do for you to miss court on your first case!"

Louise paled at the thought, "No sir!"

"The second case is an alcohol aggravated assault by a seaman on his petty officer. It's pretty cut and dried, there are a dozen witness statements on file, so I don't expect this to go beyond an Article Thirty-Two. But the same caution applies about keeping an eye on the court schedule."

"Yes, sir!"

"Good… and if you run into any snags, or you have any problems, then you know where to find me." Harm sat back and allowed a wry grin to show on his face. "I know you're probably cursing me and seeing a few late nights in your immediate future, so if it's any consolation, so do I!"

Louis smiled back, "I figured that out already, sir, and scuttlebutt has it you're in the middle of moving house?"

"And as we all know, scuttlebutt is usually right!"

"In that case sir, I don't envy you, and I'll get out of your hair right away!"

"Yeah, go on, dismissed!"

Harm waited until she had left the office and brought up the staff and social list on-screen, and with a sigh, carefully checking the number as he dialled, he called Captain Sebring's home address.

"_Sebring_."

"Good morning, sir. This is Commander Rabb. I'm calling with reference to the incident last night."

"_Go on_," Sebring said flatly.

"Sir, I need to take a statement from you. I'm quite happy for that to be at a time and place to suit your convenience…"

"_Damn right you'll suit my convenience, Commander_!"

"Yes, sir! If course. But if you'll allow me, sir, the Admiral is keen for this case to be cleared up as soon as possible so that you may return to duty."

Sebring paused and when he spoke again his voice was far less peremptory, "_I see. Well… the sooner started, the sooner done. You may call on me at home this evening at nineteen thirty hours. Do you have my home address_?"

"It's on the staff and social list, sir. I can find it."

"_Very well, Commander. Nineteen thirty. Make it so_!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Harm put the phone done and with a grin he pretended to wipe the sweat from his forehead, "Whew! That went well, I thought!" and levered himself out his chair.

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 1153hrs EDT, Commander Megan Austin's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221501ZMay01)**

Harm tapped lightly on the door frame, "Mind if I come in?" he smiled.

Meg looked up and smiled back, with that big, beautiful smile that Ham had often thought brightened the whole room but behind it he could see the worry in her eyes.

"Of course," she replied, "ya'll come right on in and make yourself to home…"

Harm did as he was bid and dropped into one the visitors' chairs in front of Meg's desk, "Nothing too serious, I just wanted to give you a heads up. I'm heading over to Judge Sebring's place this evening to take his statement."

"Moving fast!" Meg commented.

Harm shrugged, "Well, you heard the Admiral. He wants this cleared up quick and clean. Besides with Sebring and Helfman out have you seen the chaos the court calendar has been thrown into?"

Meg nodded, "Yeah, I've already had two cases cancelled for tomorrow and Thursday!"

"At least you've got your whole team, I've had to send Faith and Peter Barlow out to the Pacific, so I guess it'll be at least ten days before they get back. In the meantime I've got this Sebring mess, and to top it all, I've had to load my new Lieutenant with the cases I now haven't got the time for, but still need to keep an eye on until she shows what she's made of. Besides which, and as you know, I'm –well, Loren and I – are in the middle of packing to move house and…" Harm glanced out of the window, "it's raining!"

Meg chuckled, "The expression on your face right now is just about fit to sour cream! C'mon, O former partner of mine, let's get to lunch. See if that don't put you in a better humour!"

Harm shook his head and grinned, "You always did know how to put me in a good mood! Come on then, and I'll even buy you a soda!"

"Promises, promises!" Meg scoffed as she gathered her cover and purse.

"Yep and that's all they'll ever be!" Harm retorted, "Just one thing though…"

"Oh, what's that?" Meg asked as he held open the bull pen doors for her.

"I just need to rescue Loren from the law library on our way!"

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 1211hrs EDT, Cafeteria, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (221611ZMay01)**

"Why did you pay for my lunch?" Loren asked with a hint of suspicion as they took their places at one of the quieter corner tables.

"Because you'll have to cook dinner this evening, and as it should be my turn, this my sort of half-assed way of making it up to you!"

"And why will I have to cook dinner?" Loren demanded.

"Because I have to go and interview Judge Sebring and try to get a statement out of him!"

Loren winced, "Ouch! That may not be easy, he's always given me the impression of someone who keeps things very close to his chest and doesn't like giving explanations!"

"Who doesn't like giving explanations? Hi, mind if I join you?" The soft Virginia voice immediately smoothing away Harm's frown of displeasure at the interruption.

"Of course not, Tracy, please do. We were just discussing Meg and my latest case. I take it that you've noticed the confusion the trial calendar has been thrown into?"

"Oh my word, yes. A bit of a flutter in the judiciary dovecote?"

"You could say that," Harm answered grimly, "Judge Helfman's gone TAD, and our latest case," he indicated Meg and himself, "Is Judge Sebring being charged with vehicular homicide. Meg's prosecuting, I'm defending, and until the case is resolved Judge Sebring is relieved from duty."

Tracy paused, a forkful of pasta halfway to her mouth. She looked square at Meg and put the fork back down on her plate, "Ouch! But wait a minute… Judge Sebring? No way, the man's so by the book he wouldn't brush his teeth the wrong way! Could be tricky… Meg, do you want a second chair?"

"Oh gee, thanks Tracy!" Harm retorted.

"She needs all the support she can get, Harm," Loren intervened. "She's in a no-win situation: if she loses, she loses. If she wins, she still loses!"

Meg shot her a grateful look not unmixed with chagrin and then turned back to Tracy, "Sure, thanks Tracey. I stand a good chance of winning this one, but I could do with all the help I could get!"

Tracy grinned, shooting a sidelong glance at Harm, "Hey, I couldn't let y'all go through that kind of minefield alone!"

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 1928hrs EDT, Captain Owen Sebring's House, 7901 Carrleigh Parkway, Springfield, VA (222328zMay01)**

Harm checked the address on the slip of paper resting on the dashboard and cross-checked it with the number painted on the mailbox. He sat for a moment or two taking in the house and surrounding, a neo-colonial red-brick building on three storeys with white accents and porch structure with a classical portico giving access to the porch and protected on the south and west sides by mature shade trees that looked to his admittedly inexperienced eye to be at least twenty maybe thirty years old, and the lawn extending from the porch down to the sidewalk was neatly barbered, and bisected with a York stone flagged path leading to the porch steps. The whole aspect was pleasing and Harm acknowledged to himself that given the cash this was the sort peaceful and semi-secluded place he would one day like to own.

Two vehicles were parked in front of the double garage, one was Judge Sebring's usual ride, a Chrysler 300, the V8 5.7litre model he noted, and then with a grin, Frank would definitely approve, and the other a Lincoln Navigator, and taken together the sight of both vehicles made Harm purse his lips in a soundless whistle as he walked up the path and onto the porch.

His knock on the door was answered by Captain Sebring, dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, open at the collar to show a V of white t-shirt underneath it.

"Good evening, sir." Harm greeted him.

"Commander." Sebring acknowledged the greeting and stood back from the door, "Come in… to your left, we'll use the family room…"

Harm did as he was bid and walked in to a comfortably furnished room, which although Sebring had called the family room showed no signs, not even photographs of children or teenagers, and Harm recalled from the social list that the Captain had no children listed.

Sebring motioned for Harm to take a seat on the L shaped red leather couch, where a glass-topped coffee table was handy for paperwork. Harm sat and Sebring took a seat at ninety degrees to him.

"A nice place, sir," Harm said, hoping to break through the stiffness in the other man's attitude, but to no avail.

"We're not here for social reasons, Commander, so let's be getting on with it shall we?"

"Very well, sir," Harm opened his briefcase and pulled out the case file and for the next two minutes briefly recapped the report, getting Sebring to corroborate the salient facts of the police statement.

"Exactly how fast were you driving at the time of the incident, sir?"

"Asked and answered, counsellor!" Sebring snapped, nodding at the file which now lay on the table.

"Well, you gave that information to the State Police at the time of the incident, sir. I'm just trying to clarify it."

"I never exceed the speed limit. Check my driving record. In fact, I would have thought you had done so already!" Sebring replied, his manner still brusque.

"I have, sir." Harm paused to make a note on his legal pad before he spoke again, "Captain, how would you describe your mood that night?"

Harm's question seemed to take Sebring slightly aback and he rubbed his chin while he thought back until he eventually made a vague gesture and said in not quite so certain tones, "About the same as any other night."

"Well, your Legalman says you seemed agitated…"

"Well he was just passing me phone messages."

"So… you were agitated?" Harm persisted.

Sebring gave him a look brim-full of dislike, "Commander, I hope this isn't any indication of your performance in the courtroom!"

"Or yours, sir," Harm replied.

"I'm not winning a popularity contest," Sebring retorted sharply, but also in the manner of someone pointing out an obvious fact.

Harm took a deep breath to control his voice, "Captain, how you present yourself in court is crucial. Unfortunately there are no witnesses to corroborate your testimony."

"Or hers," Sebring said evenly.

Harm looked at him in disbelief and then said quietly, "She doesn't need any, sir."

Sebring met Harm's gaze head on and then equally quietly said, "If you think that's something I'll ever forget, Commander, then you don't know me at all!"

The two men stared unspeaking into each other's eyes for long moments until the silence was broken by the chiming of a small hand rung bell coming from upstairs. Sebring pushed himself to his feet, "If you'll excuse me, Commander, my wife is ill."

**Tuesday, May 22****nd****, 2042hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street, NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (230042zMay01)**

"So… How did it go?" Loren asked as she dawdled over her second glass of wine while waiting for Harm to finish his poached, smoked fish.

Harm swallowed the mouthful he had and took a sip of his own wine before answering with a grimace, "Judge Sebring was his normal, dour, humourless self. He has absolutely no doubt that he is innocent of the charges brought against him. And I'm not so sure that he isn't right in that belief. There's something about the whole situation that smells very much of rodent." Harm sighed and took another drink. "The trouble is, as a witness, he projects the same persona that he does as a judge, and even if he is right the panel are going to see an emotionless career officer on the one hand and a grief-stricken young mother on the other. I tried to point out to him that he needs to soften his outline, but I got the feeling that I wasn't getting very far."

"What happens now?" Loren put her glass down and resting her elbows on the table propped her chin on her linked hands.

Harm took another forkful of his fish and a bite of bread, "M'mm..." he replied after he'd swallowed, "Well, I can't pick holes on Captain Sebring's testimony – even if I wanted to -. He's too old a hand to give anything away, all I can do is work on him to try to get him to appear more sympathetic to the panel, and hope that when Meg fulfills her disclosure responsibilities that there's something in the defence testimony that will give me an in."

"So what's your strategy, then? Hold up Sebring as a fine, upstanding career officer and try to discredit the prosecution's testimony?"

Harm nodded glumly, "That's about it, and with the death of a baby involved…"

Loren grinned, but not unsympathetically, "It's ironic really, you the great advocate of the emotional appeal having to fight a case that's loaded emotionally against you."

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me!" Harm said sourly before he drained his wine glass.

"So, if you've finished, how about you cracking on with the clearing away – them that cook don't clean up, remember? And I'll tape together another couple of boxes!"

Harm nodded, and standing began to gather together the dirty plates and flatware from dinner, but as he did so he looked up at Loren from under his eyebrows, "You have an unhealthy mania for packing things into boxes, you know that? I mean what have we got left? A couple of sets of bedding, our clothes, and the kitchen. I figure we could get all that stowed away in one evening!"

"Maybe so, but I don't want to leave it and then have a last minute rush!"

For a moment Harm though of trying to dissuade Loren from engaging in packing this evening, but there was a determined just to her jaw and steely look in her eyes, so with a rueful smile he surrendered to the inevitable.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 0759hrs EDT, Bull Pen, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (231159ZMay01)**

Harm and Loren entered the bull pen together, but that had become such a regular occurrence that no-one, except one person, took any notice. They were still crossing the floor towards their offices when Harriet Sims bustled towards them, "Good morning, sir, good morning, Lieutenant!" she said brightly.

"Good morning, Harriet," Harm returned almost as cheerfully while casting a lightning swift cautionary glance at Loren.

Loren looked as if she had been taken by surprise, but answered politely, "Good morning, Lieutenant."

Harriet focussed her attention on Loren, while still including Harm in the conversation, "Lieutenant… uh… Loren, I know you've only just walked in, but I think perhaps that before you do anything else this morning that you might want to check the dispositions board?"

Loren blinked, this was certainly something new, "Thank you, Harriet, she replied coolly. "I'll do that."

Harriet smiled at them both, nodded and then turned away towards her desk.

Loren raised an eloquent eyebrow at Harm who could only pull a face expressing his own mystification, but then as one, they turned to the dispositions board. What they saw there caused Loren to take a deep breath, "Oh crap! Harm, I haven't got time now to go to the galley, I've got to get ready for this! Damn whoever re-wrote the court schedule – this isn't fair! But if you get a chance, a cup of coffee please?"

Harm looked at the entry alongside Loren's name '0900, Sedgwick vs USN, Court Room 2'.

"Ouch! Break a leg! And sure, I'll get a coffee to you!"

"Oh well, Loren sighed as she turned away, at least it gets me out law clerking for Mister High and Mighty Man for the day!

The downcast look on Loren's face was too much temptation for Harm to bear and smothering a grin he turned away, but as he disappeared towards the galley Loren was certain she could hear him whistling 'Always Look on the bright Side of Life', and a reluctant grin spread over her face even as she shook her head and unlocked her office door. She had a hell of a lot of last minute preparation to cover in the next hour and three quarters!

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 0912hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (23131242ZMay01)**

Chegwidden looked around at the semi-circle of five seated officers facing him, well satisfied with his innovations. With less people involved, not only were there fewer lost man-hours, but the briefing itself had been wrapped up in just over ten minutes. Wrapped up that is other than one more item.

"Commanders Rabb and Austin, how goes the Sebring case?"

Meg looked at Tracy and with a gesture that encompassed her replied, "Very well from our standpoint, sir. The witness testimony is compelling, and if it comes to a trial, I have no doubt that the panel will have no possible verdict other than that of guilty."

Chegwidden raised his eyebrows at that and turned towards Harm, "Rabb?"

"Without wishing to appear over-confident – I'll leave that to the prosecution in this case – I don't think that Commander Austin has grasped just how flimsy her case is. As things stand, it's a 'he said, she said,' situation. But on the one hand we have an upstanding naval officer with thirty years of unblemished service and on the other a tragically distraught mother trying to find an answer as to why her baby died. That on the emotional level is a powerful tool but the facts are that the jury will have to decide on guilt or innocence, and if there is any reasonable doubt…"

"Yes, yes, Commander, we all get the picture! Save it for your closing argument!

"Yes, sir! Of course, I'll have a much better picture after the prosecution discloses its evidence under Brady."

"As quick as you can then, Commander Austin! I want this wrapped up ASAP!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 0933hrs EDT, Commander Megan Austin's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (231333ZMay01)**

"You got a moment, Meg?" Harm asked from the open office doorway.

Meg looked up, a slightly strained, and Harm thought, a slightly tired look on her face. He'd thought at the admiral's briefing – it couldn't be termed 'staff call' any longer – that she wasn't looking a hundred per cent.

But she managed a smile and said in her soft drawl, "Surely, come on in and grab a seat…"

"Are you feeling okay, Meg? You don't look to be on top form…"

"Well, gee, thanks Harm, you sure do know how to boost a gal's ego!" Meg tried for humour but missed it, although not by much, and it took someone with Harm's knowledge of her to pick up the trace of anger in her voice.

"Whoa! Power down! I'm not criticising. I asked because I'm concerned, okay?" Harm spread his hands wide and pressed back against the chair, symbolically retreating and showing that he held no weapons.

Meg sighed and shook her head slightly, "Sorry Harm. The truth is I am feeling a bit peaky, I didn't sleep too well last night…"

"Uh-huh. This case getting to you? I know it's a toughie," Harm said leaping to a perfectly understandable cause of insomnia.

"Yeah…" Meg offered him a half-smile, wanting but not being able to tell him that she was worried about Victor Galindez who was facing a possible career-ending medical review on Friday, and she was fretting that not only could she do nothing to help him, but also that it was potentially too dangerous to visit him, and even their snatched telephone calls had to be brief and their love expressed in veiled terms.

Meg drew a breath as she realised that Harm was staring quizzically at her, "Nice place?" he asked lightly.

"Huh?" Meg replied eloquently.

"That place, wherever it is, that you've been for the last twenty seconds," Harm grinned.

"Oh! Yeah, sure was. I was back home to Texas, back on the ranch on a lazy Sunday morning and Mom was baking a deep dish apple pie!" Meg extemporised, blushing slightly as she realised how close she had come to giving away that something was far from right with her world.

Something in the way Meg had answered struck Harm as being slightly off-key, but he decided not to press the issue. He and Meg weren't as close as they had been back in the day, but still he figured that if she wanted him to know what was really bothering her, she'd let him know. But for the moment…

"So… What can I do for you, this fine morning?" Meg made a determined effort to cast off her downbeat mood.

"I was wondering, in light of your claim that your witness statement is 'compelling' and given that you only have the one witness, if you were ready for disclosure. I'm as keen as the Admiral to get this one wrapped up. And I'd say, from looking at you, that you need to put this one behind you ASAP!"

Meg could only blame herself for acquiescing to Harm's supposition that it was the case that was bothering her, so all she could do was to offer him another wan smile and say, "Sure, I'll have it to you by eleven hundred."

"Thanks… and Meg…look after yourself, ya hear?"

Harm's attempt at a Texas accent did bring a genuine smile to Meg's face, "Clown," she scolded him softly, "But thanks for the thought."

"You're welcome!" Harm smiled over his shoulder as he left Meg's office and headed out across the bull pen towards his own, leaving Meg alone to bury her face in her hands for a few seconds and let out a groan of unhappiness.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1101hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (231501ZMay01)**

"Harm, hello, may we come in?"

Harm looked up to find both Meg and Tracy at his office door. "Sure come on in and take the load off your feet," he invited them with a smile.

The petite Tracy Manetti looked at Meg and then made a play of looking down at herself, "Are you-all, suggestin' that we're fat, suh?" she teased him.

"Not at all," Harm replied with an easy grin as he waited for the two take a seat, "It's just that living with Loren has taught me one thing…"

"And that is?" Tracy smiled.

"That every opportunity that can be taken to relieve feet, legs and back from the strains imposed by wearing regulation two inch heeled pumps should be joyfully seized and mercilessly taken advantage of!"

Meg shot a glance at Tracy, "See, I told you the boy could learn!"

"That's true," Harm replied with unruffled equanimity, "And something else I've learned is that when opposing counsel invade my office mob-handed, there's usually something in the wind, so… give!"

Meg slid a file onto his desk, "There you go, Harm, everything we have for the prosecution, in full compliance with Brady. List of witnesses, witness statements, depositions, police report, forensics report, it's all there."

Harm nodded, "Thank you. But why do I feel that's not all?"

"Because it isn't!" Meg stated firmly. "Look, Harm, we know it's a he said, she said, case, but in this case the mother has a dead baby. If you think that's not going to sway the panel… well, then I guess you need to think again."

Harm nodded, "Yes, it will have an impact on the panel, but hell, it had an impact on me; but the panel is going to be composed of naval officers, and I think they will be level-headed enough to ignore the emotion and judge on the facts of the case, and as you have just said there are two sets of 'facts'. So if there is reasonable doubt, and in the absence of truth serum, there must always be doubt in case like this, then the panel will have no other choice but to acquit."

"And if they don't? Harm, Judge Sebring could be facing years behind bars if he's found guilty at court-martial! And nobody in this office wants to see that."

"Of course they don't, but my client is innocent of the charges against him… so… are you going to drop the case?"

"Harm! You know we can't do that!"

"So what's your alternative?"

"A pre-trial agreement. Captain Sebring pleads guilty and we recommend no confinement but dismissed the service."

Harm shook his head, "He won't deal. He says he's innocent, and… and I believe him," he said flatly.

"But you will put it to him, right?" Tracy persisted.

"I will, and of you'll wait a couple of minutes, I'll do it right now," Harm agreed reaching for the phone.

Meg and Tracy sat in silence while he dialled Captain Sebring's home number.

"_Sebring_." The Captain's voice sounded just as curt, just as clipped, and now he'd had time to think about it, Harm realised it sounded just as stressed as it had the night before.

"Sir, it's Commander Rabb. I'm looking at the prosecution team as we speak, and they have come up with a plea bargain…"

"_Not going to happen Rabb_!" Sebring cut him short. "_I don't care what sort of deal they're offering, but I'm not buying it_!"

"No, sir. But sir, it might be an idea if you were to come in and hear, face to face what they have to say…"

"_Are you giving up on me, Commander_?" Sebring sounded as if he was on the verge of anger.

""Of course not, sir! I'll back any and every play you make, right up to the hilt. But I still think it would be a good idea if you came in."

"_Very well, make it fourteen hundred hours today. The sooner this whole dog and pony show is over the better for all concerned_!"

"Fourteen hundred hours, aye, sir!" Harm said

Sebring had waited just long enough to hear Harm's agreement before he put the phone down with a decisive click that sounded loud and clear in Harm's ear. He put the phone down and pulled a grimace that might, if someone was feeling charitable, have passed for a wry grin, "Well, I hope your afternoon is clear, because Captain Sebring is coming in to hear your offer in person!"

Meg nodded, "I really expected no less. We couldn't hear what was said, but from your expression I take it that he wasn't too impressed by the idea of a plea bargain?"

Harm looked at Meg, and unconsciously borrowed one of NCIS Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs' favourite ironic remarks, "Gee… ya think?"

Meg got to her feet a real, if fleeting smile crossing her face, "You always did know how to cheer a gal up, Harm. I'll check that the conference room is available, and if not, well… I guess we'll have to figure out an alternative!"

Harm nodded his acknowledgement as Meg and Tracy left his office, waiting until they were clear of the doorway before he opened the file Meg had left for him. Reading avidly, he got about a third of the way through Jennifer Wilson's deposition when he whistled softly and grabbing a legal pad he began to take notes.

Half an hour later with two pages covered in his angular handwriting, Harm tucked them inside the file, and checking his watch decided on a cup of coffee before he turned his attention to anything else, but before he could clear his desk his attention was distracted by a knock on his door frame.

Looking around he felt himself stiffening, but forced himself to relax and allow a grin to appear on his face, "Sturgis, how may I help you?"

"Harm, do you know where Lieutenant Singer is? I have some research I need her to do for this case…"

"Sturgis, if you check the dispositions board, you'll find she's tied up in court all day today, and probably for the foreseeable future with the Sedgwick tort case… and anyway, research… isn't that why we have Legalmen? Sturgis, Loren is a damn' good attorney, and a pretty good investigator, you might want to give her a chance to use those skills for your benefit, instead of just using her for scut work that could – and should – be left to the support staff!"

"Harm, I can't stand the woman! She's loud, overly aggressive, overly ambitious, opinionated, stubborn and overly keen to impose her ambitions and opinions on others. And as long as I have to have her as my second chair, then I will use her supposed skills as I see fit. I will not change the way I deal with her because she's gone crying to someone else."

"If by someone else, you mean me, then I need to tell you that Loren specifically asked me not to interfere between the two of you, and I'm now advising you to ease up on her for your sake not for hers. She may be opinionated, but most of the times those opinions are based on hard facts and shrewd thought processes. Frankly, if you continue to disregard her advice, then you are being a fool to yourself. Oh, and one other thing, Sturgis. Please remember that Loren and I are engaged and that referring her to her as 'that woman', or denigrating her qualities as 'supposed skills' or telling me that you can't stand her, is not going to make us dealing with each other any easier!"

Turner stiffened, his face becoming a mask of disapproval mixed with disdain, "Very well, Commander, if that is the way you see matters, then so be it!" and without a further word he turned on his heel and marched away across the bull pen, back towards his Chief of Staff's office.

Harm watched him go and shook his head. Suddenly all desire for coffee vanished. He sat down again and wondered how such a trivial thing as disagreeing with Turner's findings on one occasion had led to such bitterness on the former bubblehead's part.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1217hrs EDT, Cafeteria, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (231501ZMay01)**

Loren had joined Harm in the line at the cash register and in response to his, "Shall we take this outside," had smilingly agreed. Heading for their favourite table under one of the shade giving horse chestnut trees that dotted the outside dining area, they slid into their seats and with expressions more of hope than of expectation they both attacked their meals. A tuna and pasta bake for Harm while Loren had gone for a chicken salad.

After a few silent mouthfuls they both looked up and simultaneously asked "How was your morning?"

A few seconds of silence fell as they both started chuckling and then Harm, quicker to recover, gave Loren a wave that was almost courtly in its extravagance and said, still grinning, "Ladies first!"

"Sexist pig!" Loren complained softly, and then grinned hugely, "My morning went pretty damned well! All that nose down and butt up reading I've done on the case seems to have been worthwhile. I not only managed to refute the original board's findings and recommendations, I even managed to shoot down some, if not most of the arguments raised by the fancy six hundred dollars an hour shyster hired by the procurement division!"

Harm raised his bottle of chilled mineral water in a not quite mocking salute, "Good for you… Who's your panel?"

"Um… Judge Blakeny, a Rachel Worthington from the Navy's General Counsel's Officer and our very own Judge Morris!"

"Admiral Morris?" Harm asked in mild surprise and concern. "That's a pretty tough sell!"

Loren smiled smugly, "Not really," she preened herself, "he likes _me_."

"As opposed to?" Harm asked.

"As opposed to certain other attorneys who have a habit of firing off automatic weapons in his courtroom," Loren said with demurely downcast eyes.

Harm couldn't help a crack of laughter, but it was tinged with impatience, "Gods! You weren't even at JAG when that happened! Isn't anyone ever going to let me forget that?"

Loren looked at him consideringly, pretending to give his question some thought but eventually smiled in saintly manner and said, "No… I shouldn't think so. After all it is a part of the Harmon Rabb legend!"

"Ouch! What brought on that sudden attack of sarcasm?" Harm asked.

"Monty Python," Loren grinned.

"Huh?"

"Does 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life', ring any bells," Loren asked innocently – a shade too innocently for Harm's liking, but he acknowledged the hit with a raised hand just as a fencer would in a bout.

"Touché!" he conceded.

Loren smiled again, "Now did you want to play some more? No? Good. Now, tell me, dear, how was your morning?"

Harm spent the next ten minutes recapping his morning for Loren's benefit, and although she chuckled at one or two points, she grew thoughtful as Harm told her of Meg's downbeat mood. She had a pretty good idea, through Carolyn, as to what was bothering the tall Texan tomboy. She was less sympathetic to Harm's ongoing tussle with Judge Sebring, saying, "Well, you knew he was a tough case to start with, so are you really surprised at his attitude, and again you did say that you thought he didn't like you." She shook her head sadly, "You know, for a supposedly smart guy, anyone would have thought that with your experience as a trial attorney that you would have learned not to upset the judges so much!"

"Hey, what's this 'supposedly smart guy' crap?" Harm demanded "I am smart!"

"Yeah?" Loren scoffed, the laughter dancing in her eyes, "Name one smart thing that you've done?"

"Well…" It was Harm's turn to pretend to think hard, and then he looked up an expression of delighted discovery on his face, "Well… I did propose to you! That was pretty damned smart of me!"

"Yeah, but it wasn't so smart to have to think that long and that hard about it!" Loren said darkly.

Harm threw his head back laughed out loud, and after a moment's hesitation Loren found his amusement too infectious to resist and he own chuckle broke out.

People at nearby tables turned their heads and smiled at the evident happiness between JAG's hotshot lawyer and the former Ice Queen of Falls Church.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1409hrs EDT, Small Conference Room, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (231809ZMay01)**

Harm and Captain Sebring faced Meg and Tracy across the width of the long, highly polished table in the little-used small conference room. Each attorney had their case files and legal pads in front of them while Captain Sebring wore an impassive expressionless mask as the prosecution team suggested that he consider a plea bargain.

Sebring almost jumped to his feet, "Absolutely not!" he spat.

"Captain…" Harm began calmly, "You should at least hear what they have to offer."

"Negligent homicide," Meg suggested, taking the charge one step down from vehicular homicide.

"No confinement," Tracy added encouragingly.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the law, Commander Manetti!" Sebring snapped with awful sarcasm, and then his face working in anger he set out his stall. "There will be no pre-trial agreement!"

"I think what we're offering is worth considering," Meg pointed out.

"You could offer a parking fine," Sebring shot back, "and I still would not take it."

"Captain as your attorney…"

"You're going to recommend that I perjure myself by admitting to something I didn't do!" Sebring interrupted him.

Meg tried again, "Captain Sebring, the forensics are conclusive, and this women's testimony is extremely convincing. When she first told me what happened, even I was moved."

Sebring took a breath before he replied, "Unfortunately the panel will be composed of impartial military personnel who will not be swayed by…"

"Excuse me, Captain," greatly daring, Meg interrupted the senior officer. "But this impartial jury is going to see a childless mother who was driven off the road by an unrepentant hard ass… uh... hard headed naval officer.

Harm looked sideways at Sebring, who had resumed his seat, while Sebring replied to Meg, in what at first seemed to be a non-sequitur, "I've served my country for thirty years. I've committed my life to adjudicating fairly and unemotionally. How could you ask me to do any less for myself?"

Meg just looked at him, unable for the moment to find the words to reply to him. For, despite Sebring's insistence that he was dealing with this case as unemotionally as any other, he couldn't prevent the pain and frustration he felt from shading his tone.

In recognition of that pain Harm spoke quietly but earnestly, "Sir, Need I remind you that this is not a civilian court? Captain, if you are convicted you will be punitively discharged."

Sebring's reply was just as quiet, and just as earnest, "It's not my career that I'm afraid of losing, Commander. It's my principles. One I can live without… But I have no desire to live without the other." He fell silent and looked across the table at Meg and Tracy, and then at harm.

Harm suddenly felt that the man sitting next to him looked somehow diminished, as if he felt that disclosing his principles somehow made him less than he was.

However, the effect of Sebring's declaration had the contrary effect on Harm. Never, he felt, had Sebring seemed so upright, so honest and so honourable.


	78. Chapter 78

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 78**

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1441hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (231841ZMay01)**

"Well?" Owen Sebring demanded as he sat himself down in one of Harm's visitors' chairs.

"Well, sir, you acted pretty much as I suspected you would – no, sir, before you interrupt – that is not necessarily a bad thing. If there was one thing that came out at that meeting was your sincerity, and that has only made me more determined than ever to clear your name. And believe me, sir, with what I have here, I'm going to do just that!"

"What makes you so sure?" Sebring asked almost suspiciously.

"Amongst other things, the list of Miss Wilson's personal effects from the hospital… there were some pretty strong meds listed, and I'm wondering whether they could have influenced her behaviour… slowed her reactions… caused a loss of concentration…"

"Commander, that young woman has suffered enough, I don't want you to cause her any more grief."

"Understood, sir. But unless we can get to the bottom of this mystery you stand a pretty good chance of being dismissed the service, and none of us want that for you. And if tearing that young woman's history apart is what is needed, then that is what I'm going to do. I have no intention of letting you fall on your sword, even inadvertently." Harm took a deep breath.

"Look, sir. I believe you, I believe that you did not run Jenny Wilson off the road. But in part I believe that because I know you, and you have stated unequivocally that you did not. The panel will consist of officers who do not know you and, having no grounds on which to base their decision, other than the evidence, which at first sight does look pretty damning, and they may not be inclined to be so credulous, and unless I can somehow show that at least part of the fault lies with Miss Wilson, then it is going to be as much of a fifty/fifty proposition as a flip of the coin whether you are found innocent or not."

Sebring nodded. Harm's argument made sense, but he really wished it did not, and at length he gave a slight nod, and said heavily, "So be it, Commander. I still don't like it, but I haven't got the time to argue with you any longer, I need to get back home to my wife!"

Harm stood as Sebring did, "Of course, sir. And please accept my best wishes for your wife's speedy recovery."

Sebring hesitated, and for a moment Harm, thought he was about to say something, but in the end all the Judge did was to look him on the eye and then with a curt, "Thank you, Commander," he turned on his heel and left the office.

Harm looked after him with worry lines etched on his forehead and turned again to his handwritten notes, where two of the numbered paragraphs caused him to frown before he picked up his cover and left the office.

Stopping by Tiner's desk he said, "Let the Admiral know that I'm checking up on a couple of witnesses in the Sebring case, and I probably won't be back until the morning."

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1531hrs EDT, Herrick's Motors Maintenance and Repairs, Main Street, Fairfax, VA (231931ZMay01)**

"Mister Herrick?" Harm asked the trim fortyish look man, dressed in mechanics' overalls.

"That's me!" Herrick agreed squinting up at the taller Navy office, "What can I do for the Navy?"

"I'm Commander Harmon Rabb, from the Navy JAG Corps. I'm acting as counsel in the court martial of a Navy officer who is accused of negligent homicide, by running another vehicle off the road. When the police searched the wreck they found service and repair notes for the car from this garage."

"Which car was that?" Herrick asked, as he nodded for Harm to follow him to the office.

"A twelve year old Ford Escort, belonging to a Miss Jenny Williams."

"That old wreck. Poor kid, that car spends more time in here than it does on the road!"

"Heavy repair bills?" Harm asked sympathetically.

"Nope, not anymore. Since she had that kid the work gets done by Tad Lowe, he's her ex-boyfriend. He does the work on his own time and doesn't charge her. I let him use the tools and facilities, and he pays for any parts the car needs. I let him have them at cost though. He's a good mechanic and they ain't so easy to come by these days. That kid has enough to cope with trying to keep her and her baby fed and with a roof over her head on the lousy pay of a motel cleaner!"

"And his work is always up to scratch?"

"Always! I may be soft enough to let him get away with helping a bit more than maybe I should, but no car leaves here unless and until I've checked the work has been done on it is to my satisfaction!"

"Even work done off the books?" Harm asked sceptically.

"Especially work done off the books!" Herrick emphasised.

"So… if you issue a service and repair note for the car, does that mean you keep a vehicle history?"

"Sure does."

"Can you fax me a copy of all the notes going back, say a year?"

"I'll do better than that, Commander. If you've got five minutes, I'll print off a copy of them for you right here and now!"

"That would be great, thank you!" Harm answered, feeling a little off balance by the unexpected degree of co-operation from Herrick.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1639hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (232039ZMay01)**

Loren walked back to her office almost in a daze, the bulk of the Sedgwick file clamped firmly under her arm. It had been an anxious wait since the panel had adjourned for discussion at fourteen-thirty hours and much of the two hours since then had been spent perched on one of the row of hard chairs in the hall outside the fourth floor courtroom. But finally the bailiff had called her and the expensive civilian attorney hired by the defendants back into the courtroom to hear the judgement.

Even as Loren almost collapsed into her chair, her legs suddenly too weak to support her for another second, she shook her head in wonder as Admiral Morris' words echoed in her head.

"In the case of Sedgwick versus the US Navy, we find that the defendants, the Office of Naval research failed in their duty to ensure due diligence, in that the said Office failed to ensure that their regulations complied with, or even made any reference to the Secretary Of the Navy Operational Instructions governing the awards of cash payments to motivated sailors who research and design equipments and systems beneficial to the US Navy and the United States of America. It is the finding of this court that the Office of the Secretary of the Navy is a higher authority than the Office of Naval Research, and that the Operation Instructions emanating from that office in this case, and in all other cases of a similar nature, must take precedence over the regulations of the Office of Naval Research. Therefore we instruct the Office of Naval Research to pay to Petty Officer First Class Sedgwick the maximum sum permitted under The Secretary of the Navy's Operation Instructions, that is the sum of Twenty Thousand Dollars. In addition we order that the Office of Naval research pay to the said Petty Officer the additional sum of five thousand dollars, representing the accrued interest on twenty thousand dollars for five years at a rate of four per cent per year compounded and rounded up to the nearest whole sum! Further, we cannot sufficiently condemn the efforts of the Office of Naval research for their attempt to deny a richly earned reward, such efforts contradict the very principles of natural justice on which this great nation was founded."

Petty Officer Sedgwick had almost jumped for joy and had almost squealed with excited pleasure as Judge Morris had read out the panel's finding, and it was only with the exercise of the greatest self-control that she refrained from hugging Loren once the judges had left the courtroom. But Loren had smilingly accepted the other woman's fervent thanks, although she whimsically told herself that she wasn't too sure that the ferocity of the handshake hadn't at least bruised some of the bones in her hand.

"This fantastic, ma'am!" Sedgwick had enthused, and then had laughed quietly, "Looks like we won't have to worry about the layette, after all!"

Loren had smiled politely as she turned to gather her paperwork but then what Sedgwick had said penetrated from her ears to her brain and he had turned back. "Layette? You mean you're…"

"Yes, ma'am, just over two months! My husband and me have been trying for nearly a year… That's how come I'm ashore ma'am. Once I reported to my CO, then he had to send me ashore!" Sedgwick saw that Loren's eyes began to narrow, "Oh! Oh, no ma'am. We want this baby because we want a family. Being sent ashore just at this moment is a pure coincidence. Mighty convenient though, but ma'am, even without the case I'd still have become pregnant!"

Loren felt a pang of resentment, despite the other woman's assurances she still felt that somehow she had been taken advantage of. But she wasn't going to let that spoil her pleasure in finally winning a case that had tied up a succession of JAGs for five years. She shook her head in mild amazement, 'How come, nobody else ever thought of querying the legality of the ONR regulations?' she asked herself, and then allowed a cynical grin to appear on her face, 'I bet they lose no time in plugging that loophole… and I wonder… how many other tort cases might come, up as a result of today's findings! Well, I won't be here to suffer, but I wonder if the Admiral realises just how big a cat has escaped from the bag today!"

These thoughts cheered her up and she pushed Sedgwick and her pregnancy to the back of her mind and continued to quietly revel in her win. It was a pity that Harm had left the office, Loren felt, she so badly wanted to tell him of her unexpected victory and now she would have to wait until she got home. Still, she supposed, she'd have to get used to that once she moved to ONI, which she recalled with a start, was only a week away!

Wondering where the time had gone, she looked around her office making a mental note of what was going with her and what she intended to leave behind. Thankful that she never been one to clutter her workspace up with personal effects she decided that just two archive boxes would be more than sufficient to pack the few items she intended to keep, and nodded in satisfaction.

"That's a pretty nice smile!" Meg said from the door, startling Loren so that she looked up in surprise, "I bet it gets you just what you want most of the time, so I hope that this time, you want cake!"

"Wha…?" Loren began.

"On your feet, Lieutenant!" a smiling Alan Mattoni said over Meg's shoulder, "Your presence is required in the bull pen!"

"I don't underst…" Loren began as she rose to her feet, only to be hustled out into the bull pen by Meg and Alan, where she found Tracy, Harriet and the support staff all standing to give her a round of applause as Louise Arnold came forward bearing a large platter on which stood a Devil's Food Cake coated in chocolate frosting and in which had been set 5 brightly burning birthday candles.

"Congratulations Lieutenant Loren Singer!" Tracy Manetti called put over the applause, "I don't know if it registered with you, but today is exactly the fifth anniversary of the opening statements in the Sedgwick tort, and today you finally put it to bed! Now, blow out the candles and make a wish!"

"But… but where did this suddenly come from?" Loren demanded, "You can't possibly have known I would close the case today!"

"That's true," Meg Austin smiled, "but a quick phone call to Cathy's Cookie Corner and a mad dash by PS Three Hawkins solved all our logistics problems in one – except for the candles! We're running short of those, so just blow the damned things out. Please!"

Somewhat self-consciously Loren leaned forward and taking a breath blew out the candles to the accompaniment of a round of cheers, and then as she stood up someone pressed a full champagne flute into her hand, "What's this?" she asked, even as her nose caught the familiar scent of sparkling cider.

With a relieved smile, Loren raised her glass, "Thank you all!" she exclaimed and then raised the glass to her lips for a sip of the drink before she was forced hurriedly to put down the glass as a paper plate with a huge wedge of the cake and a plastic fork were handed to her.

"Go on then!" an anonymous voice shouted, "We're waiting for you to start so we can eat our cake too!"

A round of laughter followed the shout and Loren obligingly cut into her slice with her fork before raising it to her mouth, "M'mm… s'good!" she murmured through a mouthful of the rich chocolate cake.

A burst of laughter greeted her words and several other murmurs of appreciation were heard before a cold voice cut across the celebration, "What is going on here?" Sturgis Turner demanded, the uproar having brought him from his office.

"Hi Sturgis, come and have a slice of cake. We're celebrating Loren's win in the Sedgwick case!" Tracy invited the former submariner.

"No. I won't, thank you." Turner replied stiffly, not sounding at all grateful for the offer and switched his attention to Loren, "Do I take it that you have finished with the Sedgwick tort?"

Loren stiffened, "Yes, sir."

"Good. Then instead of disrupting the entire Ops staff you might care to get on with the research work I ordered you to do! And the rest you would do well to follow the Lieutenant's example and get back to work!"

Loren looked down at the plate of cake in her hand, which had unaccountably lost all its flavour and appeal and for an instant was strongly tempted to mash it into Turner's supercilious face, but her better sense prevailed and she contented herself with a curt, "Yes, sir!" and started to turn back to her office, but her turn was halted by an irate male voice.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Sturgis don't be such a tight ass all your life, take a day off and let the woman enjoy her win. In case you hadn't noticed, the Sedgwick case is a milestone. Lieutenant Singer's win today could well open the floodgates for a deluge of similar cases where the ONR has obfuscated and delayed or denied award payments! It's a big deal!" Alan Mattoni's voice was filled with scorn, and a hush fell over the bull pen as officers and enlisted alike stared in amazement and horror at the normally mildly spoken and unruffled attorney.

Sturgis Turner swing his head around to stare incredulously at the other officer as his ears registered the enormous breach of protocol he had just committed and opened his mouth to remind the other attorney that as Chief of Staff he was owed respect, and an open argument in front of the enlisted support staff was certainly conduct unbecoming. But as he turned his head to face Mattoni he became aware that Tracy Manetti and Meg Austin were also staring at him with hostility plain to see in their expressions.

And then, before he could speak, the cold voice of the Admiral sounded from the doorway of Tiner's cubby hole, "Commander, when you have a moment, come and see me!"

Alan Mattoni winced, he knew he had overstepped the bounds of propriety but he, in common with practically every other member of staff had been pushed to the limit by Turner's abrasive, dictatorial style of command as well as his nit-picking over inconsequential details and his zeal for useless reports that contributed nothing to the smooth running of JAG, but on the contrary, by their sheer volume were proving detrimental to the functioning of the office. Still, he had put his foot in his mouth just now and he would have to face the music.

"Aye, aye, sir!" he snapped out.

To his surprise the admiral shook his head, "Not you, Commander Mattoni. _You_, Commander Turner!"

Turner spun on his heel, the smug smile on his face fading, "Aye, aye, sir!" and then his shocked glance fell on the plate of cake in the admiral's hand.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1701hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (Lower Half) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA, (232101ZMay01)**

"Commander Turner, reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Commander, and take a seat." Chegwidden ran a hand backward over his scalp in an habitual gesture while he waited for his subordinate to settle himself. Once Turner had sat Chegwidden look across the expanse of his desk at him and asked, "What's going on. Commander?"

"Sir?" Turner asked in a voice indicating his incomprehension.

"What's going on with you? Just a few minutes ago you nearly had a meltdown in front of the entire operations staff, and while I do not approve of the way Commander Mattoni spoke to you, I could see his point, because Commander, I do not wholly approve of your actions, words and attitudes either."

Once more the hand passed over the scalp, "You seem to have, above all, some sort of problem with Lieutenant Singer. I had hoped that by working together you might be able to overcome your differences, but it appears from what I heard, that you have been treating her as your law clerk. That is not only insulting to the fine attorney she is, but is also a gross mismanagement of her skills and expertise. If you need precedents researching, then use a Legalman, that's what they are there for."

Chegwidden recognised the stone-face that Turner had adopted and groaned inwardly, the former bubblehead wasn't listening to a word his CO said to him, but Chegwidden had to try, "It may also interest you to know Commander, that I was asked if Ops could close down fifteen minutes early to celebrate the end of what has been a millstone around our necks for the past five years. And I gave my assent, and I was enjoying my slice of cake and glass of sparkling cider. Did you really think that anyone, even Commander Rabb, would dare bring work to an early halt without my say so?"

Turner remained silent.

"Well? I am waiting for an answer, Commander."

"No, sir, of course not, but…"

"But you reacted without thinking! That, Commander Turner is more the sort of behaviour that I expect from Commander Rabb, not you. It was your unemotional, level-headed approach that induced me to nominate you as my Chief of Staff vice Colonel MacKenzie, but I'm beginning to think that I may have made a mistake in nominating you. You are an excellent attorney, Commander, I have no complaints to make about the way you conduct your cases, but I'm beginning to realise that leadership is not one of your stronger points. You seem to take no part in mentoring junior attorneys, nor do you consult with your peers. I have seen the steady stream of communications coming from your office, there are demands, reproof and reprimands a-plenty, but sad to say, there is very little in the way of explanation or reward. You seem to have developed a culture of blame where you all too ready to rebuke and extremely reluctant to praise. Commander the people here at JAG are some of the most intelligent people in the Navy, they need to be led, not driven, and if you wish to obtain results then you need to say why something is needed rather than just saying 'do it because I outrank you.'

Chegwidden's eyes searched the other man's face, looking for some acknowledgement of what he had just said but saw to his dismay that Turner's expression remained set as if carved from granite. Chegwidden gave the slightest shake of his head. "Can't you see Commander, that you are in imminent danger of losing the respect of the enlisted, and that you have already lost the respect of your peers? Otherwise Commander Mattoni would not have to spoken to you as he did in front of the support staff, and much as you should not have spoken to Lieutenant Singer the way you did in front of the support staff. Can you not see that your actions brought up a similar counter-reaction?"

"Sir, if you are unhappy with my performance as Chief of Staff, I am of course quite willing to step down."

Chegwidden stared at him for a few moments in disbelief. The man was as rigid and unbending as if he had a yardarm stuck up his six. There was not even a hint that Chegwidden's homily had gotten through to him, but maybe it would take some thought on Turner's part before he could accept what he had just been told, and truth to tell, Chegwidden wasn't sure with whom he could replace Turner.

"No, Commander, that will not be necessary – for the moment – think over what I have just said to you, and we'll give it six weeks and then review your situation."

Again Chegwidden looked for some sign of acquiescence in his junior officer, and again was disappointed. "Very well, Commander, dismissed!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Turner said stonily and rose to his feet, assuming a brace for a couple of seconds before he marched out of the office, his back as stiff and as straight as if he did, indeed, have the said yard arm acting as a suppository.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1717hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (232117ZMay01)**

Loren slumped in her chair, a discontented pout on her lips, on just a couple of sentences that… that… damned man had managed not only to break up what was, after all was said and done. A pretty low key celebration of what was a major win, he had also managed to suck out all the pleasure she felt of the win. And now she was stuck here, waiting for Harm to get back from wherever he'd gotten to. It wasn't just that they would now be late getting home, but also that she felt so deflated that she was halfway to deciding not bothering to tell him about the end of the case.

Her brooding was interrupted by a light tapping on the door frame where Tracy Manetti stood a square, white, cardboard cake-box in her hands, "There's about a quarter of the cake left uncut, we figured that maybe you'd like to take it home and share it with Harm," Tracy half suggested, half asked.

Loren looked glumly at the box, "No, no thanks, Commander…" Loren mumbled.

Tracy took one look at the disappointed, unhappy face Loren wore and mentally cursed Sturgis Turner for literally ruining the blonde lieutenant's day. She longed to be able to comfort Loren and tell her that Turner was an asshole, overblown by his sense of his own importance, but regulations and protocol forbade her from criticising a senior officer to a junior

Instead all she could was bestow a warm smile on Loren and say quietly, "Okay… look, I'll just leave it on the side here, in case you change your mind. After all," she added with a twinkle, "You can't tell me that even Harmon Rabb would turn down a slice of that cake!"

The mental image of Harm devouring a slice of Devil's Food Cake was so far removed from reality of what his likely reaction would be that Loren couldn't resist the smile that twitched her lips, "Oh I can! You have no idea how intense he can be about what he calls healthy eating!"

Tracy nodded approvingly, "That's better. Concentrate on the good and try to forget the bad. Most of us are impressed with your win today – even the Admiral was!"

The recollection of the expression on Turner's face when he realised the admiral had joined the celebration did indeed bring a grin to Loren's face. "Thank you, Commander, for reminding me of that!"

"Why, Heavens above…it was mah pleasure, Lootenant!" Tracy grinned in return, deliberately deepening her accent, then she added, "Now I have done mah dooty in restorin' morale… I'm a fixin' to head on to the old homestead – and get these damn shoes of my feet!" she chuckled, returning to her normal speaking voice for the last few words of her sentence.

Loren shook her head, dammit, in just a few words Tracy Manetti had succeeded in lightening her mood, "Thanks, ma'am, believe or it not your nonsense has helped!"

Tracy smiled, "Good, that's what I intended to do! But, why are you still here? Surely you're not starting that so much demanded research?"

"No, ma'am! I am not. He can… Um… I'm just waiting for Harm. He's got the car…"

"Ah, well, in that case, let's hope he's not too late getting back." Tracy paused for a moment, "Good night, Loren. I'm pretty sure things will look a little better in the morning."

"I hope so, ma'am," Loren acknowledged, "Good night."

Tracy smiled again and nodded before she left leaving a slightly happier Loren to wait for Harm's return.

**Wednesday, May 23****rd****, 1817hrs EDT, En Route to Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (232217ZMay01)**

Loren had not had to wait for very long, not ten minutes after Tracy's departure, and while some of the support staff were still packing up their desks, Harm arrived at her office doorway.

"Hey, sweetheart, sorry I'm so late, but I ran across a couple of witnesses that might just help me clear Captain Sebring's name. I managed to speak with one, but I can't get hold of the other until tomorrow when she goes to work."

"That's okay," Loren mustered a half-smile, "but a phone call to let me know what time you would be getting back might have helped!"

"Oh… crap! Loren, honey, that's something that completely slipped my mind! I'll try to do better next time!" Harm saw Loren's eyebrow lift in a cynical arch, and feeling the tips of ear beginning to burn he hastily added, "I will, I promise!"

Loren smiled sweetly as she gathered her purse and cover, "I know you mean it Harm, but I'm not about to wager my life savings on it! I know you; you get absorbed in a case and you forget everything else ever existed!"

Harm, rather wisely, let that one go.

Once settled in the car Loren finally started to relax, determined to let Turner and his attitude go, and as she sat and mused the former feeling of excitement at her win started to resurface and with a sly grin she looked at Harm, "So… your witness hunt was useful?"

Harm nodded, "It may be… I'll admit that with the first witness I'm clutching at straws, but I've a feeling that the one I'm going to see tomorrow may be a bigger help."

"You're still confident of clearing Captain Sebring?"

"Yeah, I am. He can be awkward but no-one who knows him even slightly can mistake for him, being anything other than honest. He swears he did not run the other driver off the road and I believe him!

Loren nodded and, satisfied with Harm's answer and waited for the question which she had baited and dangled in front of him. She wasn't disappointed.

"And how was your day?" he asked.

"Not too bad, until that asshole Turner did his best to ruin it!" she replied with some of the hurt and anger she had felt earlier resurfacing in her voice.

"Why? What happened?" Harm threw her a fleeting look out of the corner of his eye before he returned his attention to the road ahead.

"Oh, well, just short of secure, Meg and Tracy organised a cake for me and some sparkling cider, and we were celebrating my win…"

"Win? What win?" Harm asked, and then he realised, "Oh my God! Loren! You won the Sedgwick appeal!? That's… that's… that's fantastic! Well done you!"

"Yeah, well, I thought so too!" Loren smirked, "But Mister Turner did not approve. He erupted from his office, pointed out to everyone that it wasn't yet secure and strongly suggested that they return to work, specifically singling me out by reprimanding me in public and ordering me to get on with the research he had told me to complete."

"That damned stubborn bubblehead!" Harm fumed, "I don't what the hell has got into him since he was appointed Chief of Staff! In fact, given his attitude since the flight deck mishap, I don't know what the Admiral was thinking when he appointed him Chief of Staff!"

To Harm's surprise Loren gave a gurgle of laughter, "Oh… that reminds me! You should have seen his face! He had this smarmy smile on his face as he turned away, and then he saw the admiral standing there with a slice of the case and a glass of cider! I swear, Harm, he turned grey!"

"That's as may be!" Harm said bitterly, "But reprimanding you in the middle of the bull pen? No! He's way out of line doing that. I think a certain submariner and I are going to have a few choice words tomorrow. I'd love to do it in public, but two wrongs won't make a right!"

Loren shook her head, "No. I don't want you getting involved!"

"I am involved – you're my fiancée!"

"Not at work I'm not! At work, I'm Lieutenant Singer! Remember her? Well this Lieutenant has been thinking, and rather than have you get into an argument with Turner, I'm seriously considering raising a complaint against him under Regulation Eleven Fifty!"

Harm winced, "Wow! He really did get up your nose, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did!" Loren replied flatly.

Harm let that go for a minute or two as he negotiated the rush hour traffic through the tricky interchange of Broad Street and Arlington Boulevard, and it was only once he was safely in the traffic stream on the latter road and heading for the Roosevelt Bridge that he allowed himself to sneak another glance at Loren. "Something else wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, no… not really, I was just wondering why we're taking this route home."

"Construction on the Custiss," he replied succinctly.

"Ah…" Loren nodded as if that were sufficient explanation, which indeed it was.

"Anything else troubling you?" Harm asked as he indicated to pull out and overtake an Impala whose driver seemed to think that forty five was an adequate speed on a busy multi-lane highway.

"No, not really…" Loren paused and then grinned, "I think I've managed to vent most of my spleen!"

"Good. Because when we get home, you need to jump into the shower and put on a dress, maybe that blue number, the one with the square neckline? And then once I've showered and dressed. I, madam, am taking you out to dinner to celebrate your major win!" Harm checked his mirror and changed lanes again before he continued, "You do realise that despite Turner, that was very probably your last case at JAG? It's a hell of a way to bow out, and I am so very proud of you! In fact if I wasn't driving right now, I'd give you a great big hug and a kiss!"

"M'mm… Hold that thought sailor!" Loren smiled.

"Oh… I am… I am…" Harm promised.

Forty minutes later Loren walked out of the bedroom wearing the powder blue dress that Harm liked so much, and with her hair down so that it fell in shining waves until it just brushed her shoulders, "So where are we going?" she asked.

"Well… I had thought of the Sea Catch…"

"Where we went on our first date!" Loren remembered happily.

"Yeah… the problem is, when I called they didn't have a table… but the maître de suggested we try a new seafood place down on K Street, part of the Waterfront, the Fiola Mare. She gave me the number and we have a table for two booked for twenty hundred."

Loren nodded, The Waterfront was only a five minute walk, maybe a ten minute stroll south down 31st Street NW, which meant that both she and Harm could enjoy a glass or two of wine with their meal without going to the additional expense of a cab fare.

**Thursday, May 24****th****, 0653hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (241053ZMay01)**

Loren quietly hummed an old ballad to herself as she sat, fresh from the shower, at her vanity and dried her hair, her musical attempts inaudible to Harm as he sat on the edge of the bed tying his shoes, drowned out by the hum of her blow dryer.

Loren caught Harm's eye in the mirror as he straightened and her half smile became a grin the ends of which threatened to meet behind her ear. Loren Singer was, this morning, a very happy lady.

Dinner at the Fiola Mare had been an outstanding success. It turned out to be a family owned restaurant and while the kitchen was ruled with a road of iron by Guiseppe the patriarch of the family, the front of house as run by his equally formidable wife, Luisa, a rotund woman, whose easy charm almost hid her determination that this new venture should become a raging success, and the serving staff had all been sons and daughters and nieces and nephews of the couple, and all seemed to be hell bent on the same goals as Luisa and Guiseppe.

But it had not only been the service and the food – although they too had been excellent – but Harm that had made the meal so memorable. He was positively basking in the pride he felt at Loren's successful conclusion of the Sedgwick case, and made no pretence at being otherwise… and then there was the aftermath of the meal, once they had returned home… Well, that had been pretty damned spectacular in its own right, and it was amazing, Loren though, considering how little sleep they'd had, just how full of energy they both were this morning.

Harm finished dressing and stood up, "Anything special you want for breakfast?"

Loren locked eyes with Harm in the mirror, "M'mm… I'm sure I could think of something," she murmured in a throaty whisper and with a completely mischievous smile.

"Oh, I wish!" Harm replied with a smile that was nearly as wicked, "But duty calls! And you don't want to be late on your penultimate day, do you?"

Loren sighed as she stood up and reached for her blouse, "No… and you did say you had a witness to find and interview."

"And I only have today and tomorrow I guess. I did hear a rumour yesterday that Admirals Morris and Chegwidden are pushing this one through for next week so they can get Judge Sebring back on the bench where he belongs!"

"They're that confident? They trust you that much?" Loren teased.

"Not even!" Harm laughed, "It's more that they know Judge Sebring! So, come on you, breakfast! And since you haven't stated a preference, then it's eggs and toast!"

Loren nodded and slipped her feet into her pumps. "Suits me just fine she agreed!""

**Thursday, May 24****th****, 1027hrs EDT, Green Vale Motor Hotel, Route 66, Fairfax VA, (241427ZMay01)**

Harm left the motor hotel office no more impressed this morning with the manager than he had been last night. The man had been curiously reluctant to tell Harm where his witness could be found, and even more reluctant to allow him to interrupt her work, "She's got a lot to do, and the lazy bitch will take any chance to slack off!" he had grumbled, and it had taken Harm another mention of a 'Federal Case' for the man to grudgingly pointed out the row of rooms on which Mrs Ryan worked. Thanking the man, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, Harm crossed the parking lot.

"Excuse me," he called as he approached the woman, a faded red-head in her forties with a careworn face, "Are you Nora Ryan?"

Nora Ryan looked up, and rested against the mop she was holding, its head submerged in a bucket of grey, soapy water.

"Yes?" she admitted and asked in the same word, and then taking in his uniform added, "And what would the Navy possibly be wantin' with me?

"I'm Commander Rabb, and I wondered if I could take a moment of your time?"

"And for what?" he challenged him.

"To talk about Jennifer Wilson. I read your statement, it seems that two of you are very close."

"Is it about the man who ran Jenny off the road? He was Navy, I'm told. Well, Jenny was like my own. When the baby was first born… well… I used to drop by as often as I could to help."

Harm nodded and smiled understandingly, but there was something in Nora Ryan's voice, a certain edge, that caught his ear, "Uh, ma'am… I have a question I'd like to ask you."

"Did you lock the man up that ran Jenny off the road?"

"That's still waiting to go to trial, ma'am," Harm replied and then switched back to his question, "Didn't Jenny have any family that could help her when the baby was born?"

Nora sighed heavily, so heavily it sounded like an exclamation of frustration, "The poor girl had no-one else, and she was in no condition to do it on her own!"

"Why? Had there been a difficult birth?"

Thus time Nora's snort was decidedly cynical "There's no such thing as an easy one!"

"Was there a problem?" Harm persisted.

"Some women bounce back faster than others." Again Nora Ryan sighed and then sadly gave a slight shake of her head "Jenny wasn't one of them; she was worn out, poor thing."

"But there was nothing physically wrong?" a slightly puzzled Harm asked.

Nora suddenly appeared interested in folding the dirty linens on her cart, and avoided Harm's eye as she spoke, "She finally did see a doctor. It took a few months but she was able to come back to work."

"A few months!?" Harm exclaimed incredulously.

"She loved that baby, she told me once that Ruby was the only reason she had to go on," Nora said with a touch of defiance in her voice as she turned and stared Harm straight in the eye. Guessing that his line of questioning had aroused the woman's suspicions and that he would get nothing further from her, Harm nodded his acceptance of the situation.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said courteously and touching two fingers to his cover's peak, he stood still as she turned away to continue with her work.

Harm wore a very thoughtful expression on his face as he walked back to his car. Sliding behind the wheel, he opened his briefcase and took out the case file, flipping through the police report until he came to the sheet that listed Jenny Wilson's personal effects that were scrupulously catalogued at the hospital when she was brought into have her injuries treated. What he read, in conjunction with Nora Ryan's words made him think and he was still thinking deeply as he piloted it back towards Falls Church, glancing at his watch from time to time. He now had a lot to do and only today and tomorrow in which to do it, and the problem was, once he had set the ball rolling he was at the mercy of other agencies. But even so, it was still going to be a busy afternoon he had to re-read the disclosures and then he could foresee that the rest of the afternoon would be taken up by writing letters and making phone calls. But he had a visit to make first

**Thursday, May 24****th****, 1302hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (241427ZMay01)**

After a hurried lunch of a sandwich, a bottle of water and blown kiss to Loren as he passed her in the hall, Harm threw himself into his work in a race against the clock. His first call was to an extremely helpful pathology department technician at Fairfax County Hospital, the medical facility to which Jenny Wilson had been taken the night of the incident.

The next step was letter writing. Lowe wasn't a problem, he had already been notified that he would be called as a witness for the prosecution, which fitted pretty well with Harm's strategy, and for a while he wrestled with the idea of bringing Nora Ryan onto the stand, but her obvious bias in favour of Jenny Wilson made that a risky gambit, but he couldn't help wondering why Meg and Tracy hadn't called her. Maybe there was something there that they had realised and decided not to call on her testimony. On the end he decided that it wasn't worth the risk, she could paint too sympathetic a picture of the young mother.

Harm idly twirled his pen between his fingers as he sat back and considered his options. Finally he decided against calling on Nora Ryan, but turning back to the prosecution's witness list he saw, as he had expected that Meg and Tracy had called the state trooper who had attended the scene of the incident as a witness. Although there was one name on that list that he was highly surprised to see. He had intended to call that same individual as a defence witness. His brows knitted in concern; maybe Meg and Tracy did know, or had uncovered something, of which he was in ignorance.

Another period of thought set him to writing at furious speed on a legal pad, as he worked through the questions he intended to ask each witness.

Twenty minutes later he looked up at the sound of a cleared throat from his doorway and coming to his feet he gave his wrist a quick shake, "Captain Sebring, come on in, sir!"

Sebring entered Harm's office and closed the door behind him. Harm said nothing but merely indicated the visitors' chairs to the judge and waiting until Sebring had seated himself, Harm then retook his seat, "How my I help you this afternoon, sir?"

Sebring look slightly uncomfortable, "Commander I have no wish to appear as if I'm doubting your abilities. I am not. You have appeared before me on numerous occasions, and I have every confidence in you. You are a hell of a lawyer, which is why I requested you. But… are you… I mean…" he indicated the open file and the legal pad on Harm's desk, "This is our case you're working on?"

Harm was taken by surprise, the hard-nosed Owen Sebring actually appeared to be looking for reassurance, "Yes, sir, this is our case, and things are beginning to look a little clearer. I have gone through the witness statements, particularly Miss Wilson's, and there are elements in her statement that don't add up to make a coherent picture. Sir, you've said you didn't run Miss Wilson of the road, and I believe you. Miss Wilson says you did run her off the road, but I don't believe her. And I am going to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that you are not guilty of the charges laid against you. It's not going to be a slam dunk, and the proceedings could get pretty bloody, but we will win!"

Sebring nodded gravely, it was beyond him in these circumstances to show even a half-smile, "Thank you, Commander, as I said, I have every confidence in you… but…"

"It is worrying, sir. Commander Austin is a fine attorney, as his her second chair, Commander Manetti, but I've been at this a little longer than they have, and I may just have picked up on a couple of nuances that they have missed, or that they have preferred to ignore. I still have one or two tricks up my sleeve!"

"Or a magic rabbit or two?" Sebring queried heavily.

"No, sir. It's never the rabbits that are magic, it's the hat!"

"Very well, Commander… You do know that we're scheduled for zero nine hundred on Monday?"

"Noted, sir. We'll be ready!"

Sebring stood, "Good! Thank you. Commander!"

"My pleasure, sir!" Harm replied standing and waiting as Sebring left his office, and only then sank back into his seat, "Well… who would ever have thought it!" he murmured to himself, and shaking his head in disbelief, he picked up his pen and started writing again.

The result of his labours was four sheets of legal pad filled with his spiky handwriting, listing the possible – or even probable – questions he intended to ask the witnesses. The prosecution witnesses, that is, and he could only hope that the inquiries he'd set afoot today would bear fruit in time for him to use in Sebring's defence. As it was, it was fast approaching secure and he really couldn't see the point in starting something new in the few minutes left to him, so after a quick re-read of his notes, he slipped them into his briefcase to take home, knowing that a break from them would sharpen his eyes and wits at a later re-reading. Closing his briefcase, he locked his filing cabinets and desk drawers then picked up his cover from the credenza and after a final visual check of his office, closed and locked the door and made his way around the edge of the bull pen, its staff also in the process of closing down for the day, to Loren's office.

**Thursday, May 24****th****, 1657hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (242057ZMay01)**

Loren carefully checked the document displayed on her computer screen, looking particularly for words that contained a mistype but were words in their own right that wouldn't be found by the automatic spell-check application. Satisfied at last with the spelling, punctuation, syntax, lexis and grammar she sent the document to the printer and stood to walk out into the bull pen to collect the two copies she had instructed the system to print before anyone else saw them. She most definitely did not want any eyes other than her own, and maybe Harm's to see them.

The document printed and safely in her hands, Loren turned back to her office to see Harm standing at her doorway, a quizzical eyebrow raised at the sight of the two archive boxes stacked one on top of the other on the occasional table just inside the door.

"Going somewhere?" he quipped as she approached.

Loren nodded, "M'mm…" and indicated the empty spaces on the office wall where her framed law degree and bar association article of membership had hung. "I didn't have that much to do today, and who knows what tomorrow might bring, so I decided that this afternoon I'd concentrate on packing what few personal belongings and law books I have here. So, could you please take those two boxes down to the car? I have one or two very quick deliveries to make and I'll be downstairs in less than five minutes!"

"Ah… that's why you love me, because I've got a string back… and no… don't say it!" Harm grinned as he picked up the two boxes.

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Loren said as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but then spoiled the effect by chuckling.

"H'mm…" Harm eyed her sceptically as she took two brand new file covers from her desk drawer and slipped a single sheet of paper into each one before adding them to the small stack of files that sat on the corner of her desk and picking it up. "I shan't be long," she repeated, "So if you can take those down?"

"On my way!" Harm agreed cheerfully and turned, heading away from the hallway leading to the elevator. But once his back was to Loren, his face creased in a frown as he considered her behaviour.

'She's acting far too innocent… what the hell is she up to?' he wondered as the elevator creaked and groaned its way down to the first floor.

What Loren was up to was a walk across the bull pen to Tiner's cubby hole, where she found the Admiral's Yeoman with the biggest smile she had ever seen on his face. "Somebody looks happy," she observed lightly.

Tiner looked up and jumped to his feet. "Yes, ma'am! My orders have come through!"

"You're leaving us, Tiner?" Loren asked in mild surprise. The Yeoman as far as she knew was a permanent fixture at JAG.

"Yes, ma'am. It's a way off yet, but I report to OCS Pensacola on January third!"

Loren blinked, she had heard, but had forgotten that the younger man had recently passed his law school finals and the Virginia Bar Association exam. And if scuttlebutt was right (and it usually was) then he had done it all on his own time and on his own dime.

"Congratulations, Tiner!" she smiled, and honestly meant it; her own experience of getting through college and law school on her own made her appreciate just how hard Tiner must have worked to be able to do that while still serving in the Navy. But that apart, there was still the reason she had walked into his office.

"Before you pack up your desk and shake the dust of Falls Church of your feet, could you please pass this to the Admiral? And if you can make sure that it is his eyes only?"

"Of course, ma'am," Tiner took the slim folder and promptly locked it in his desk drawer. "I'll see that he gets that first thing in the morning!"

"Thank you." Loren turned on her heel and drawing a deep breath she crossed to the Chief of Staff's office and knocked on the door.

**Thursday, May 24****th****, 1708hrs EDT, Commander Sturgis Turner's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (**242108ZMay01**)**

Sturgis Turner frowned when he heard the knock on his closed door. By his reckoning he had about two more hours of work before he could finish collating the latest return from the four teams of attorneys. He had shaken his head when he saw the raw results. His instructions had been clear and explicit, yet each and every one of the team leaders had managed to interpret those instructions differently, and although the numbers he wanted were there, each team had presented them in a totally different format. Making more work for himself, of course, and smarting as he was under the lash of yesterday's rebuke from the Admiral, the last thing he wanted, or was prepared to be gracious in the face of, was yet another interruption in his busy schedule.

But there was no help for it, he decided, "Come!"

His expression grew even bleaker as he recognised his unwelcome visitor, "Well, Lieutenant?"

"The results of the research you ordered me to do, sir," Loren replied, depositing all but one of her files on his desk.

"You can't have finished yet! There must be weeks' worth of precedents still to be found."

"There may well be sir, but I regret that I am no longer available to assist you in this case." Loren replied, determined to keep a civil tongue in her head.

"What? What do you mean?" Turner demanded.

"It's just that tomorrow is my last day in post at JAG HQ, sir. I would have thought as Chief of Staff, you would have been aware of that." Loren replied.

Turner winced. As Chief of Staff, he did know that Singer was to be PCS'd, he had received a copy of her orders, but he had conveniently forgotten when that was due to happen. "So… there's still tomorrow!" he blustered.

"Not, really, sir. Most of tomorrow will be taken up with my out-briefing, handing over my current cases and processing out. So today really is the last day. And besides, sir, I don't think it would be appropriate for us to be working together at the moment."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I have to give you this, sir," Loren answered holding out the last file in her hand.

Turner almost snatched it from her, flipped open the file and started reading the single sheet of paper it held, "What… What's this?" he demanded.

"That, sir, is exactly what it says in the subject heading. It is a copy of a complaint against you made under the provision of Navy regulations Article Eleven Fifty, detailing your disregard of my abilities and qualifications, and your deliberate undermining of my authority in front of the enlisted support staff, all motivated from personal animus. The number one copy I have already submitted to the Admiral."

Turner bit back an angry retort. With this complaint filed against him he knew that his career, whether the complaint was redressed or not, had just taken a heavy hit. He could not, he must not, lash out at the complainant, in this case the blonde woman whom he was rapidly coming to consider his personal bête noir. He had only one course of action left to him.

"Very well, Lieutenant. You are dismissed," he said in as level a voice as he could manage.

"Aye, aye, sir!" Loren replied, careful to keep the satisfaction she felt out of her voice, but once her back was to the former submariner, she allowed a smile of satisfied triumph to blossom on her face.

**Thursday, May 24****th****, 1858hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (242258ZMay01)**

"So… we need to pack our bags tonight," Harm said she and Loren sat down to dinner.

"Oh? Why?" she asked.

"Well, I thought we'd celebrate your change of billet by leaving direct from the office tomorrow and driving down to Charlottesville. We haven't had a stay at the Boars Head for a while, and I kinda reckon I'd enjoy one of their dinners, with a bottle of chilled white wine to wash it down with."

"M'mm… sounds good… but with the move coming up, can we afford it?" Loren asked.

"Hell, yes! It's okay watching our outgoings, but that's a means to an end, not the end itself."

"Okay," Loren threw caution to the winds, "Why not?"

"Oh… and pack your bikini, the pool should be warm enough for a swim this time of year!"

"H'mm… I get the picture," Loren smiled, "You aren't satisfied with just drooling at my butt in normal clothes, now you want to drool over it while I'm half-naked!"

"Well, I'd rather drool over it while you were naked, but somehow I don't think the hotel management would be too happy about you cavorting around the pool like that!"

"Us! You mean us! If there's ever any public nudity, then it's going to be us! Got that, buster?" Loren pointed her fork across the table, but the severity in her voice was given the lie by the laughter in her yes.

"H'mm… joint public nudity… It's not without its appeal, but we'd probably have to go to one of those Mexican beaches for that… but it's too far or a weekend! Oh, well, into each life a little rain must fall," Harm finished mournfully.

Loren shook her head in mock despair, "If I didn't know you were just trying to wind me up, you'd be in big, big, trouble, nature boy!"

"Oh… okay, guilty as charged! And talking about guilt, just what were you up to those last few minutes in the office today! When you joined me in the lobby you had a guilty look in your eye, and bit of a smug, self-satisfied mile. I should have stayed with you and kept an eye on what you were up to!"

"Nothing much," Loren denied, but the corners of her mouth fought to keep that same smile off her face, "Just delivering the files of precedents that Turner wanted."

"And?" Harm insisted, not liking the gleam in Loren's eyes.

"Oh, alright, and a copy of the eleven fifty complaint, that I had just left with Tiner for the admiral," Loren said, a touch defiantly.

"Wow! That's heavy hitting, Loren! It could finish his career!"

"He messed with the wrong girl, then didn't he?"

Harm shook his head, "I can't say that he doesn't deserve it, but I wish you'd let me explain things to him instead."

"And that would only have made me look weak, and in need of someone to speak up for me! Well, I'm not weak and I fight my own battles!" Loren exclaimed fiercely.

Harm shook his head, "No, you're definitely not weak. I've always thought you were one of the strongest people I know, and you definitely don't need anyone else to fight your battles for you," he agreed, "But hell, you sure do play hardball!"

Loren shrugged and looked challengingly at Harm, "It's the only way I know how to play that sort of game! I wasn't about to give him the chance to bring me up on charges of DOD or insubordination, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let him get away with slighting my professional skills and then tearing me a new one in front of the entire staff of JAG – including the Admiral!"

Harm knew that Loren had acted properly, and without asking, that she had exercise that icy self-control that had been her hallmark back in the day when he had first landed in JAG Ops, but he couldn't help wishing that she had found some other method. But she was within her rights, and Sturgis had subjected her to pretty shabby treatment, so he was backing her one hundred per cent. "Okay! I just said he deserved it! But the Good Lord help me keep out of your bad books!"

"So… you don't want to get across my hawse, then?" Loren asked in sweetly reasonable voice.

Harm regarded her distrustfully, he'd been caught out by that tone before, "Go on…" he invited her warily.

"Well, if you really want to stay in my good books, how about you tell me where we're going on honeymoon!"

"Oh no!" Harm laughed. "Nice try. But it's not working. That information is not only need to know, it is highly classified and compartmented!"

Loren looked at him with wide-open innocent eyes, and said musingly, "H'mm… Frank seems to have a soft spot for me… And you did say he knew… I wonder…"

Harm's eyes crinkled with amusement, "And have you any idea the sort of grief my mom would give him if she ever found out he'd spilled the beans?" Harm asked, deliberately not letting Loren know that it was Frank's suggestion that had decided their honeymoon destination.

"H'mm… No… Be bad would it?"

"Loren, sweetheart," Harm laughed, "You have no idea!"


	79. Chapter 79

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 79**

**Friday, May 25th, 2001, 0810hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (251210ZMay01)**

Admiral Chegwidden settled himself comfortably behind his desk and for a few brief moments contemplated the soothing sight of an empty in-tray before sighing and reaching forward to stab the call button on his desk top intercom unit.

"All right, Tiner, bring it on!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

Within seconds the office door opened and Tiner, a short stack of files in hand crossed the carpeted floor and carefully deposited the files in the Admiral's in-tray.

Chegwidden grunted in mild surprise, the stack of files was noticeably shorter than he'd anticipated. "Is this all, Tiner?"

"Yes, sir…"

There was something in the younger man's voice that caught the Admiral's ear and looking up he said sharply, "But?"

"But… you might want to take a particular look at the top file, sir," Tiner suggested.

Chegwidden looked up at his Yeoman at that, "I'm not going to like it, am I, Tiner?"

"I shouldn't think so, sir," Tiner admitted.

With a sigh, Chegwidden placed his glasses on his nose and reached for the file. Opening the cover, he read the single sheet of paper within it and looked up again at Tiner, "You're right. I don't like it! Okay, Tiner, leave it with me. Dismissed," he added in a somewhat distracted tone.

Once alone in his office again, Chegwidden read through the document once more, making a couple of notes on a legal pad before closing the file and placing it in his pending-tray for further action. Then, with a shake of his head he turned his attention to the other five files that Tiner had delivered and with a feeling of relief opened the first file which detailed the charges of Disobeying a Regulation or Order, Disobedience to an Order, and the use Insubordinate Language to a Superior Commissioned Officer, all filed against a Senior Chief Petty Officer Johannsen by Lieutenant (jg) Pulver. Chegwidden blinked, "What the hell…?" he said aloud and started to read the specifications of each charge, and as he did so his eyebrows started to ascend to his non-existent hair line. 'What the hell was the CO of that unit doing when he forwarded these charges?' he asked himself. In his opinion, this should have been dealt with informally, or at the best at a Captain's mast where some suitably minor NJP could have been awarded against the Senior Chief – strictly in the name of maintenance of discipline – and then Lieutenant (jg) Pulver should have had a new, giant economy sized hole chewed in his butt. In a well regulated Navy, Lieutenant's (jg) with less than two years' service did not go around filing charges against twenty year veteran Senior Chiefs. Particularly when it appeared that the Senior Chief had done his best to prevent the said junior officer from making a fool of himself in front of the enlisted.

'No,' Chegwidden decided. 'This case isn't going anywhere until I've launched a JAGMan investigation into the circumstances surrounding the charges!'

That much decided, Chegwidden placed the file in his pending-tray and reached for the next file.

Forty minutes later his concentration was disturbed by the buzz of the intercom, "Yes, Tiner?"

"_The team leaders are here for your briefing, sir_."

"Thank you, Tiner. Send 'em in!"

Sturgis Turner led Harmon Rabb, Carolyn Imes, Meg Austin and Alan Mattoni into the Admiral's office, where after the necessary formalities and a few seconds of furniture re-arranging they all sat in a semi-circle facing the broad expanse of the Admiral's desk.

"Team leaders, anything that I need to be aware of?"

The four team leaders shared a glance before replying in a ragged chorus that there was nothing they needed to bring to the Admiral's attention, but Sturgis Turner cleared his throat and looking distinctly uncomfortable replied, "Yes, sir, there is something…"

"Yes, there is, Commander. I have it here…" Chegwidden nodded towards his pending-tray, "But I'm quite sure that it is something best not discussed in open forum," he said decisively.

Three of the team leaders looked at Turner with open curiosity, but Harm merely nodded. Bringing an inquiring look to the Admiral's face and what looked like a blush to Sturgis Turner's cheeks.

"Very well… Commander Imes, I have a case here that I want a full JAGMan investigation into. A Senior Chief charged with insubordination by a Lieutenant (jg). I want to know what the hell the CO of the unit involved is playing at by submitting these charges! From my reading the Senior… well… no, enough. I don't want to influence the situation one way or another. But I do want the investigation to be thorough and to decide whether charges are warranted. I suggest that you put this investigation into seasoned hands and not leave it to less experienced attorneys!"

Carolyn Imes nodded, "Point taken, sir. I'll put Major Lee and Lieutenant Roberts on it."

"Both of them, Commander?" the Admiral queried.

"Yes, sir. I know how good Roberts is on this sort of thing, and it will be a good yardstick by which to measure our Green brother!"

"Very well. But I want this wrapped up ASAP!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Commander Mattoni…" Chegwidden slid two files across the desk towards him, "Something for your juniors to get their teeth into… and it will give you a chance to do some mentoring… MN Two Michael Parkinson, Article Ninety Two, Dereliction of Duty. You select prosecution and defence."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Alan Mattoni replied and licking open one of the two files he raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Something wrong, Commander?" Chegwidden demanded.

"Uh… No, sir… It's just that I'm surprised charges were raised in the first place. I mean a Second World War German mine is going to be highly unstable at the best…"

"True, but after he declared it safe it went up and blew the stern off a commercial fishing vessel, the owners of which are blaming the US Navy and not the German Kriegsmarine!"

"Yes, sir… but so…?"

"So we need to establish MN Two Parkinson's guilt or innocence. Depending on the verdict we either pay, or refuse to pay compensation to the owners of the fishing vessel."

Mattoni nodded, now understanding the imperative, but not liking it at all.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, that wraps up this morning's briefing, unless any of you have anything else? No? Good. Commander Turner, stand fast. The remainder, dismissed!"

Chegwidden waited until the door had closed behind the four team leaders before he turned his attention to his Chief of Staff, "Commander, I'm pretty sure that what you referred to earlier is a complaint against you raised by Lieutenant Singer in accordance with Navy Regulation Eleven Fifty. Correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes. I thought so. Well she has submitted the complaint to me, and as I'm sure you are aware, my hands are tied. I have no discretion in this matter; I have to take action. I had hoped after our recent conversation that you would have taken note of the points I had made and modified your behaviour and that you would have been given time to adjust your attitude and your actions, but matters had obviously progressed to a point where Lieutenant Singer was no longer prepared to tolerate your… ah…" he reached for the file and read out, "'undermining her position, and authority, subverting her status as an attorney in front of the entre command and holding in contempt her training and experience as an attorney'. To a great extent I blame myself for not realising just how far relations between yourself and Lieutenant Singer had deteriorated, but at the same time it is an inarguable fact that it was you who brought about this situation. Much depends of course on what Lieutenant Singer deems satisfactory redress. The one beacon of light that I can see is that while she has in the past been self-centred, ruthless and acerbic, she has over the last few months changed in her approach to her work, her fellow officers and the enlisted, I can only hope for your sake that she is not vindictive. But whether or not she is vindictive, it is plain that you can no longer serve as my Chief of Staff, but it is also plain that that due to your lack of leadership skills, which I have already highlighted, that placing in you in command of one of the legal teams in this office is likely to prove counterproductive."

The Admiral eyed his subordinate severely, "In normal circumstances either you or Lieutenant Singer would have to be found another billet. However, as she is already under orders for PCS that should not be a consideration. But… As I said to you previously, you are in need of developing your leadership and team building skills, with that in mind, I am making arrangements for you to replace Commander Brockman as Assistant Force JAG for One MEF aboard the _Wake Island_ in the Mediterranean. You'll be working with Captain George Beal, so take the opportunity to observe and learn from her. So go ahead now and start clearing your desk…"

"Is there anyone I should be handing over to, sir?" Turner asked stiffly.

"No… I haven't decided who I am going to nominate as Chief of Staff, yet. Anything along those lines you can hand to Tiner for the moment, and that case you're working on… Hand that over to Commander Austin, and consider yourself on leave, pending orders, as soon as you have done that."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Turner said rising to his feet, "By your leave, sir?"

"Yes. I will need to see you later, but for the moment, dismissed."

Chegwidden waited until Turner had left the office and then gave him an extra minute or two's grace to give him time to clear the outer office before he reached for the intercom unit.

"Tiner!"

"_Yes, sir_!"

"Pass the word for Lieutenant Singer to report to me in my office at thirteen thirty hours!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

**Friday, May 25th, 2001, 0911hrs EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (251311ZMay01)**

Harm unlocked his filing and cabinets, and then having sat at his desk he unlocked the desk drawers too, but took out only one file. A few days ago it had contained no more than four folios, but it was rapidly gaining weight and bulk as he added notes of the questions to ask witnesses, and the sheet he particularly wanted this morning, his draft opening statement. Obviously, as the defence attorney he would have to be prepared to pick up and address any possibly contentious comments in the prosecution's opening statement, but he also needed to plan his own statement, regardless of what the prosecution might inadvertently offer him.

A worried frown creased his forehead. No matter how confident he had tried to appear in front of Captain Sebring, he was more than uncomfortably conscious that unless he could pull a rabbit out of his magic hat, this trial was going to be very much based on 'he said, she said', and that as far as he was concerned was thoroughly unsatisfactory, no better than the mere flip of a coin.

He worked steadily for an hour, nodding in silent satisfaction as his thoughts flowed from his brain through his pen and onto the paper. His strategy looked good, and his opening statement was coming together nicely. So it was with a frown of annoyance that he looked up at a knock on his office doorjamb and then sighed, he had a damned good idea of what his visitor wanted to say.

"Come on in Sturgis, and take the weight off your feet."

"No, I won't sit down," Sturgis answered grim-faced and he thrust a sheet of paper towards Harm. "Did you know about this?" he demanded.

Harm took the paper and read it and then handed it back to the other officer, "Not until it was done," he admitted and then took a breath, "But I did try to advise you a couple of days ago that you needed to stop riding Loren so hard."

"Yeah, well, you would stand up for her, wouldn't you?" Turner stated flatly.

"Sturgis, she's my fiancée! Of course I back her up. Look, buddy, I am sorry it's come to this, and if I would have known in advance what she intended I would have tried to dissuade her. But she's a lot like you, you know, she can just as stubborn, obstinate and as pig-headed as you."

"What do you mean?" Sturgis demanded.

"Look, we haven't been on particularly good terms since I overruled your decision on that flight deck mishap. Then when the Admiral was away on his fishing trip you got some sort of bee in your bonnet about what Meg had done that weekend when she headed on out to Texas. Again, I tried to hint you away from that. You may have been working together on a case or two, but that doesn't give you proprietary rights. And if you thought that perhaps she wasn't being particularly forthcoming with you, it might just be that whatever she was doing, she didn't wish to share with a comparative stranger. Had you considered that? No? I didn't think so. But even then you kept pushing until she flared up at you. And ever since then you've acted like you've got a yardarm up your butt. Yes, I know you're a by-the-book guy, and a lot of times that's a good sobering brake on us free-wheelers, but buddy, I'm telling you, you need to step back a little and look at yourself, take a fresh hold of everything and try not to be so rigid!"

Turner stiffened even further while Harm spoke and then replied, "Well, you don't have to worry about my stiffness or rigidity any longer!"

"How do you mean?" Harm asked knitting his brows.

"I've got new orders. I'm PCS-ing to the Wake Island as deputy FJAG."

Harm stood, "Sturgis, I am sorry you're leaving, but this may turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Take the time to re-evaluate your command style and try to adopt a less formal attitude when you're dealing with people. And try to remember that junior attorney, Legalman or ship's cook, they are all people, and they can have off days, so try cutting 'em some slack, and try counselling before you start disciplinary action, and try not to let likes or dislikes govern the way you treat people…"

Turner nodded and gave a wry grin at Harm's closing comment, "Maybe I should have listened to you all along… you certainly seem to garner more respect and cooperation from the enlisted than I have…" he paused, "I'll be working for a Captain George Beal… do you know him?"

"Personally? No, I don't. But I know of her…"

"Her?" Sturgis interrupted in surprise.

"Yeah, her, 'George' is short for Georgina or Georgette, I forget which… She's an international law specialist, damned good at it too… she has a reputation for being laid back and easy to get along with – well at least as any O-6 can be said to be that!" Harm chuckled, and after a moment was heartened to see the corners of Sturgis' mouth twitch.

"You'll be okay with her Sturgis, and maybe she can advise you on how to becoming less officious and see people as people not just as crew members…"

Sturgis shrugged, "Well, I'll just have to stick it out for a few more years until my twenty…"

"Until your twenty? Man, I thought you were a lifer!" Harm objected.

Sturgis shrugged, "I was, I guess. But after this…"

"Hey, it's just a blip on an otherwise good record, give it a couple of years and no-one will pay any heed to it. Don't give up on yourself just yet. You could still end up with flag rank! Hell, I've got far more dings on my record, and I haven't given up hope yet!"

The tall African-American nodded doubtfully, "Well… maybe… we'll just have to see how it pans out…"

"Well, I wish you luck, Sturge…" Harm said and then saw the lifted eyebrow, "I do. I mean that. When are you shipping out?"

"I haven't been told yet, but pretty damned quick, I guess. I've already been relieved of my duties as CoS and been told to deliver my case files to Tiner, and I've been placed on leave with effect from secure this afternoon…" A thought came to Sturgis, "Hey, maybe the Admiral will make you Chief of Staff in my place?"

Harm shuddered, "Don't! Think beautiful thoughts about your replacement! Think beautiful thoughts about me! The last thing I want around here is to be CoS!"

Sturgis nodded, "Okay, just for you… but Harm, under the circumstances, if I'm still around, you'll understand why I'll be giving your wedding a miss?"

Harm grinned, "Under the circumstances, yeah, I guess," then he sobered, "Sturgis, I'm sorry to see you go, and I'm even sorrier that it happened this way! Fair winds and a following sea my friend!"

"Yeah, see you on the flight line sometime!" Sturgis took the offered hand in his and the two men exchanged a quick grip before Turner gave a brief nod and turned on his heel to cut across the bull pen.

Harm watched him go with a heavy heart. Sturgis had, to a great extent brought this on himself, but even so Harm wondered if he and the former bubblehead would ever have their paths cross again, and even if they did he thought it unlikely that they could ever regain in full their old friendship.

**Friday, May 25th, 2001, 1330hrs EDT, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (251730ZMay01)**

"_Sir_?" Tiner's distorted voice followed hard on the heels of the buzzing of the intercom.

"Yes, Tiner?"

"_Lieutenant Singer is here sir, you said she was to report_…"

"Yes. Very well, send her in!"

Chegwidden took the file containing Loren's letter and placed it squarely on his blotter, and then placed his reading glasses firmly on his nose. "Enter!" he commanded in reply to her knock at his door.

Loren closed the door behind her and marched across the spread of carpet between the door and desk before coming to a halt in front of the expanse of polished wood. "Lieutenant Singer, reporting s ordered, sir!" she snapped pit.

"At ease, Lieutenant, take a seat," Chegwidden replied and waited until she had done so, carefully smoothing her skirt underneath as she sat. "I'm going to credit you with knowing why I asked for you to come and see me," he continued.

"Yes, sir. My letter of grievance reference Commander Turner."

"Just so," Chegwidden breathed out heavily, in what wasn't quite a sigh, "I could have wished that you had chosen to speak with me informally before submitting this formal letter of grievance, but now that you have submitted it, I am bound to take formal action. I have already spoken to Commander Turner on this matter and have informed him that I am immediately relieving him of his duties as Chief of Staff at JAG HQ and that I am cutting orders for him to report on board the _Wake Island_ as Deputy FJAG. Is that sufficient redress of your complaint, Lieutenant?"

Loren writhed inwardly. She had made her complaint and the Admiral had indeed taken swift action, but while she didn't want to appear vindictive, the sanctions Chegwidden had applied didn't really answer her complaints.

"No quite, sir," she said hesitatingly.

"In what way?" Chegwidden challenged her, "Do you expect me to file charges against the Commander?"

"Oh! No, sir!" Loren was aghast. "No, sir, but he did publicly reprimand me – not just in front of other officers, but also in front of the enlisted staff in the bull-pen…"

"I see… and would a formal, public apology ameliorate that public rebuke?"

"Yes, sir, it would!"

Chegwidden nodded, "Very well, we will make it happen before you secure for the day. You will also please take note, Lieutenant, that I am also having a letter of counselling attached to your letter of grievance and both letters inserted into Commander Turner's file. Will that then be an appropriate redress of your grievance?"

"Sir. Yes, sir!" Loren replied smartly.

Chegwidden nodded and closed the file in front of him, "Good! Now that's out of the way… Today is your last day here at JAG, correct?"

"Yes, sir! I'm taking a week's leave to finish packing our apartment in readiness for the move out to Gainesville."

"H'mm… well… your work here has always been of a uniformly high standard, but especially noteworthy were your efforts on the Coulter case and most recently on the Sedgwick tort appeal, recognition for both will appear on your PCS fitrep. I can tell you now that if you were not being posted out, and if your work, deportment and attitude had continued in their current vein, then your next annual fitrep would have carried a strong recommendation for promotion."

Loren's jaw dropped, "Th… thank you, sir…"

"Don't thank me. You turned yourself around, and as a result I shall be sorry to see you go. Obviously, it will be up to your next CO to decide on whether or not you should be promoted, but as you will still be a JAG, any recommendation for promotion will cross my desk, even if only as a matter of courtesy, and I look forward to seeing that recommendation next year." He hesitated briefly before he asked, "And how are you coping with the after effects of your intruder, and then the murder across the hallway? Especially as both the deceased were ONI? You realise you might take some flak over that at the Pentagon?"

Loren nodded soberly, "It hasn't been easy, sir, but Commander Rabb has been very supportive, and I've been attending therapy sessions on a weekly basis at Bethesda. I still have one or two issues to work through, but with the therapy and a change of location, I'm pretty hopeful that there won't be too much in the way of long term effects."

Chegwidden nodded his acknowledgement and then stood, and reached his hand across his desk, "Well, I hope that all works out as you planned. You seem to have approached this whole thing in a remarkably level-headed manner, and I wish you well. Loren, this isn't goodbye, just a temporary farewell. After all, I look forward to seeing you at your wedding!"

Loren hastily scrambled to her feet and took the proffered hand in her own, "Thank you, sir! It has been an honour and a privilege to serve under your command!"

"Yeah, I'll bet!" Chegwidden twinkled, "But thank you for that thought! Now go on, I'm sure you've still a lot to do before secure!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Loren responded with a smile before about facing and making for the door.

Chegwidden watched the door close behind Loren before he sat, shaking his head, "An honour and a privilege – yeah, right!" he chuckled to himself.

He allowed a couple of minutes to compose himself before stabbing the intercom call button once again, "Tiner!"

"_Sir_?"

"Pass the word for Commander Turner to report to me ASAP!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

**Friday, May 25th, 2001, 1650hrs EDT, Ops Section Bull Pen, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (251730ZMay01)**

Tiner preceded the Admiral into the bull pen, and in a passable imitation of a Maine Corps DI called out "Admiral on deck!"

This was so unlike the Admiral's usual practice – he normally required acknowledgement of his presence only on his first appearance of the day – that the occupants of the room sprang to attention although sharing wondering glances before locking their eyes to the front.

Thanks to Tiner's preparatory phone calls of a few minutes ago all the attorneys had also casually drifted into the bull pen. Harm and Loren had an inkling of what was about to happen, but the remainder of the teams were as much in the dark as the most junior seaman.

"Thank you, Tiner," Chegwidden acknowledged the younger man before turning to the rest of his staff, "I believe Commander Turner has something to say that he wishes you all to hear. Commander Turner?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Sturgis stepped forward his expression suggesting strongly that he was suffering from an acute attack of constipation, "Lieutenant Singer?"

"Yes, sir?" Loren replied formally stepping forward.

"Lieutenant Singer. Yesterday I rebuked you publicly. That was very wrong of me. I had no business reprimanding you in front of other members of staff, let alone when so many of them are junior to you in rank, years and experience. If I had cause to admonish you, then I should have done so behind closed doors. By not doing that I went a fair way to undermining your authority as an officer, for that and for my behaviour which was also unwarranted, I offer you my most profound apologies."

Loren contemplated Sturgis for a few seconds. She knew she would have found making such a public apology extremely difficult, and had a pretty good idea, just how difficult the stiff-necked Commander must have found it to do just that. Showing any signs of triumph or even satisfaction at receiving his apology would just seem to him to be nothing more than an expression of spite, so although she now felt like turning cartwheels across the bull pen, she contented herself with a simple, and sober, "Thank you, sir. Your gracious apology is accepted."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Turner replied and then turned to the Admiral, "By your leave, sir?"

"Yes, carry on, Commander!" Chegwidden agreed and waited until Turner had disappeared into his own – soon to be his ex – office. "As you were!" the Admiral growled and without waiting until the bull pen had resumed its normal level of activity spun on his heel and retired to the big chair waiting behind the cherry-wood desk.

AS the normal, cheerful Friday afternoon secure buzz rose back to its normal level, Loren slipped into Harm's office.

"Feel better now?" Harm asked and there was just a sufficient hint of bitterness in his voice for her to look askance at him.

"Something troubling you, Harm?"

Harm slumped into his chair and ran both hands through his hair, "Yeah… I guess." He took a breath, "I know Sturgis only has himself to blame for this. Oh, it's not just you, he's been banging heads with, he's been pissed at me for months, he had a run-in with Meg, and he treats the support staff as if they were robots. But I just wish that it could have been someone else, other than you, to bring him up with a round turn!"

"Why? Because he's – or was – your friend?" Loren snapped.

Harm nodded unhappily, and confessed, "Yes, there is an element of that in the way I feel, but mostly…" he looked up at Loren meeting her eyes with his own as he desperately tried to convey his sincerity, "because it will always be remembered that it was you that raised the eleven fifty redress, and I'm a little concerned that it may affect your career in the future."

"But…" Loren started to protest.

Harm held up a hand to forestall her, "Yes, I know that once an eleven fifty redress had been resolved that's an end to the matter – or that's how it's supposed to work, but you and I are both savvy enough to know that word always gets out, and there's always a chance that somewhere down the line a reporting officer will remember this case and that may raise doubts in his mind about you when he's writing your fitrep. No, it's not supposed to happen, but…"

Loren sucked in a breath and then allowed herself a wry grin. "Well, we'll just have to hope that doesn't happen, but if it does happen in the future, then I'll deal with it."

"No you won't," Harm disagreed, standing up and moving around his desk towards her, "We'll deal with it!" he said emphatically but gently. "But as for right now, Miss Singer, I'm going to get changed into civvies. See you at the CP in ten?"

"You bet!" Loren agreed, her smile this time the genuine article, "Amongst all the fuss today I nigh on forgot that we're headed to Charlottesville."

Harm looked concerned, "You… uh… you did remember to pack your bag and stow it in the Lexus?" he asked anxiously.

"I said, 'nigh on', not that I had completely forgotten!" Loren chuckled, "Now go on, get out of here, let's get secured, changed, and away!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Harm laughed, grabbed a duffel bag containing his jeans and a sweatshirt from the knee hole of his desk and ushered Loren out of the office.

**Friday May 25****th****, 2001, 1941hrs EDT, The Boars Head, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (252341ZMay01**)

"That wasn't too bad a run!" Harm said with a certain degree of satisfaction in his voice.

"No, not bad for a Friday afternoon," Loren agreed, but she gratefully unsnapped her seat belt and gave a little wriggle to ease the mild discomfort she felt after sitting in the car for over two hours.

Harm gave a little grin, Loren's slight manoeuvre hadn't escaped his notice, and although he nearly commented, he decided not to tempt the fates and said nothing except, "Come on then, let's grab out bags and get checked in!" The two, each with a sea-bag slung over their shoulders – even after so many months together, Loren still wouldn't accept Harm carrying her bags for her – made their way across the parking lot and up the short, shallow flight of stone steps to the hotel's front door, and so into reception.

**Friday May 25****th****, 2001, 1950hrs EDT, Room 344, The Boars Head, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (252350ZMay01)**

With their bags were dumped on the foot of the bed, Loren's hands flew the buttons on her blouse, "I reckon we've just about got enough time for a shower, before we need to head downstairs," she told Harm in the sort of voice that left no room for compromise.

However Harm wasn't in the mood to quibble and a speculative gleam came to his eyes as Loren stepped out of her jeans. "Together, or one after the other?" he half asked, half suggested from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

Loren grinned, "There's nothing I'd like better than have you scrub my back," she admitted but then added with a sigh, "But, if we're going to make it in time for dinner, the we'd best not…" she finished in a disappointed voice.

"M'mm… Maybe not," Harm agreed reluctantly, his eyes darkening with desire as Loren unclipped her bra and then hooked her thumbs into the waist band of her panties.

Something made her pause and look across at Harm and her cheeks went slightly pink at the unabashed lust that she read in his face, "Oh, wow," she breathed, "Just hold onto _that_ thought, Mister Lover Man!"

"Now, that, is something I fully intend to do!" he agreed emphatically and then heaved a sigh of regret as Loren whisked one of the bathrobes from the back of the bedroom door and slipped into it.

"Later!" she promised throatily.

"Oh, yeah…" Harm breathed as the bathroom door close behind her, and then collapsed backwards onto the bed, a forearm over his eyes as he let out a groan.

**Friday, May 25****th****,****2001, 1950hrs EDT, Meg Austin's Apartment, ****Cul de Sac off 4****th**** Street NE, Washington, DC (252350ZMay01)**

Meg sat, undecided, almost on the very edge of her couch, staring at her latest purchase – a pre-paid cell phone – and although she had bought for a specific purpose, she now doubted whether she ought to use it for that purpose, or just take it into work, lock it in her desk and leave it there.

But it was no good. She really needed to find what had happened and although still beset with doubts, her anxiety outweighed them and picking up the phone she tapped the number she no longer needed to record anywhere.

"_Galinde_z."

"Ola, es su rubia favorita." [Hey, it's your favourite blonde.]

"_Meg? Que pasa?" [Meg? What are you doing?]_

"¡Cuidado, vaquero, nombre sin nombres!" [Careful, cowboy, name no names!]

"_Esto no es seguro…"[This isn't safe!]_

"¡Este es un teléfono quemadura y estamos hablando español ¡no se puede conseguir mucho más seguro! Ahora dime, ¿qué dijeron hoy los médicos?" [This is a burn phone and we're speaking Spanish, it couldn't get much safer! Now, tell me, what did the doctors say today?"

"_¡__Una gran cantidad! _¡_Mucho para decir por teléfono_!"[A lot. Too much to tell over the phone!]

"Bueno. Vale, ah ... no he tenido mi cena todavía. Estaba pensando en ir a Trattoria de Zia Angelina el noveno y G..." [Okay…I haven't had my dinner yet. I was thinking about going to Zia Angelina's Trattoria on Ninth and G…]

Victor groaned, "_No estoy seguro de que sea prudente…" [I'm not sure that's wise…]_

Meg bit back an exclamation of impatience and replied, "Bueno, voy a estar allí a las ocho ... no me importaría un poco de compañía. Tu decides." [Fine, I'm going to be there at eight… I wouldn't mind some company. It's up to you.]

**Friday May 25****th****, 2001, 2000hrs EDT, Restaurant, The Boars Head, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (252359ZMay01)**

"Mister Rabb! Miss Singer! It's great to see you again!" Marie greeted them. From almost anyone else Harm would have been slightly cynical at the effusive welcome, but there was something in the more than professional smile that the brunette Maître d'hôtel wore that made him think that she really was pleased to see them back again.

"As soon as I saw your names on the guest list I reserved your usual table for you… and…" her eyes flitted over Loren's shoulder, "here's Sandy to escort you to it!"

Sandy's smile, if not quite as broad as Marie's was equally genuine and once again seemed to show that the blonde was more than just happy to see Harm and Loren return, "This way, please… although I'm sure you remember where the table is!" she added with an over the shoulder grin.

"Just lead us to it, thank you, Sandy," Loren smiled.

Harm waited until he'd sat Loren before taking his own seat and looking up at Sandy, who with the air of a conjurer producing a rabbit out of a hat, whipped the two menus from under her left arm and presented one each to Loren and Harm.

"Mineral water?" she asked knowingly.

"Of course," Harm smiled.

"I'll leave you with the menus then, while I go fetch it!"

Sandy was back in five minutes with the mineral water nestling in an ice-filled bucket which she placed on the table with a flourish. "Are you ready to order?" she asked, her hand going to her uniform skirt pocket for her order pad.

"Yes, please," Loren replied, "I'll have a Greek salad to start, followed by the seafood paella. Harm?"

"Oh… just a normal green salad for me please, with ranch dressing, and the blackened crawfish with rice and red beans."

"Would you like anything from the wine list?" Sandy asked.

Harm looked across at Loren, "Paella, eh?" and received her nod in reply. "In that case Sandy, I think a bottle of the Alberiño, please."

Sandy finished scribbling the order on her pad, "Coming right up!" she affirmed cheerfully, and whisked away to the kitchen to place the order.

Loren and Harm spent the ten minutes waiting for their meal in giving the impending house move and their wedding plans a mental pass in review order, and even continued talking for a couple of minutes after their salads arrived, until Loren almost absent-mindedly dig her fork into her salad and conveyed it to her mouth. The sudden eruption of flavours set her gastric juices flowing and her stomach gave pout an all too audible, and all too embarrassing rumble. Harm grinned across the table at her crimson cheeks, "I guess someone's decided she's hungry?" he queried lightly.

Loren, by now with a second mouthful of salad could only grin sheepishly and nod. Harm gave an indulgent shake of his head and took the first mouthful of his own salad, suddenly realising that he too was extremely hungry.

Sandy kept an eye on the table from a discreet distance and once it seemed that Harm and Loren had finished their salads, she gave them a couple of minutes before whisking the dirty plates away and with a smiling, "I'll be right back!" once again disappeared into the depths of the kitchen.

**Friday, May 25****th**** 2011hrs EDT, Zia Angelina's Trattoria Tradizionale Ninth and G Street SE, Washington DC (250011ZMay01)**

Meg had asked for a corner table and the smiling woman behind the counter had obliged. Francesca Agostinello may not have been Zia Angelina, but she had inherited this trattoria from her great-aunt and was determined to keep going in the manner Zia Angelina started it. Paramount amongst her mantras was 'be nice to the customers – they pay your wages', and besides, she had the distinct feeling that she had seen this tall, blonde woman before.

Once Meg had sat down and been offered the menu, she asked for a demi-carafe of the house red, and recommendation of something from the menu to complement it.

"You want to order now?" Luisa asked.

Meg smiled briefly, "Not just yet, I'm hop… uh… I'm expecting someone to join me, so would you mind if I don't order straight away?"

"Sure, honey, we're not that busy that we can't wait for your date," Francesca smiled and placed a carafe of iced water on the table, and then over her shoulder to the couple at another table, "Be right with you!" and then with another smile flashed at Meg she hurried away.

Meg nibbled idly on a grissino and poured some water from the carafe, casting an anxious eye at the clock which now read eight twenty-one and was just about to give up and resign herself to a solitary meal when the restaurant door opened to allow Victor Galindez to enter. He looked around, and Meg thought with a beat of hope in heart that he too looked a trifle anxious. An impression that was fortified as his eye lit on her at her table, helped by the fact that she had half risen when she saw him.

Victor made his way across to the table, and sat down opposite Meg, letting out a relieved sigh as he did so. The sigh made Meg look at him sharply and she now noticed the lines of pain around his eyes and his mouth and that he looked pale under his tan.

"Oh, Victor, why didn't you tell me you were hurting? I'd have come to your place instead of making you come down here!"

"Good evening to you too, Meg," Victor smiled.

"Oh! I'm sorry…"

"And so you should be," Victor smiled again, although Meg could see the worry in his eyes too, "Nagging me the second I sat down!"

"I was not nagging you!" Meg denied furiously "I was… am… concerned about you!" She paused and then fixed him with a penetrating stare, "And stop trying to deflect my question! Why didn't you tell me that you'd find it difficult to get here?"

"Not difficult, Meg, just a little longer than I thought it would. As for why I didn't tell you… well… because I don't want you visiting my apartment any more…"

A lot of women would have taken that to mean that Victor had lost interest in them, but Meg was not one of them. She knew, without having to be told, that Victor's reluctance to have her visit him was the result of his worry about her career and liberty.

Even so, she interrupted him, "And I've told you, I don't care. You are one of the staff at JAG and you are on hospital leave on your own. What's more natural than somebody looking in on you once in a while to make sure that you're coping okay?"

"If it was Tiner, or even Hawkins, or somebody else from that tier, Meg, or even Lieutenant Roberts or Commanders Rabb or Turner, that would be fine, but not you, or Commander Imes. That would just lead people to jump to the wrong conclusion.

"Or the right one," Meg corrected him gently.

"Which would be even worse." Victor replied.

"Or not!" Meg snapped but then sugar coated her reply with a wry grin and "It all depends on which way you look at it!"

Victor was about to rebut Meg's counter when Francesca bustled up to the table, "Hi, honey, you ready to order now?"

Meg looked up and smiled, silently grateful for the interruption which would allow both her and Victor to take a step back and breathe more easily. "Yes, thank you, we'll go with the house red, and whatever your recommendation to go with it."

Francesca nodded, "I spoke with the chef and he reckons you can't go wrong with the beef braciole…"

Meg nodded, "Victor?"

Victor managed to battle down his stiffness and present a reasonable facsimile of being relaxed, "Sounds good to me… but instead of the house red, how would a Barolo go with the beef?"

"That would go just fine," Francesca smiled. "So a bottle of Barolo and the beef braciole it is!" She made a note of her pad and whisked off back towards the kitchen

Meg leaned forward, "Victor, I didn't come here tonight to fight with you, I came because I want to know what the doctors said to you today. So can we call for a cease-fire?"

"I don't want to fight with you either, Meg," Victor agreed with a sad smile, "It's just…"

"Yeah, I know. It's one hell of a situation, ain't it?" Meg asked wryly, "But do we have an armistice?"

"Of course!" Victor said emphatically and then waited while Francesca placed two bowls of salad and the bottle of wine on the table. "You want to know, what the doctor said?" he continued once the waitress had disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

"Of course!" Meg declared with a determined nod of her head.

"Okay… well… I've lost a third of my liver and about a quarter of my right lung. That rules me out for any more combat tours… So for the rest of my time in the corps, I shall be driving a desk, and I can kiss goodbye to any hopes of further promotion."

Meg thought for a few moments before she poured two glasses of wine and then said tentatively, "Okay… I know that's got to grate, but it's not entirely a bad thing. I mean, I came close to losing you on a simple brig chaser assignment, so as far as I'm concerned, you being restricted from combat is not really bad news. As for promotion… well, didn't you say that you weren't going to re-up when your current enlistment expires?"

Victor took a mouthful of salad, chewed and swallowed before he replied, "Yeah, I did… but it's one thing to make a choice, and another to have the option to choose taken away…"

Meg nodded, "Yeah, I guess… so what happens now?"

"Back to Bethesda in a couple of weeks for another review, and this time I'm hoping I can persuade the medicos that I'm fit enough to return to admin duties at JAG. Otherwise, it'll be review after review for six months, and then if I'm not fit enough for restricted duties it'll be a disability discharge. In the meantime, I continue with twice weekly therapy sessions."

Meg nodded, as if understanding, but inside she was torn two ways. She knew that Victor would see a disability discharge as a slur, but a strictly administrative assignment would take him out of the firing line permanently, and an early discharge held up the possibility of an early resolution to their commissioned/enlisted dilemma. As things stood, she nodded, "Well, I hope you get everything you want Victor. I know it's going to be difficult for you to accept the doctors' verdict but remember, you've always got my support, and you've also got my love. And I will stand by you, Admiral, Navy regs and the UCMJ be damned if need be!"

"Don't do that, Meg. Don't sacrifice your career. Mine's already gone… well… most of it. But you, you're an attorney and a good one, if you end up with a court-martial conviction, that's a Federal offence and you can kiss goodbye to your legal career, your state bar association will strike your name through so fast it'll set your head spinning!"

"Yeah, that's true," Meg smiled, apparently not at all perturbed at that prospect, "But although I'm an attorney, I'm also a cowgirl, with a substantial stake in a ranch back home to Texas… and if I get kicked out of the Navy we could move there I could teach you the cattle business… and I could also teach you to ride!" she finished with a grin that could only be described as extremely wicked.

Victor gasped as he grasped her deliberate _double entendre_ and shaking his head, his face split into a reluctant grin, "You are bad!" he accused Meg.

"And you are only just finding that out?" she grinned back across the table at him.

Victor continued to shake his head for another moment or so until Francesca returned to the table with a smile and their food, which she placed on the table with a just a suggestion of a swagger, "Buon apetito!" she wished them and retreated to the cash register where she totalled up another table's check with another smile at her thoughts. She had detected a definite chill between the tall blonde and her dinner date when she had taken their order and was relieved and pleased to find that whatever awkwardness there might initially have been, that all seemed well between them now – 'And they have barely touched the wine yet!' She added with a silent giggle.

**Friday May 25****th****, 2001, 2110hrs EDT, Restaurant, The Boars Head, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (260110ZMay01)**

Harm pushed his empty plate away from him and leaned back against his chair with a silent exhalation, "I swear they're making their portions bigger!" he observed.

"And you're complaining?" Loren grinned as she chased the last few grains of rice from her paella around the plate.

"Well… not as long as they don't make their prices higher as well," Harm smiled back. Loren had taken no special pains with her appearance this evening, but Harm thought she had seldom looked more beautiful than she did right now. Her hair was down as was usual when she wasn't on duty, and she wore a plain blue denim shirt and a pair of jeans. They were clean and pressed, but no way could they be described as the epitome of fashion. Whatever Loren might be, there was one thing she devoutly claimed she was not, and that was a 'fashion victim', not that she needed to be, Harm mused, she had a natural sense of style, and although she didn't have a closet stuffed with clothes, what was there was good quality and yes, even timelessly stylish.

Harm must have been staring for longer than he realised when a slightly blushing Loren broke into his train of thought. "See something you like? Or have I got some rice stuck to my teeth?" she demanded.

"It was more in the way of liking what I saw," Harm smiled back, although he could feel the tips of his ears becoming warm. "I was just thinking that I can't remember a time when you look more beautiful than you do right now…"

Loren's mouth dropped open… "How… how can you say that?" she gasped, frantically fanning her cheeks with an open hand.

"Because I mean it," Harm said softly.

"Oh!" Loren gasped again, "But this shirt… my jeans… and my hair's a mess and I haven't touched my face since lunch time… How can you say that?" she repeated her question.

"Simple," Harm smiled, "I love you, and anyway, you don't need clothes, a fancy hair style or piles of goo slapped on your face, you are just naturally beautiful, and every time I look at you, I thank whatever Gods there might be that I decided to try to get to know you, and by getting to know you, fell in love with you…"

There was something about Harm' voice more than his words that struck something visceral, something primitive deep inside Loren. Her voice became husky and her eyes darkened, but when she spoke it was with an attempt at being casual, "Oh… I was going to order dessert, but now I think you'd better take me to bed…"

"Your command is my wish!" Harm declared as he pushed his chair back and stood, a hand held out to help Loren to her feet.

Sandy watched them go, not at all deceived by their attempt at sauntering casually out of the restaurant, and turned to Marie at the maître d'hôtel's lectern, "Young love… ain't it grand!"

Marie smiled, "Yeah… but as for young love… Sweetheart they've got about ten years on each of us!"

"Oh that!" Sandy waved off Marie's quibble, "I wasn't just talking about physical age! That doesn't matter!"

"So you'll still love me when I'm old and grey?" Marie teased her.

"As long as you don't turn mean with old age!" Sandy laughed.

"In that case, I won't!" Marie agreed.

**Friday May 25****th****, 2001, 2121hrs EDT, Room 344, The Boars Head, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (260121ZMay01)**

Harm and Loren almost imperceptibly quickened their pace along the hallway until they were just short of double timing it and Loren fidgeted with impatience as Harm, his hands trembling with the sudden urgency of his need fumbled the key card at his first attempt. Then after what seemed an interminable age to the blonde he opened the door and turning, grabbed Loren's hand and tugged her into the room.

Loren barely had time to back heel the door closed when Harm pinned her up against it, his lips locked on hers, his tongue demanding entrance to her mouth and his hands fumbling at the buttons of her shirt and at her belt buckle.

Loren's hands were equally busy as they pushed his sweater up under his arms and tugged impatiently at his jeans buttons.

Hands desperately scrabbling, their lip lock broke long enough for Loren to tug Harm's sweater over his head as he staggered backwards, taking Loren with him as he fell onto the bed.

**Saturday May 26****th****, 2001, 0900hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (261300ZMay01)**

Harm eased the Lexus to a halt alongside the hangar, "All ready?" he grinned at Loren.

"Oh yeah, I haven't felt this relaxed in weeks!" Loren smiled, "I know we're trying to economise a bit, but I think the expense of a weekend at the Boars Head was justified, don't you?" she asked with a naughty smile.

"Oh, so very yes!"

Harm agreement was so emphatic, that Loren broke into a gurgle of laughter, "So I didn't wear you out last night?" she grinned.

"Nope, but it wasn't for want of trying," Harm grinned back, "And don't think your efforts went unnoticed or unappreciated!"

They still had grins on their faces when they entered the comparative cool darkness of the hangar to see that two of Pop's boys – or rather Alison's boys, in clean, new coveralls, with some sort of badge on the right arm had already started to push the Stearman out of its customary spot inside the hangar. Harm nodded a friendly greeting to them as he anxiously watched as they lined up the venerable biplane with the hangar doors and started to roll it out onto the hangar apron.

Making their way to the office, Harm stopped and gave a precautionary knock on the door, and said in response to Loren's puzzled frown, "The way things are going around here, I don't want to upset any apple carts."

Turning the handle he opened the door and stepped in to the office. And it was now an office, although the floor was still the same old brown linoleum, it had been swept, mopped and polished and the piles of paperwork that Pop had left lying around on every surface – forcibly reminding Harm of Mac's office – had all been cleared away and Harm could only assume that they had either been filed, or incinerated. And at the moment he was betting on them being filed. "Good morning Alison, Mattie," Harm greeted the two female inhabitants of the office as they looked up at his and Loren's entry.

"Good morning," Alison smiled, we got your message, and your Stearman should…" she glanced at her watch, "be just about being wheeled out for you."

"Yeah we saw two of your boys wheeling her out as we came in," Harm explained. "And very neat they looked too."

Alison was quick to detect any hint of criticism and she replied somewhat stiffly, "It was okay for Pop Walchowski to let the place look a bit run down and his fitters wear any old rags to work in… But Pop was former Air Force with decades of experience behind him, and I'm just…"

"A civilian, who hasn't got Pop's rep?" Harm interrupted.

Alison flashed him a grateful smile, "That's a good part of it yes. But there's more. I haven't yet been fully accepted by the aviation community around here, so I need to be seen to be doing things my way, making a success of the business my way, and not just cruising along on the goodwill that Pop generated in his years here. And then again…"

"You're a woman," Loren finished for her.

"Again that's another part of it," Alison agreed, "So you can see why I have to do things my way until people around here," she indicated the airport with a sweep of her arm, "get to know me better, and maybe even begin to like and respect me, then, again maybe, I can relax a little."

Loren looked at Harm and nodded, "That's fair enough," she agreed, "But it would help along the way if you weren't so rigid to begin with?" she said, the rising inflection of her voice turning her statement into a question.

"It might," Alison agreed, "but I see that happening about three months down the line."

Harm nodded again. From Alison's perspective she was struggling to take over a business and stamp her mark on it. A business that Pop had spent decades building up, and although it wasn't her fault and it was completely unfair, he knew that there were enough people around who resented change, just because it was change.

But before he could say any more, Alison turned to her daughter, "Mattie, why don't you take Miss Singer to the refurbished ladies' room, and assign her a locker. Saves you have to cart your flying gear everywhere. At the moment it's only the women that have a proper locker room, but the men's is in hand," she assured Harm, who waved off the matter as if it was unimportant.

"I'm sure you'll slowly get everything just the way you want it. In the meantime, I guess if we need to change we'll have to make do with the men's room?"

"If you need to," Alison confirmed with a smile.

Harm looked up at the office clock and then down at his watch, "Uh… Changing the subject, any sign of Mike Hills?"

"Oh… yeah. Sorry. Mike called in about an hour ago… he can't make it for Miss Singer's check ride, but he's sending a Howard Young down to do the check ride for her."

Harm frowned, "Howard Young?" he didn't like the idea of someone he didn't know being loose in the Stearman with Loren but then the realisation dawned on him that he knew the name from somewhere, and in connection with flying.

With an absent nod of acknowledgement to Alison he turned to the door still pondering, and then all thoughts of Howard Young were driven out of his mind.

"Good God! What the heck is that!?"

'That' was a circular wooden plaque hanging on the back of the door. It was about two feet in diameter, sky blue with a yellow border and in the centre in white robes, with a beatific smile on her face – which looked remarkably like Mattie's – was a flying angel, and underneath on a scroll was painted 'Grace Aviation'.

"That, is the company's new logo," Alison smiled.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I got that bit," Harm replied, "But why an angel?"

"How many other beings do you know of that are blessed with so much grace?" Alison asked with a twinkle in her eye.

Harm groaned, "That is a really, really bad pun!"

"Yeah I know, but that's what makes it so funny!" Alison retorted.

"Ya think?" Harm asked, and shaking his head he left the office, complete with a giggling Alison Johnson behind him, as he headed for the hangar door only to be intercepted by a grey haired man in his late forties, a leather flying jacket over an incongruous dress shirt and tie.

Harm nodded civilly as he passed him, but the other man stopped, "Commander Rabb?"

Harm stopped too and turned, "Yeah, that's me!"

"Had to be!" the other man smiled, "Howie Young, Commander USN, retired! I'm here for Mike Hills!"

"Of course!" Harm exclaimed, "Now I've placed you! You were the Howlers' XO at Miramar a few years back when there was all that crap about them being a jinxed squadron!"

"Yeah…" the other man sobered as both he and Harm thought back to the spate of accidents that had been experienced by the Howlers, including the deaths of two of Harm's friends, but after a moment or two's silence both men gave a mental shake.

"So… if you're here for Mike, what do you do for a living these days?" Harm probed cautiously. He wasn't ungrateful to Mister Young for stepping up if Mike was incapacitated, but he still had doubts, even given the other man's flying pedigree, about letting him fly with Loren.

Mike nodded, and dipped a hand into the inside breast pocket of his flying jacket, "I'm a CFI normally based at Leesburg. But when Mike explained the situation with you and Lieutenant Singer, I said sure, I'd help out. Here…"

He proffered Harm a slim brown, leather card holder, open to show his FAA authorisation and ID Card.

Harm gave it a close inspection, hoping that the other man wouldn't take offence, but he seemed almost pleased with the intensity of Harm's scrutiny, and when the JAG attorney had finished he took the card holder back with a pleasant smile, "Happy now?"

Harm nodded, "Yeah, I guess."

Howard nodded agreeably, "Well, I'm going to be just as cautious. Before I get into a plane with Lieutenant Singer, I'm going to go through her ground school work with her. I understand Mike had that scheduled for this weekend?"

Harm nodded, "That's right. But he normally did that on a Sunday morning."

"H'mm… but Mike is happy with the way Miss Singer flies, and I haven't flown with her yet." He paused for a moment, "Didn't you and Mike have a talk about you trying for a CFI qualification? And didn't you claim that you didn't feel like risking your neck with clueless, no talent nuggets?"

Harm was forced to grin and acknowledge the truth behind those questions, "Yeah, we did, and I did. But Loren is a far better pilot than I was at this stage in my flying lessons – but don't you ever tell her I said that!"

"Your secret is safe with me! Ah… and is that the young lady in question?" Howard asked looking over Harms shoulder.

Harm twisted around to see Loren and Mattie walking out of the hangar towards them, the youngster talking animatedly and making sweeping gestures with her hands, although as the two women neared she fell silent and stared at the newcomer with unabashed curiosity. Loren, although she was just as curious, managed to hide that behind a cool smile, "Harm, who's your friend?"

"Loren this is Howard Young. Mike can't make it this weekend, so Howard's come down to help us out." He saw Loren's face begin to cloud, "It's okay, sweetheart, I've checked his credentials and he is a CFI, and he's a former naval aviator, he used to fly with the Howlers off the _Coral Sea_ and out of Miramar."

Howard stepped forward his hand extended, "Good morning, Miss Singer. Harm tells me you're a good stick, and although there just might be the hint of a suspicion that he's biased, Mike tells me the same thing. It's good to meet you having heard so much about you. Obviously, you'll have a lot you'll want to ask me before you trust yourself in a plane with me, so is there somewhere we can sit and talk?"

"Oh… I don't know…" Loren answered as she took the offered hand in a firm grip.

"There's a second office on the other side of the hangar that Mom and I have been cleaning up," Mattie volunteered. "It's not up to standard yet, but I figure it'll do if you need somewhere private."

"Sounds good to me," Howard replied and then turned his attention back to Loren, "and while we've got the use of the office, we might as well get the ground school and radio procedures out of the way. It shouldn't take more than say two hours, maybe two and a half?" Howard suggested.

"Loren, are you sure you want to do this?"

Loren shrugged. "It was going to happen sometime over the weekend, so why not get it over and done with, and then we can spend this afternoon and all tomorrow flying."

"Okay… I'll grab a chair and soak up some rays…" Harm began.

"No," Loren interrupted, "Take Sarah up for an hour or so. You know you won't get much stick time this weekend once I'm on board."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Harm asked.

"No, no, you go ahead. I'll be fine. I'm sure Mister Young can't damage me while we're sat in an office!"

Harm relaxed, thankful that Loren was taking this unexpected turn of events so calmly. "Okay then I will."

"Does that mean you'll have an empty seat?" Mattie asked eagerly.

"Oh, Mattie, you know I can't take you up without your mom and dad's say-so," Harm objected, not relishing the idea of taking the pre-teenager up in Sarah.

"What if Mom gives the okay?" Mattie insisted.

"What about your dad?" Harm hedged.

"He's not here today. He's at home – asleep!" Mattie answered bitterly.

Loren grinned at Harm's predicament, "Go on, ask her mother. The worst she can do is say no."

'Or yes' Harm thought but managed a nearly convincing smile and said, "Come on then squirt, let's go see your mom"

"Squirt!?" the youngster demanded indignantly as she almost tugged Harm towards the office.

Harm's voice floated back to Loren, "Yeah, Squirt!"


	80. Chapter 80

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 80**

**Saturday May 26th, 2001, 0910hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (261310ZMay01)**

"Wow! Thanks, mom!"

Harm looked at Alison in almost disbelief. When he had been almost dragged into the office by an excited Mattie he had been certain that Alison would unhesitatingly refuse her daughter's request to be taken flying. Instead, she had looked up from her desk, looked out of the window and then with a smile and said, "Okay, why not, it's a nice day. Commander Rabb is an experienced pilot and I'm sure he will take excellent care of you. How long would you expect to be up, Commander?"

A stunned Harm replied, "Maybe half an hour?"

Alison shook her head, "Hardly seems worth the landing fee for just half an hour, an hour would make much better sense, from an economic point of view."

Harm could hardly argue with that, and managed to reply, "Yeah, so…" and looked at his watch, "back at ten twenty hours, if that's okay?"

Alison smiled, "Sure. Mattie, go get wrapped up, and meet the Commander on the apron, where I'm sure he'll be doing his pre-flight walk around."

"I'm gone!" The youngster replied with a huge grin, and suiting her actions to her words she whirled out of the office like a comet trailing a fiery red tail.

The two adults watched her go one the bemused expression, as if he wasn't quite sure what had just happened, and the other with a slight crease between her brows, and as the door closed looked up at the tall Navy officer, and said, "Thank you so much, Commander. Mattie has been pestering me and her father for our permission to fly with you for weeks. You will be careful with her, won't you?"

Harm felt the rise of indignation. If the damned woman needed reassuring that he would be anything other than extremely careful with her daughter, why in God's name was she allowing the flight in the first place!

Harm's sharp intake of breath did not go unnoticed by Alison "Oh, I think I may just have insulted you," she smiled. "Please believe me, that was far from my intention, so could you just put it down as motherly concern?"

Harm shook his head, completely disarmed by the smile and apology, "Of course, and no apology needed. And, again, I will look after Mattie as if she was my own."

Alison nodded, "Of course you will, and it was unnecessary and graceless of me to even hint otherwise."

Despite himself Harm grinned, "And that's not the first time you've use that pun, is it?"

"Guilty as charged, Commander," Alison admitted cheerfully.

Harm shook his head, "If I'm not going to be late for your daughter, although I suspect I already am, I'd best get going. See you in an hour."

Across the hangar Howie Young and Loren settled themselves at the two desks in the otherwise almost empty office. Howie looked around, noting with satisfaction, that there was no telephone, reducing the risk of interruption by an unknown but probably significant amount. Opening his briefcase he pulled out a slim file, which he handed to Loren.

"This is an FAA ground school test paper, you have one and one half hours to complete it. Starting from…" He took a battery operated timer, similar to the one used by Loren while cooking, from his briefcase and set it on the desk, "now!" as he pressed the button to start the timer.

Loren was a little surprised at his brusqueness, but opened the file and digging her ball-point pen out of her inner pocket started to read the questions. It was her technique to read the whole of the paper through before answering any question whatsoever.

Harm was hard put to suppress a grin as Mattie emerged from the darkness of the hangar. She had obviously taken her mother's warning to dress warmly to heart. From what Harm could see, she was wearing a cut down, fleece lined, leather flying jacket over a pair of overalls which had the legs turned up, and from the slightly waddling gait, Harm was pretty certain that she was wearing an ordinary Street clothes underneath the overalls. A white scarf, which Harm was prepared to bet was silk, was wound around her neck, the ends tucked into the flying jacket.

"You're all ready then?" Harm asked, desperately trying to conceal his grin.

However, even if he had grinned, it would've been way surpassed by the sheer size and the brilliance of the grin that spread over Mattie's face as she answered, "Sure am!"

Harm nodded, "Usually, I would take you through the walk round, you know, kick the tires, wipe the windscreen, that sort of thing. But as this isn't a formal lesson, and I've already done the pre-flight, let's get going. Do I need to give you a hand to get up on the wing?"

Mattie was obviously torn between the need to demonstrate her independent streak, and the niggling doubt that muffled in as many layers as she was, she might indeed find it difficult to step up onto the Stearman's lower plane. Deciding after a moment or two that it would be less undignified to accept the offer of help than to make a spectacle of herself, she nodded, "It might be best if I could have a hand," she conceded.

Harm knew better than to lift her bodily onto the lower plane, so he crouched just behind it and made a stirrup of his hands. "Put your foot in my hands, and grab hold of the aft cockpit coaming, and I'll give you a boost up onto the wing."

A heave and Mattie was propelled up and onto the wing. Harm stepped up behind her in case she should need help climbing into the cockpit, but the youngster was ahead of him and slid into the front seat of the veteran biplane as if born to it.

Harm nodded approvingly, and with a flick of his finger lifted one of the shoulder straps, "Are you okay with a five-point harness?"

Mattie made a quick visual inspection of the seat harness and nodded "Sure, I've used four-point rigs before, and I guess the only difference is this extra strap which comes up between my legs, right?"

"Right," Harm agreed.

"And the release is just twist, press and push?"

Harm nodded, but then said seriously, "It is, but don't even think about releasing it while we're up, because if you do this will not only be the first time I ever take you up it will be the last, Capisce?"

Mattie gave him a withering look, "I'm young, not stupid. It would play hell Mom's insurance I was to fall out because I'd been dumb enough to undo the harness and then you inverted!" She looked at him measuringly, "You are going to be doing some manoeuvres, aren't you?"

Harm grinned, "I'll take it easy on you at first, just to see how it affects you, but if you're okay after some gentle manoeuvres, then will try something a little more ambitious. But for now, let's see you get strapped in."

Mattie snapped the straps of the harness into place in a business-like manner and then listened attentively as Harm handed her a headset with a boom microphone, explaining that it was set to intercom and that she was by no means to alter any of the settings. He would speak to the tower before take-off, and to receive landing instructions, during which periods she would not be able to speak to him, although she would be able to hear both him and the tower.

Once again, Mattie said soberly, "Got it, Commander."

"Okay, let's go grab some air!"

Harm climbed into the aft cockpit and got himself settled and strapped in before punching the starter button. The engine coughed twice, as it usually did, and then settled to a throbbing roar, which died away to growl as Harm nudged the throttle lever back to idling speed. Keeping an eye on the oil pressure gauge he waited until the engine was thoroughly warmed and the oil which had settled in the lower cylinders was now circulating through the engine. Switching the radio to broadcast he called the tower, informing them of his intention to take off and proceed to the Western manoeuvring area and asking for clearance to taxi.

Clearance being given, Harm taxied the Stearman, in the side to side weaving pattern necessitated by the long nose and tail-wheel configuration of the landing gear, to the runway threshold when he asked for and was given clearance for take-off, together with the cautionary advice that there were two other aircraft over the Western manoeuvring area, and that the hard deck today was at 3000 feet AGL.

**Saturday May 26th, 2001, 0930hrs EDT Somewhere over the Western Manoeuvre Area, Near Charlottesville, VA (261330ZMay01)**

Less than a minute later the yellow Stearman lifted smoothly of the asphalt runway and climbed steadily before banking to port and settling on a westerly heading for the manoeuvre area.

Once over the manoeuvring area Harm levelled off at six thousand feet, and checking that he had switched the radio back to the intercom channel said, "Okay, I'm going to do some gentle climbing and diving S turns just to see how comfortable you are with the motion. Okay?"

"Yeah! Go for it!" And I in those for short words Harm could hear the excitement in the youngster's voice.

"Right, here goes. Don't worry about the instrument panel or anything else just concentrate on the feeling." With that he let Stearman's nose dropped slightly until he was in a gentle descent of about 300 feet a minute and began the series of gentle, wide, ninety degree turns.

Levelling off at four thousand feet AGL Harm asked Mattie, "How was that?"

"Fine!" came back the happy answer.

"Okay, so you're ready to try something a little more adventurous?" Harm grinned. Once again, even in the one word answer Harm had heard the excitement, enthusiasm and happiness in the girl's voice. "So, what I'm going to do next is climb back up to about six thousand, then I'll do some fairly gentle aileron rolls, then a couple of barrel rolls. If you're still fine after that, we can consider a loop and maybe an Immelmann."

"That's the half-roll off the top of the loop, right?"

Despite himself, Harm was impressed that Mattie knew the term, and couldn't resist asking, "Where did you learn about the Immelmann?"

"Biggles!" was Mattie's laughing reply.

Harm grinned and unseen by his front seat passenger shook his head ruefully, "I should have seen that coming!" he replied.

Another gurgle of laughter from the front seat was only answer he got to that observation.

Now at the required altitude, Harm said, "Hang on, first roll will be to starboard, executing… Now!"

To Mattie at first it seemed as if she was sitting still while the horizon tilted in front of her and then for a second or two, while the Stearman was inverted, she thought she could feel the blood rushing to her head, but although the Stearman's roll was more stately rather than a flick, the sensation didn't last long enough for her to be certain, but was enough to provoke a burst of delighted laughter which Harm, in the aft cockpit could hear even without the aid of the intercom.

An unwilling grin had crept across his face. He had reluctantly agreed to take this child up with him, with no expectation of enjoying the experience, yet had found that her enjoyment and sheer delight in being airborne had communicated itself to him. Shaking his head at his own gullibility he brought the Stearman around on a steep chandelle to the opposite heading, regaining straight and level flight, "Okay, the next manoeuvre will be another aileron roll, but this time to port, executing… Now!"

Once again the horizon seemed to pivot around the Stearman's nose, and once again, just for an instant, Mattie felt the increased blood pressure in her head before Harm righted the aircraft again.

"Everything okay up front?" he asked.

"Damn straight!" was the thrilled response. Despite his disapproval of such a young child indulging in a mild cussing, Harm couldn't help his grin increasing.

Nevertheless, he felt that as the responsible adult in the situation he ought to say something in reproof, "Mattie! What would your mother say if she could hear you?"

"She wouldn't be best pleased," Mattie agreed, with the laughter still in her voice, and continued "But as she's not here to hear me, I won't tell if you won't!"

"Mattie!" Harm protested again.

"Hey, what happens up here stays up here, right? Isn't that what you pilots say all the time?"

"It doesn't quite work like that, Squirt. But here and now is not the time or place for that discussion. Are you ready for the next move?"

"Yeah! Bring it on!" The completely unabashed girl in the front seat replied.

Harm nodded and letting starboard wing dip commenced a stately barrel roll first to starboard and as soon as the Stearman had recovered immediately transition into a second barrel roll, but this time to port, the manoeuvres bringing an audibly ecstatic squeal from the front cockpit.

"Stomach's still in one piece Mattie?" Harm asked, although having no doubt of the answer he'd receive.

"You betcha!" Mattie chortled and Harm grinned, having received just the reaction he anticipated.

"Right… what I'm going to do is a series of side-slips, alternately port and starboard…"

"A falling leaf?" Mattie asked knowledgeably.

"How did you know…? Oh, Biggles again?"

"Yeah, 'Biggles and the Camel Squadron'!"

Harm shook his head in mild disbelief, if anyone had said to him that in this day and age children were still reading the adventures of Captain W E John's fictional pilot he would have found it hard to believe, and almost impossible to believe that the child in question was a girl. Which, he reflected wryly, just went to show just how little he did know!

"Alright, sidestepping to port… Now!"

Harm deliberately kept falling leaf manoeuvre pretty sedate. Although Mattie had so far shown no sign of airsickness, sideways forwards and downwards motion of the sideslips, particularly when alternated into the falling leaf move, had been known to upset the strongest stomachs. So on levelling out he once again asked, "Still okay up front?"

"Yeah, great! That was so weird, but great!" Mattie chortled.

"Well let's see if we can't pull off something else from Biggles' days of dogfighting! Okay, here goes nothing!" And hard on the heels of his words Harm pushed the stick forward letting the Stearman's nose drop in order to gain airspeed. Keeping an eye on the Air Speed Indicator, Harm held the dive until he was sure he had plenty of speed in hand before pulling the stick back to the pit of his stomach. The aircraft's nose arose until it was once again above the horizon and a higher and higher, until all that Mattie could see ahead was blue sky and then became aware of a dark line above her that she suddenly realised was the horizon which at first slowly and then with gathering speed seemingly descended in front of her eyes until everything was back on its accustomed place.

"That was the loop, right?" she yelled.

"Yep, hang on; here we go again!"

Once again Harm trading height for speed until he'd again achieved sufficient momentum to pull off the manoeuvre. Again he pulled the stick right back to the pit of his stomach and again the Stearman's nose rose into the blue sky. But this time once Harm had the airplane inverted, he moved the stick to the right for a half roll to starboard bringing ground and sky back into their rightful relative positions.

"That was the Immelmann?" Mattie asked.

"It was," Harm agreed, as he checked the biplane's position against his mental map of the area before settling on a course of one hundred degrees, which he estimated would bring them back within visual sight of the airport.

"And the Immelmann, just about wraps up our flight for today," Harm said once the Stearman was settled on the new course. "There's just one more thing… Would you like to try her a few minutes?"

"What?" Came the amazed answer as Mattie, despite the restrictions of her harness try to look back over her shoulder in surprise.

Harm was as nearly amazed at his offer as the young girl. Given his reluctance to even take her flying, to actually let her take the controls had been just about the furthest thing from his mind, but something about the youngster's sheer enjoyment of the flight had communicated itself to him, and he had suddenly realised that although she probably wouldn't have said anything once she was back on the ground, she most likely would have felt deflated, and possibly even discouraged from gaining further flight experience. Somehow it felt the discouraging this copper-haired girl from flying would be doing the aviation community a grave disservice.

"I said, would you like to try her for a few minutes?"

"Oh, yes, yes please!" Mattie said fervently.

"Okay, just a couple of rules, don't worry about the throttle lever or rudder pedals, if we need them I'll see to them. All I want you to do at first is to concentrate on keeping her flying straight and level. Can you identify the dials and gauges on the instrument panel?"

"Yeah, I've got the altimeter, the gyro compass repeater, the ASI, the artificial horizon, VSI, fuel gauge, oil pressure gauge, rev counter and the turn and bank indicator."

"Good girl, now, put your hand on the stick. You don't need to make any drastic movements… You got a bicycle? Well, you know when you first started to ride, you turned the handlebars and deliberately moved to where you want to go. I'll bet now that when you want to turn you just look where you want to go and your body unconsciously applies the right forces to the bicycle. Well flying the Stearman is a bit like that. So take over the stick, gently but firmly, and tell me that you have control."

Mattie licked her suddenly dry lips and took hold of the stick, "I have control."

"You have control," Harm confirmed as he released the stick, but kept his hand hovering right next to it.

For the next two minutes Harm watched wordlessly as Mattie concentrated on keeping the airplane straight and level. For the first thirty seconds or so whether she would be able to do so hung in the balance but then as far as Mattie was concerned everything clicked into place; she relaxed as she did so the tension in her muscles which communicated itself through the stick to the Stearman's control surfaces dissipated and the veteran aircraft purred along obediently at one hundred and ten miles per hour on a steady course of one hundred degrees.

Impressed by the speed at which Mattie had brought herself and the aircraft under control Harm said, "Now I want you to do a gentle bank, no more than fifteen degrees, to starboard to vector one four five."

"Vector one four five." Mattie repeated the instruction so that Harm was aware that she had understood it. At first tentatively but then with increasing confidence Mattie applied the necessary pressure to the stick, knowing without being told to keep the Stearman's nose up.

Unseen by Mattie, in the aft cockpit, Harm's eyebrows rose in mild surprise. He had fully expected Mattie, like most novice flyers, to dump the nose and lose height during the turn, and his hand had cupped almost protectively around the stick to retrieve the situation should that become necessary.

"Steady on one four five," Mattie reported.

"Very good, continue on this course for two minutes, and then vector zero five five."

"This course for two minutes, and then zero five five," Mattie again acknowledged.

Harm was just beginning to wonder if Mattie had mis-read the time, when her voice came through his headphones again, "Starting to turn… Now!"

Once again Harm kept a keen eye on his instrument panel as Mattie turned on to the more northerly course, and although this time she did allow the nose to drop slightly she also instantly recovered, regaining the few feet of altitude she had lost in as many seconds. "Sorry!" she apologised.

"That's okay, you recovered quickly enough. Now stay on this course for two minutes and then turned back to vector one hundred."

Again Mattie followed her instructions to the letter until the Stearman was back on her original heading at which point Harm spoke, his hand resting lightly on the stick, "I am taking control."

"You are taking control," Mattie acknowledged.

"I have control!" Harm confirmed as he felt the increased lightness of the stick as Mattie released it.

"Time to head home, or your mom will start worrying!" Harm said over the intercom.

"Yeah, she does that a lot," Mattie giggled.

"Comes with the territory, I'm told. My mom says she still worries about me!" Harm chuckled, and then settled back to concentrate on the job in hand.

Ten minutes later Harm called in to Charlottesville tower for landing instructions, to be told to join the circuit, and that there were three other aircraft in front of him. Three orbits of the circuit later the descending Stearman crossed the runway threshold and Harm somehow feeling the need to impress his passenger brought the Stearman down in a perfect flare out for a three point landing.

**Saturday May 26th, 2001, 1038hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (261438ZMay01)**

Taxiing onto the apron in front of the hangar, Harm applied the brakes bringing the Stearman to a gentle halt and then blipped the engine clearing each cylinder in turn before turning off the ignition. Releasing himself from his seat harness, Harm stood ready to lend Mattie a hand, but found any such help was needed as the youngster already had one leg lifted over the forward cockpit coaming.

Harm slid to the ground and turned, once again ready to help Mattie, who stood on the reinforced inboard section of the lower plane her hands out ready to grasp his forearm, her shining eyes broad grin clearly expressing just how thrilled she was with her first experience of flight in an open cockpit, and much to Harm's surprise once her feet firmly on the ground she threw her arms around as much of him as she could reach and gave him a fierce hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! That was the most amazing thing I have ever done!"

Harm placed one gentle hand on her shoulder, with the other gently ruffled her hair, "you may not believe this, Squirt, but I enjoyed that just about as much as you did!"

Mattie broke away and took a half step back before raising mischief filled eyes to his, "No way! Never happen!" she asserted through her grin, "I totally had the greatest time ever, and that's official!"

"Right… I'm pleased about that, glad that my efforts are appreciated," Harm teased her gently.

Mattie looked up into his face, the pleasure she felt was still to be seen in her eyes, but her expression was solemn as she said, "Commander, I will never, ever forget today."

Slightly overwhelmed by the intensity of the girls gaze and her words, Harm felt the blood rise to his ears, reaching out he again ruffled her hair, "You know, I don't think I will either. But how about we head to the office and show your mom that I got you back down to earth in one piece?"

"And maybe get a coffee?" Mattie said innocently.

"Just that!" Harm conceded with a laugh.

"So… you wouldn't mind pouring me one, while I get shut of all this gear?" Mattie asked, still in that innocent voice.

"Go and get your flight gear off. Your coffee will await you," Harm chuckled and turned away towards the office while Mattie headed for the new ladies' locker room.

Harm, for politeness' sake, tapped on the doorframe before entering the office, his eye catching Alison's as she looked up from her paperwork.

"How did it go?" she asked.

Harm nodded judiciously, "Give her another few years, and you won't need to hire a pilot. Yes," he saw the question in Alison's eyes, "I let her take the stick for about five minutes and do a couple of very gentle course changes. She's got the touch."

Alison sat back in her chair, "That was very generous of you, Harm, considering that you almost had to be handled into agreeing to take her up, in the first place. I know you were reluctant, I could see it on your face this morning. I've offered to take her up in the Cessna time after time but she was insistent that she wanted to experience it 'for real' in an open cockpit. Still, now that she's had the experience, maybe that will satisfy her."

"You think?" Harm hefted the coffee pot and with a quirk of his eyebrow silently asked Alison if she wanted a cup. The redhead smiled and said, "No thanks, I've just had one, but you go ahead."

"How does Mattie take hers?"

Alison chuckled, "If it was up to her would be at least fifty percent cream and forty percent sugar, so, very milky but only two spoons of sugar, If I know my daughter she's on enough of a high already!"

"I'd say that was a fair guess," Harm agreed, "but face it Alison, flying's in her blood. You fly, your husband flies, Mattie has spent every spare minute she can around airplanes, pilots and mechanics. You really think she's going to look elsewhere for a career?"

Alison chuckled, "When you put it like that, it does seem like a fairly redundant question!"

"What does?" Mattie asked having opened the door just as Alison spoke.

"The question of your future career, my girl," Alison said, prepare on this occasion to tolerate her daughter's inquisitiveness.

"That's not even a question – oh, thanks, Commander," Mattie's reply was interrupted as she gratefully accepted a cup of very milky coffee from Harm. She took a sip, and then continued "I've chosen what I'm going to do, I'm going to go to the Naval Academy, and I'm going to be a naval aviator, just like the Commander!"

Harm could see that Alison looked troubled and hastily intervened, "Well that's a pretty tough row to hoe, and it's about seven or eight years down the road from here, so don't get target fixation, keep looking around, and keep situation awareness!"

"Target fixation?" Mattie asked.

Under the cover taking a sip of his own coffee Harm threw a look at Alison, silently asking for permission to explain the phrase, and receiving the slightest inclination of her head in return he turned back to Mattie.

"Target fixation is the fighter pilot's curse. It's when an aviator only sees the target in front of him, and loses awareness of the rest of the environment, which could mean a hostile flier on his tail. That, is a non-habit forming occupation."

"What the commander is saying, is don't get so set on a Navy career that you let other opportunities, maybe just as good, slip out of your hands," Alison explained.

Mattie, full of the confidence of youth pulled a deprecating face, "Never happen, there isn't another career like that!"

Both Harm and Alison were too wise to argue against such a dogmatic statement, apart from a murmured, "Time will tell," from Alison.

"Aw, Mom, you're just jealous 'cos you weren't up there this morning!" Mattie said with unholy glee, "Honestly, it was fantastic! The commander was fantastic! The plane was fantastic! And the flight was…"

"No! Stop! Don't tell me! Let me guess," Alison interrupted, desperately trying to keep a straight face, "the flight was fantastic?" she asked.

Mattie's face was a combination of surprise and puzzlement "Yeah, it was, but how did you know?"

That was enough for Harm, fighting to keep his composure, he hastily swallowed the rest of his coffee and said "I'll just go and get one of your guys to refuel the Stearman, and then check on Loren, while Mattie tells you what happened up there. I was there, so I guess you excuse me from listening to what we did, Squirt?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah… And Commander, thanks again for a fantastic flight!"

At this further iteration of what was apparently becoming Mattie's favourite adjective, Harm was forced to literally bite his cheek to prevent himself from laughing, so with a smile that he hoped would pass as friendly, he flipped both Alison and Mattie a casual salute and fled from the office before his amusement betrayed him, hearing as he closed the door behind him Alison's voice, "So, tell me all about it from the second the wheels left the ground."

"Mom, it was fantastic…"

Harm was still chuckling when he reached the other side of the hangar and tapped gently on the door frame of what was to be Grace Aviation's second office before opening the door popping his head around the edge of it, where he saw Howard Young squaring away a sheaf of papers before sliding them into a file cover and Loren vigorously shaking her wrist in order to lose it up after concentrated spell of writing.

"Everything okay here?"

Howie nodded and smiled warmly, "Indeed. Miss Singer passed the voice procedure test with flying colours, and just a quick look at her ground school written paper suggests she'll be looking at a comfortable pass mark. So, nothing to worry about there. Now, I suggest we all take a break, and if the airplane can be ready on the apron at eleven thirty then I'll be ready to take Miss Singer, for her check ride, that is if that's agreeable to you two?"

Harm looked at his watch, which showed the time to be now eleven zero five hours, and sent Loren a questioning glance as if to ask if she was okay.

Loren, however nodded and smiled, "After the grilling you've given me this morning, Howie, I'll be more than happy to get into the air just as soon as I can! In the meantime before I get changed, I'm heading for the office to grab a coffee. You two coming?"

Howie Young grinned, "Now, that does sound like a plan!"

But Harm shuddered, "No thanks, I just left there just as Mattie was about to recount, probably in excruciating detail, her experiences while flying in the Stearman this morning!"

Loren chuckled, knowing full well that without her support Mattie would have stayed earthbound, but contented herself with saying, "Alright I'll get changed first and then bring you a cup of coffee, outside? Sunny side of the hangar?"

"That's where you'll find me," Harm agreed.

And that was exactly where a broadly grinning Loren found him some six or seven minutes later when she brought him his coffee. "You are O master of great coolness, or should that be cool greatness, or maybe even fantastical coolness?"

At first Harm's forehead wrinkled in a frown, and then as he realised what Loren was saying groaned and covered his eyes with his free hand, "I take it that Mattie is still in full flow?" he asked in pained voice.

"Well… If that wasn't full flow, and I dread to think what full flow must have been! You do realise that now you are the subject of a giant family economy sized girlish crush?"

Harm dropped his hand and glared accusingly at his unrepentantly grinning fiancée, "Yeah, and I've been doing some thinking… You weren't exactly much help in deterring Mattie from asking me, in fact I have more than just a suspicion, that you actively aided and abetted her in handling me so I'd take her up!"

"Objection!" Loren laughed, "Counsel is speculating!"

Despite himself Harm was forced to grin, "But I don't hear you denying it," he observed.

"H'mm… I think I'll take the fifth on that!" Loren chuckled.

"Yeah, that figures! Go on, go take your flight before Howie comes looking for you, and leave me to the not so tender mercies of a precocious redhead brat!"

"What? Not even a word of thanks for the coffee?" Loren managed between giggles.

Harm gazed up at her and dumbly shook his head, "G'wan get outta here, and be careful up there!"

Loren sobered, and nodded, "Always," she assured him, "But I'm going nowhere, until I get my pre-flight check."

Harm put his now empty coffee cup down on the ground hauled himself to his feet, shooting out one arm to snag Loren around the waist and pull her in, and once he achieve that objective, used a long, strong finger to tilt her unresisting chin upwards for a long, lingering kiss.

"I meant what I said about being careful," he said staring deep into her eyes.

Loren nodded and said seriously, "I know you did. And I meant what I said about always being careful."

"Good, come on and I'll walk you around to the apron…"

**Saturday May 26th, 2001, 1142hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (261542ZMay01)**

Harm watched the Stearman dwindle into the distance as it weaved along the taxiway to turn onto the threshold of runway zero three, where it paused and seemed to gather itself before it trundled down the runway, picking up speed with every second until climbed, apparently effortlessly, off the asphalt and up into the sky.

Harm allowed himself a wry grin at his fancy gave a gentle shake his head, decided that another cup of coffee would go at all amiss but he was distracted from his thoughts by a youthful at his elbow.

"She'll be alright, Commander, she's a good stick, and after all, you taught her."

Harm looked down at the youngster who approached without him noticing, and raised a hand to gently ruffle her hair," You're right, of course. She is a good stick, in fact one of the very few I would say was an instinctive pilot. You're not bad yourself."

Harm felt a measure of unholy satisfaction, as Mattie reddened and mumbled something indistinct. 'That makes up for her sneaking up on me!' he thought, but then added aloud, "do you reckon your mom might have another cup of coffee in the pot?"

He received a very old-fashioned a look from Mattie which was at wide variance with her young face. "This is an airplane hangar, of course there's coffee in the pot!" she replied sharply, then blushed and muttered, "Sorry, I shouldn't be snarky with you, not after this morning."

However, Harm was not offended and he grinned down at the girl, "Afraid I might not take you up again?"

Mattie blushed even redder, swallowed convulsively and looked up at him, with hope and something else in her eye, "Does… does that mean you will?" she asked hopefully.

"I think it might possibly be arranged on an occasional basis, provided of course your parents keep saying yes." And again Harm surprised himself with his reply, after all he hadn't been too enthusiastic about the prospect of taking Mattie flying, but the way she had reacted to the flight, and even the few short minutes he had let her take control of the stick, and somehow communicated with him on the subliminal level, and all at once he was certain the worst thing he could do was to deny Mattie flight time, because by so doing you will also be denying himself deep satisfaction he gained from mentoring her; the same sort of satisfaction he had gotten from teaching Loren to fly. And as he cast his mind back, he recalled the conversation he'd had with Mike Hills about qualifying as a CFI. At the time he had dismissed the notion almost out of hand, but now he was beginning to reconsider that snap decision.

"Commander?"

"Sorry, Squirt, but I just remembered something. It's not that important right now, but that coffee is!"

"Okay… so what are we waiting for?"

Alison looked up and smiled as Harm and Mattie entered the office, Mattie making a beeline for the coffee, while Harm dropped onto one of the office chairs. "You really, really hate this, don't you? I mean you being down here while Loren's up there," Alison remarked, adding the second sentence as she saw Harm's forehead knit in incomprehension.

"Yeah," Harm's grin was decidedly rueful, as he accepted a cup of coffee from Mattie, "Apart from the fact I'd rather be up there than down here, especially on a day like this, and I know that Young is fully qualified, but I've never flown with him and I've never seen him fly, so from that point of view, he's a totally unknown quantity, and he's up there with Loren."

Alison nodded understandingly, "The boot can be on the other foot. I get the same feeling whenever Tom takes on a new pupil; I wonder whether he or she is going to be the next Amelia Earhart or Charles Lindbergh, or the ham-fisted clown that slams the plane nose first into the deck."

Harm grunted as if he'd been gut-punched, "Thanks for that image!" he said sourly.

Alison gave a slight shrug and smiled apologetically, "Well I was, in a sort of half-assed way, trying to be supportive. I guess it didn't work."

"Nope, not this time. But thanks for trying. Anyway, I guess I'd better get out of your hair, and let you get on with some work. Thanks for the coffee, Squirt!" Harm pushed himself off the chair with a smile for mother and daughter let himself out of the office, across the hangar, to emerge into the sunlight once more, and take up his former position, sitting on the ground with his back against the hangar wall, where he shit his eyes as if sleeping, but keeping his ears attuned to the distinctive sound if his Stearman's radial engine.

It seemed forever, but it was only a little over forty minutes before he caught the low, throaty purr of the biplane as it passed over head on the downwind leg of its approach. Harm was instantly on his feet, squinting against the glare of the sun as he visually tracked it as it turned cross wind and then in the distance, he saw its silhouette change again as Loren let down for landing.

Despite his mostly silent fretting while Loren was aloft, he managed to adopt a suitably nonchalant overs, leaning against the hangar door with his arms folded, by the time the Stearman rolled to a gentle stop and Loren blipped the engine to clear the cylinders. Nevertheless, he was at his accustomed position, standing just behind the port wing root to catch Loren as she hopped lightly onto the asphalt. Immediately his arms went around her, and their arms twined themselves around her neck as they shared their customary post-flight kiss.

"How was it?" he asked, his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

Loren reached up and tried vainly smoothed down rebellious cowlick, "It was brutal," she chuckled. I thought Mike was a hard task master, but Howie… oh wow!"

Harm squinted up at the aft cockpit where Howie Young waited patiently, but with a smile on his face, for Harm and Loren to move out of the way so that he too could deplane.

"Miss Singer flew well, and she is right, once I found how confident she was on the stick I did push her. I think we did every manoeuvre at least three times over."

Loren turned so she could lean back against Harm's chest, "Three times over? It felt more like twelve times over!"

"Even so, you put in a solid ninety nine per cent performance!" Howie smiled. "Now, if the two of you will let me climb down from here, I'll be only too glad to give you a debrief."

Harm and Loren grinned and stepped back, and once Howie was safely back on the grounds he said, "Why don't we adjourn to that spare office again, while I talk you through the flight?"

Harm shrugged and exchanged a glance with Loren. This was not Mike Hills' usual method, but then again Howie wasn't Mike, so he and Loren silently agreed and fell in behind Howie as he made his way into the Hangar, Harm dropping behind a pace or two to ask one of the Grace mechanics to make sure that the Stearman's fuel was topped up to the maximum.

Once seated in the office, Howie produced a notebook from the map of his of his flying suit, "let's begin at the beginning. On the ground, you managed aircraft very well and very confidently stop your voice procedure the tower was bang on the button. The take-off itself was just about perfect as it could be, the tail lifted at sixty-eight, and you were airborne at seventy-seven. The climb to altitude almost perfect, you did let IAS drop slightly at one stage, but you pick that up yourself without being told and corrected promptly."

Howie looked up from his notes and smiled across at Loren, "As for the various manoeuvres, your control of the aircraft throughout unfaltering, although I did detect a slight hesitation in the chandelle to port, and you have a tendency to let the nose drop of just slightly during sideslips, so you make rather more forward progress than is ideal, but again your performance is still well within parameters. Your execution of the loop was just about as perfect as you can get; your starting and finishing altitudes were just about identical, not just the once, but on all three occasions. The same degree of confidence and aircraft handling can be said about the Immelmann. I thought on the first occasion I detected a little bit of hesitancy in the stall recovery, which is why I had you do it three more times, and I'm pleased to say that attempts two through four were workmanlike and confident. Spin recovery I think you found just a little more complicated, but again your overall performance of that manoeuvre was well above satisfactory. Now, we come to the landing… most tail wheel drivers land on the main gear and let the tail drop as they lose speed, but you made a perfect flare for a three point landing. That's not a skill we see very much of these days, so I can safely say I was impressed by that. So, all in all, a more than highly satisfactory performance!"

"Way to go!" Harm grinned broadly, exulting in Loren's performance, while Loren blushed under what she considered to be overly fulsome praise.

"Now… this afternoon… I want you to fly up to Leesburg – solo – and deliver an envelope to Peter McIntyre, he's the office manager at the Aviation Support Group in Hangar twelve – it's in the GA section of the field, so you won't have far to walk. Peter will give you a receipt for the envelope, and I want you to bring that receipt back to me. That is if you think you are capable of flying that far unaccompanied.

Loren nodded. "Sure, just let me get a coffee, a bite to eat and the latest met report, then I'll plot the course and be up and away."

"You happy with that, Harm?" Howie asked, "It's your Stearman."

"I'm perfectly happy, and darned sure that Loren is more than capable of flying to Leesburg and back on her own!" Harm stated forcefully, "But what will you be doing while Loren's flying?"

Howie grinned again, "Well, while Loren's enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, I shall be in here going through her question papers from this morning, so hopefully by the time she gets back I'll have some sort of grade for her

"Good… So let's all go and grab a coffee and something to eat, and we'll meet up back here at fourteen hundred!"

**Saturday May 26th, 2001, 1355hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (261755ZMay01)**

Harm looked Loren earnestly in the eye, "Listen, sweetheart, if you don't feel up to this just say so and we'll call it a day, and wait until we can re-arrange another check ride with Mike."

Loren shook he head, her expression mulish and her jaw jutting determinedly, "No… I've got the met forecast and everything looks fine. I'll have a slight headwind all the way up at five and a half thousand feet, and the same slight tailwind on the way home at five thousand. I've flown to Blacksburg and back on my own before now, so I'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

Loren gave him a steady look, "I'll be fine," she repeated after about a ten second pause.

Harm grinned, and stepped back, his hands raised in surrender, "Okay, if you're fine, you're fine. But if you think I'm going to let you climb into that airplane without a kiss for good luck, then you've got another think coming!"

"I wouldn't have it any other way!" Loren smiled as she stepped forward into his arms.

The kiss was broken by the rather ostentatious manner in which Howie Young announced his presence. "Are you ready?"

Loren nodded, "All set. Met forecast checked and flight plan filed with the tower, and I'm just about to get aboard. In fact, the only thing I'm waiting for is your envelope."

"And I have it right here," Howie replied, his hand going to the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Just a moment," Harm interjected, "What exactly is in that envelope? Loren doesn't want to be couriering anything that's illegal."

"Or immoral, or fattening," Loren said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere in light of the frown that was beginning to show on Howie's face.

After a moment or two of evident doubt, Howie nodded, "Fair enough," he conceded and gently teased the flap open, and drew out a single sheet of paper, "Here you go, just a list of names and numbers. In addition to his job, Peter is the secretary of the local chapter of the Commemorative Air Force, these figures are the pledges made by some of our members is going towards the restoration of a veteran warplane, so nothing sinister at all. It's just that Peter has to do all his CAF work on Sundays so he needs those figures today. Loren needs to log a three-hour solo, so I figured to kill two birds with one stone. If I wouldn't have been here today, I would have been at Leesburg to give Peter the figures in person."

"Are you okay with being used as an unpaid courier, Loren?" Harm asked.

"No problem," Loren answered, taking the envelope and zipping it into her jacket, "So unless anybody feels the need to beat their gums some more, I'm ready for the off!" She looked at Howie and Harm for a few more seconds before climbing up onto the Stearman's wing and then settled herself into the cockpit.

Howie and Harm stood back from the prop wash as Loren idled the engine to start the oil recirculating, and then with a casual salute she released the brakes and increase the throttle and the yellow veteran biplane started to roll across the apron to the taxiway.

Howie and Harm stood and watched Loren taxi to the threshold of runway zero three, and hold there until she had received permission from the tower to take off. Once again the Stearman rumbled down the strip of asphalt until it reached flying speed then almost floated, seemingly effortlessly, into the air.

Harm by this time was growing suspicious of Howie, and with a curt, "Excuse me!" he turned on his heel and strode around the side of the hangar to where he had left the Lexus. Climbing in the car sat back and rolled his fingertips against the steering wheel for a few seconds before starting guiltily and casting a sideways glance at the passenger seat, knowing that finger-drumming was a habit that annoyed Loren intensely, one he had unconsciously acquired whilst thinking. After a few more moments he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolling through the numbers of his contacts list, he quickly found Mike Hills' number.

"_Mike Hills_."

"Mike, it's Harm Rabb, this guy Howie Young, I know he used to be a Navy aviator, but I didn't know him when he was serving. How much of a straight guy is he?"

"_Hey, Harm. Howie is definitely on the up and up. Like most of us flyers he has his little quirks, but he is a straight shooter. If he's been marking Loren down, it's because he genuinely believes that the marks he gives her are fully deserved and appropriate_. _But I'd be surprised if he has been_. "

"No, it's nothing like that Mike, in fact after their check ride this morning he damn near gave her the full hundred percent."

"_So, what's the problem_?"

"He has just sent her, solo, to Leesburg, to deliver an envelope that has to be signed for. It just seems a little strange to me."

"_Umm… Sounds to me like he's sending her on her mandatory three-hour solo, so I don't think there's anything to worry about there, Harm. It's not as if he's using her as a drugs mule, is it_?"

"No…" Harm said slowly, "but when I asked him about the contents of the envelope he came up with some story about it being monetarily pledges to something called the Commemorative Air Force…"

Mike chuckled, "_Always the lawyer, always suspicious. But his story hangs together okay, Howie is pretty heavily involved in the CAF, it used to be called the Confederate Air Force, but they changed their name a few years back. Is that it_?"

"Why? Is there more?" Harm asked sharply.

Again Mike laughed, "_Still suspicious? Harm, you've got nothing to worry about. There is nothing sinister about Howie Young_!"

Harm took a deep, steadying breath, "Okay Mike, I'll take your word about his honesty and reliability, but if this comes back and bites Loren on the ass, then I'm not going to be very happy – with you, or with Howie!"

By this time Mike could barely contain his amusement, "_The next time we meet, I'll remind you about this conversation, and you can then buy me a cold one_!"

"Now I know there's something fishy going on!" Harm grumbled.

"_Well, you might think that, I couldn't possibly comment. But I will say this, if there is something going on its nothing detrimental. My word on that, Hammer_!"

Still not happy Harm felt obliged to take his old friend's word. "Okay, if you say so."

"_Yes, I say so. So I can expect that cold one at some stage in the future_?"

"Only if you're right, Harm replied, a reluctant smile appearing on his face.

"_I'm right,"_ Mike said smugly, "so unless there's anything else?"

"No, no, nothing else. Thanks, Mike."

"_So, see you on the flight line sometime. Ciao Harm_."

"Yeah, see you around." Harm broke the connection put his phone back in his pocket. Mike had eased his worries considerably, but he was still dead sure that Howie Young was playing his cards very, very close to his chest.

Harm sat in his car for a good while, weighing what Mike had told him against his lawyer's instincts which were screaming at him that there was something not quite right with Howie Young and the way he had gone about the day's business. And looking around, there was the question of just how had he gotten to the airport. He and Loren had, of course arrived in the Lexus, the battered Grace Aviation pickup was about ten feet further down the side of the hangar, and the blue Toyota Avalon he had seen before, and vaguely associated with the balding, middle-aged guy who flew the Beechcraft Baron, which today was conspicuous by its absence, were present but there was no sign of any other vehicle. Now, that was a puzzle that Alison might be able to help with.

Making sure that he locked the Lexus Harm walked back into the hangar, making straight for the office, where, as was becoming his habit he tapped on the door before entering.

Alison looked up, a smile of welcome on her face, "Feeling a bit left out, Harm?"

Harm grinned, rather self-consciously, "Could be, and that could be why I'm feeling uneasy about Howie Young. I just have a feeling there's more to him than meets the eye. For instance, there are no strange cars parked outside, so how did he get here this morning?"

Alison shook her head, "I can't help you there, the first I saw him was when he walked into the office."

Mattie looked up from where she was poring over a back copy of 'General Aviation' magazine, "He was flown in, by woman piloting a Cessna TT, she taxied up to the apron, he got out and she taxied back to the runway and took off again."

Alison frowned at her daughter, "And how do you know that?"

Mattie shrugged, "I was waiting outside for the Commander and Loren… uh… Miss Singer…" she shot a wary, apologetic glance at her mother."

"But you were in here when we arrived, and we arrived before Mister Young, so if he'd flown in then we'd have seen, or at least heard him arrive…"

Mattie shook her head, "No, he arrived about twenty minutes before you and walked over to the tower before you saw him."

"He did, did he?" Harm asked, thinking 'curiouser and curiouser'.

Alison shook her head, "A bit unusual, I agree, but is it really any of our business how he arrived? As for going to the tower, if he flew in, he might just have been querying where to pay his landing fees."

"He flew in!" Mattie stated confidently.

Harm cast a speculative look at Mattie. He badly wanted to air his concerns to Alison, but was reluctant to do so in front of the outgoing and outspoken youngster. If he was far and away on the wrong track, he certainly didn't want Howie Young becoming aware of his doubts.

There was only one thing or it. He'd have to beard the ogre in his den. "Is he still hunkered down in the other office?" he asked Alison.

She nodded, "He said he'd be there all afternoon, marking Miss Singer's written papers from this morning, but he insisted that he not be disturbed… and I… well, I assured him he wouldn't be… and I would prefer it if you didn't make a liar out of me…" she finished helplessly.

Harm snorted in frustration. No matter how he might feel, this was still Alison's back yard, and it was her rules that governed how the game was played, so with an unhappy scowl on his face he dropped onto one of the office chairs. "Okay, I'll leave him be until he's done! But he's best be done by the time Loren gets back!"

"Oh… I think he should be… it can't take that long just to mark a couple of test sheets!" Alison said with a confident smile. "But what about you? How are you going to occupy yourself for the next hour or so?"

"H'mm… good question, Harm forced a grin, trying at once to dispel his misgivings and to be sociable. "I could make a fresh pot of coffee; that should keep me busy for all of five minutes…"

"I could do with some help, please?" Mattie interjected.

"Mattie!" Alison reproved her daughter.

"Well, I could, this is a bigger job than I thought."

"What are you up to, Squirt?"

Alison winced and waited for an explosion, but her surprise – and relief – it never came. Instead Mattie smiled shyly and to Alison's amazement seemed to like the nickname that Harm had so unceremoniously bestowed upon her.

"I'm comparing airplane datasheets, so they can all go on one spreadsheet on the computer, but the different manufacturers don't always use the same data, and when they do they write it differently, so I'm not sure what's important and what's not."

"And this is for…?" Harm asked.

"So we have all the information we need in one place for when Mom decides to get more airplanes."

Harm nodded, "Okay, let me get the coffee going and I'll see if I can make any sense of the data."

"Cool! Thanks, Harm…uh… I mean, Commander!" Mattie said, shooting another conscience stricken glance at her mother, who had drawn breath to scold her daughter.

Harm merely shook his head, white his finger at the youngster and then turned his attention to the coffee pot.

Five minutes later Harm was sat at the same desk as Mattie, and all three had a fresh mug of coffee gently steaming by their hand. Ten minutes later, Alison shook her head in silent but indulgent disapproval as out of the corner of her eye she saw Harm checked his watch for what she reckoned was about the twelfth time.

"To save wear and tear on your watch, I'll call the tower and asked them to let us know when the Stearman joins the circuit."

"That obvious?" Harm asked with a pained expression.

"Darned straight," Alison answered.

**Saturday May 26th, 2001, 1712hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle County Airport, Charlottesville, VA (262112ZMay01)**

"Grace Aviation, Alison speaking, how may I help you?"

Neither Harm nor Mattie and looked up as the phone rang. This call was the fifth or sixth call for coming in the last couple of hours, and although Harm's heart had leapt into his mouth at the first couple of calls, you'd soon found himself immersed in sorting out various manufacturers claims for their airplanes, and in assisting Mattie to make sense of the various figures and tabulate them neatly on a sheet of graph paper, ready to be entered onto a computer spreadsheet.

So, when Alison merely said, "I see, thank you," and replaced the phone on the cradle she took the opportunity to allow a small, secret smile to curve her lips before she said, matter-of-factly, "That was Billy Clarke from the tower. November Six has just called in for landing instructions. There's nothing in front of her so she should be wheels down in about seven minutes…"

Alison blinked and looked at the chair where Harm had been sitting, and then to her giggling daughter asked in a plaintive voice, "do you think it's something I said?"

Harm strode out of the hangar peering towards the southern end of the runway, waiting for the first glimpse of the Stearman. With the sun beginning its descent to the South West he had to squint against the glare, and his ears picked up the distinctive note of the Stearman's engine as Loren nudged the throttle back to reduce speed before she attempted to land.

Then just as he made out the tiny, black silhouette of the biplane became aware Howie Young had emerged from the hangar and was stood a couple of feet from his right shoulder, adding displeasure at his intrusion into what Harm felt as a private moment to the festering suspicion he been keeping the lid on all afternoon.

"I have some questions for you," he said flatly.

"I'll bet you do," Howie grinned.

"And I want some answers. Straight answers, no deflecting, no obfuscating, just the plain unvarnished truth."

Howie chuckled, "I'm tempted to ask, you being a JAG and all, whether you can handle the truth. But I have a feeling you're not in the mood for any Few Good Men moments. And if I'm right about that, then come and sit in at the debrief, and I'll try to clear everything up to your and Loren's satisfaction."

Howie's apparent openness went some way to smoothing Harm's ruffled feathers, although the crack about one of his least favourite films did the other man no good service, but for the moment his whole being was focused on the yellow biplane now weaving up the taxiway towards the hangar apron.

He barely gave Loren time to clear the cylinders and switch off the ignition before he was up on the lower plane. "Everything okay?" he asked, "No trouble at the other end?"

Loren paused as she unclipped her harness and grinned up at him, "Calm down, mother hen. Everything went as smooth as silk. The flight was great, Peter McIntyre was a perfect gentleman, and his office is lined with photos, colour photos, of World War II piston engined airplanes – including one of a Stearman."

Loren eased back in her seat and smiled sweetly at Harm, "Now are you going to get off the wing and let me climb out, or have you taken root there?"

"I think, I'll just stay here, for a moment or two. As far as I can recall, I don't think I've ever kissed my fiancée while she was sat in the cockpit."

"Haven't you?" Loren asked in mock surprise eyes open to their widest in pretended innocence.

"Not yet," Harm smiled in response, and leant over the cockpit coaming.

"Well, that's something you can cross off your 'to do' list," Loren said a minute or so later.

"That's true, but the list hasn't gotten any shorter, there is one more thing needed to be done today."

"And that is?" Loren asked.

"Get some straight answers out of Mister Howard Young."

Loren, easily reading Harm's mood somewhat anxiously followed him as he strode determinedly to the spare office, where he almost threw the door open.

Howie looked up from where his attache case sat open on the desk, and smiling affably, he asked Loren, "How was it?"

Loren's somewhat troubled gaze flitted between Harm and Howie, she had no idea of course of Harm's thought processes while she had been airborne and his change of mood from acceptance of Howie to almost outright hostility was puzzling to say the least.

"It was fine, a routine flight, as much as any flight can be routine. No hitches at the other end, Peter McIntyre was in his office, and was quite happy to give a receipt for the envelope… Here it is…"

Howie took the receipt, glanced at it casually and then crumpled it up and tossed it into a trashcan.

"What the…." Harm began, but was cut off by Howie raising one hand in a 'stop' gesture.

"Take a seat, please, both of you," Howie said and by this time his eyes were dancing with amusement. "May I have your logbook, please, Loren? And then, I'll come clean."

"And about time!" Harm muttered, drawing a warning glance from Loren.

Both Harm and Loren watched as Howie annotated Loren's logbook, and then both their jaws dropped open in surprise as he brought an ink pad and a rubberstamp the depths of his briefcase, and having inked the stamp banged it once on the most recently filled page of the logbook. Leaving the logbook open he slid it back across the desk to Loren, and with an apologetic smile to both he confessed, "I haven't been honest with you. I am a CFI, but I am also a Certified FAA examiner. This morning, Loren you scored seventy-nine percent on the radio procedures paper, and eighty-seven percent on the ground school paper. Your solo flight this afternoon, taken with your flight hours logged both as a trainee and solo, was the last necessary hurdle you had to clear before I could say, 'congratulations, Miss Singer, you are now a qualified general aviation private pilot, with endorsements for tailwheel aircraft and for engines with greater than two hundred horse power'."

"I'm what?" A stunned Loren asked.

"You are now, a qualified pilot."

Loren shook her head in shocked disbelief, while Harm after his first jolt of surprise sat back in his chair, feeling as if his heart might burst with pride in Loren's achievement, and with a huge smile on his face.

"Mike Hills spoke to me about ten days ago he told me about this outstanding pupil he had down here in Charlottesville, and complained that there wasn't really much more he could teach her. So I suggested this little subterfuge. I would come down here and pretend I was standing in for Mike, who just couldn't make it this weekend, and go through the PPL tests with you. If you weren't ready, then it was a case of no blood no foul. As it is, I am more than happy to give you this…"

He slid a further sheet of paper across the desk to Loren, "This is a form of application for a private pilot's licence. You will see I've filled in all the necessary blanks, all you have to do is to provide a passport photograph, in duplicate, together with a cashier's check or money order for the necessary fee and sent them to the FAA licence office at Leesburg, where I shall ensure that my colleagues there process the application promptly. Once again, congratulations."

He sent an ironic glance at Harm, "I trust that has answered most, if not all, of your questions?"

Harm had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Umm… Yeah, it does," he admitted.

Howie looked at his watch, and started to pack his briefcase, "You'll forgive me, if I rush away, but my ride is due." He heaved a huge sigh, "it's not going to be as comfortable as this morning, but sometimes we have to take what we can get!" And with a final smile at Harm and Loren picked up his briefcase and left the office leaving the two of them alone.

Loren looked at her logbook and the application form, and then at Harm, "Well!" she declared.

Harm chuckled, "Well, indeed!"


	81. Chapter 81

**Enough is Enough**

**Chapter 81**

**Saturday May 26****th****, 2001, 1740hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (262140ZMay01)**

Loren sat gazing in stupefaction at the endorsement in her log book, while Harm sat back and gazed at Loren, a smile of pride in her achievement and eminent satisfaction on his face. The pair sat in silence for a couple of minutes and then the peace was broken by the sound of approaching aero engines, piston engines, Harm decided, and much louder than anything heard previously on or around the Grace Aviation hangar.

His professional curiosity piqued, he rose to his feet and crossed to the window, squinting sideways as best he could along the length of the hangar in the hope of seeing and identifying the source of the sound. He couldn't see much, just what appeared to be a twin rudder, aft and below which he thought he could see a gun turret.

With a hasty, "Loren! Quick, come see!" he was out of the office and striding determinedly for the hangar door.

A surprised Loren trailing behind, almost trotting to keep up with him, had a "Harm… what's going on?" unspoken on her lips and then nearly cannoned into her fiancé as Harm suddenly stopped dead at the Hangar door.

"Well now… who'd have thunk it!" he exclaimed, a mixture of surprise, disbelief and pleasure in his voice as he stood gazing at the tricycle undercarriage, twin engine, twin rudder airplane, which to Loren's disbelieving eyes seemed to bristle with machine guns, and into which Howie Young was climbing with the ease of long practice.

No sooner was the FAA Examiner aboard and the hatch closed behind him than the engine note increased and the dark blue-grey painted airplane with the USA star prominent on its fuselage started to roll in a surprising stately manner off the apron and onto the taxi way, the two powerful Wright Cyclone engines creating a powerful prop wash that was more than just noticeable amongst the hangar personnel who had gathered to watch the unusual visitor.

"What is it, Harm?" Mattie asked the question that was practically everybody's mind, if not on the tip of their tongue.

"Well… seeing that Marine Corps 'Devil Dog' on her nose, I'd say she was a PBJ; that's a Mitchell Patrol Bomber dating back to WW Two. So I guess this Commemorative Air Force link to Howie is on the up and up."

"Mitchell?" Mattie queried.

"Yep… it's a variation of the Air Force bomber that was used on the Doolittle raid," Harm replied, and then seeing the look of blank incomprehension on the young girl's face he queried, "Uh… you have heard of the Doolittle raid, haven't you?"

"Nuh-huh," Mattie's mass of copper curls bounced as she shook her head in negation.

Harm grinned down at her, "Okay… that's your assignment for this week. Go, read, learn things..."

"Or you could just tell me…" Mattie suggested with what she hoped was a winning smile.

"H'mm… I could," Harm admitted as he pretended to give the idea serious consideration, and then grinned, looking for all the world, Loren thought, like a mischievous grade-schooler, "But where would be the fun in that?"

"Fun?" Mattie echoed.

"Sure," Ham answered easily, "All the fun I'm going to get during the week when I think of you studying, while I'm relaxing, playing basketball, or listening to music, or…"

"Yeah, okay! I get the picture!" Mattie grumped.

"Good!" Harm replied, "'Cause there's going to be a pop-quiz next weekend!"

Mattie threw a horrified look at Loren, "He is joking? Right?"

Loren threw a quick glance at Harm's expression and then turned back to the young girl. One corner of her mouth twitched in a lopsided grin as she shook her head in sympathy, "Um… I don't think so… It looks as if he is serious."

"You bet I am!" Harm said emphatically, his eyes fixed on the Mitchell, which was just starting its take-off run.

"Told you so," Loren said sadly.

Something about the tone of her voice caught Harm's attention and he turned quickly enough to catch the smug expression on her face. His grin widened, if that was at all possible, and became even more mischievous, "Of course, you know all about the Doolittle raid, don't you Loren? So, you could save Mattie some hours of research if you were to explain it to her. Shouldn't take more'n about ten minutes or so…"

Loren shot Harm a glare that should have left nothing of him but for a pair of gently smoking shoes, but by dint of biting her tongue managed to reply with some considerable dignity. "Despite the fact that I am not from a professional Navy family, and that I am a lawyer, not an aviator, I do happen to know a little about Doolittle!"

"So you can explain it all to Mattie, then?" Harm asked, his eyes dancing with laughter as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and called Loren's bluff.

"I could," Loren replied calmly, "But, if I did then she wouldn't have learned it, just have been told it. And besides…" Loren's eyes crinkled with amusement in anticipation of her punch-line, "Where would be the fun in that!?"

Harm laughed out loud while Mattie turned reproachful blue eyes on Loren, "Aw, gee, thanks!" she said, provoking both Harm and Loren into further laughter. So, favouring the reprehensible pair with a glare that nearly rivalled Loren's in intensity she mumbled something about hitting the books, before she headed back towards the hangar office, shaking her head sorrowfully.

"I don't know about hitting the books," Harm admitted as he watched Mattie disappear into the relative darkness of the hangar, "but how about we hit the locker rooms and head back to the hotel for dinner?"

"I'm with you on that!" Loren agreed with a smile, "And just for once we're early enough finishing here so as not to have skimp on shower time!"

Harm said nothing, but gave an ostentatious sniff, smiled and nodded.

Loren saw immediately what he was thinking, and probably about to say, so said in a warning voice, "And you don't smell any better Mister Pilot Man!"

At that Harm laughed and slipping his arm, around Loren's waist he gently turned her towards the hangar and the changing rooms.

**Saturday May 26****th****, 2001, 1933hrs EDT, Room 344, The Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (262333ZMay01)**

While Loren was taking her shower, Harm took the opportunity to place a quick call to the restaurant, but now his butt propped against the window sill, an appreciative smile on his face as he took in one of his favourite domestic sights, Loren, fresh out of the shower, and only half-dressed in her jeans and bra sitting in front of the vanity as she plied blow dryer and hairbrush.

As she moved her head to the side she caught a glimpse of Harm's expression reflected in the mirror, and her brow furrowing she switched off the blow dryer. Swivelling on the chair she gave him a long cool look, her personal radar was giving off warning signals, triggered by the half-smile on his face and the gleam in his eyes. "What?" she demanded suspiciously.

"What, what?" Harm asked innocently, leaning back with his arms crossed in front of him.

"I know that look – you're up to something!" Loren stated firmly.

"Up to something?" Harm repeated mildly, "Not really, I was just sat watching my fiancée and thinking how very beautiful she is."

Loren considered him through narrowed eyes, "Yeah, and I know just where you hope that thinking is going to lead, but I'll tell you this much, _if_ it does lead where you're hoping, then it will be via the restaurant and a good dinner!"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, but dinner is certainly on the agenda this evening!"

"You're not quite sure what I mean? Riiight…" Loren replied sarcastically, but then the giggles she had been trying to suppress broke through her resolve, giggles which found a counterpoint in Harm's deep-chested chuckles.

Still chuckling Harm straightened and taking the four steps necessary crossed to Loren and taking her hands in his, he gently tugged her to her feet, and looking into her eyes he lowered his head just as she raised hers and their lips met in a long, slow love-filled kiss.

Loren, her hands now interlaced at the back of Harm's neck, smiled in satisfaction, "I knew it! I knew you were drooling!"

"Not true. I wasn't drooling, just being appreciative." Harm denied, his hands resting on Loren's waist.

"Riiight!" Loren scoffed, "As if you hadn't seen me like this hundreds of times."

Harm favoured Loren with a hundred megawatt version of his trademark grin, "Well, what can I say? It just never gets old!"

"H'mm... Maybe not," Loren agreed with a smile as she mentally reviewed her favourite view of Harm, fresh out of the shower and dressed only in a towel around his hips as he stood, shaving, in front of the bathroom wash basin, but then shook her head, "but that still doesn't alter the fact that I need to finish drying my hair, and get dressed so that we can go eat!"

"True enough," Harm agreed with a sigh and reluctantly let Loren go.

"But… We can always carry on with this discussion after dinner," Loren said suggestively.

"Yeah, we could." Harm agreed with an equally suggestive wiggle of an eyebrow."

**Saturday, May 26th 1945hrs EDT, Zia Angelina's Trattoria Tradizionale Ninth and G Street SE, Washington DC (250011ZMay01)**

Francesca Agostinello looked up from the cash register as the door buzzer announced the arrival of more customers. A smile creased her rather plump face as she recognised _l'__alta e __bionda_ – the tall blonde woman – from the previous evening, and this time she hadn't arrived alone, but with last night's very good looking _messicano_ guy.

"Good evening, folks. It's nice to see you again! A table for two?"

"That would be great, thanks," Victor replied.

Francesca nodded, smiled, and with a sweeping gesture of her arm said, "Just step right this way, please."

Victor and Meg were quickly seated and Francesca handed them both a menu. Victor opened his menu, but to Francesca's surprise, Meg just smiled and said, "It's okay, I know exactly what I want."

Victor looked at her over the top of his menu and with a pained smile hazarded a guess, "Texas chilli pizza?"

Meg grinned, suddenly looking like the fourteen years old tomboy she had been back in the days of her Junior high school, "You got it in one!" she replied, and then turned to Francesca, "And a cold Nastro Azzura, please."

Victor nodded, "I'll take one of those beers, too, please and I'll have a double pepperoni pizza. That's quite a hot enough for me," he finished in an aside to Meg.

Francesca nodded, "Be a few minutes for the pizza, but the beers'll be right up, and help yourselves to the salad bar."

Victor waited until Francesca and turned away and then made as if to stand, but was prevented by a glare from Meg. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Um… Just to the salad bar…"

"If you want salad, then I'll get it for you. Why do you think I picked you up at your place, instead of having you walk down here? I know you're a big, tough Marine, but walking here last night took it out of you, and it was a good thing I was here to walk you home."

Victor fought down the impulse to point out that if Meg hadn't called him last night, he wouldn't have walked down to the Trattoria. But that was a very minor point. It had shaken him to his Marine Corps roots to find that a leisurely stroll of just a couple of blocks had set him back so badly. As a result, he had spent the later part of the evening and a good part of a mostly sleepless night worrying about his future career, and consequently when Meg had appeared on his doorstep this evening he had felt too tired and too listless to argue with her, and point out that she should not have come.

For her part, Meg had been desperately worried about Victor ever since she had left him at his doorstep last night. A mid-afternoon phone call to him had done very little to reassure her. Although his attempt at nonchalance had been praiseworthy, Meg's ears had caught the underlying note of stress in his voice.

Victor hadn't been too pleased to see her, and it was only in the face of her ultimatum that he either let her in, got into her car with her or she would sit on his doorstep all evening that he had given in and allowed Meg to drive them both to the restaurant.

Fortunately, once inside the cheerful little restaurant his mood had lightened, and raising his beer in silent salute to his companion he took a healthy sip, swallowed and said in a voice of mock-reproof, "You, Miss Austin, are very bad girl."

Meg sipped and swallowed a mouthful of her own beer before she batted her eyelids and answered, with a grin, "But Victor, I thought you liked bad girls?"

"I do. But I don't like the idea of you taking such a big risk."

"What risk? Victor, as far as I know, there's nobody else from JAG who lives within five miles of this place."

"Yes, as far as you know! And not including any of the security detachment who live on base at Eighth and I!"

"We will work this out, Victor."

"Even if the medicos let me stay on to finish my hitch?"

"I'm banking on that, Victor. When you finish your hitch, you will have done twenty, you'll get your pension and all your VA benefits…"

"So… All you are really after is my money?" Victor grinned.

"Damn! Busted!" Meg laughed.

You bet your butt you are so busted!" Victor joined in Meg's laughter.

"That's better!" Meg beamed, as she shoved her chair back and headed for the salad bar. She returned after a few minutes with two wooden salad bowls heaped with greenery, tomatoes and sliced boiled eggs, one of which she slid towards Victor, commenting as she did so, "Harmon Rabb would love this place!"

"How so?" Victor asked.

"He's pretty much a vegetarian, and that's a damned good salad bar. I can just about see him ordering the smallest pizza on the menu, with a veggie topping of course, and filling up with the salad." Meg's eyes twinkled with amusement as she described her mental picture, provoking Victor into more laughter even as he shook his head in disapprobation of her comments.

Francesca nodded approvingly at the couple's laughter as, with the two pizzas in her hands, she approached the table, and was gratified to see that both had taken advantage of the salad bar. "Here ya go, two pizzas, enjoy! And can I get you anything else?"

"Two more beers, please?" Meg asked, catching a look from Victor. "What?" she demanded as Francesca left them alone again.

"Don't forget, you're driving," Victor reminded her sternly.

"No, I haven't forgotten and this beer will be my last, and I figure on spending most of the evening with you before I get back behind the wheel!" Meg replied.

Victor identified the challenge both in Meg's eyes and in her voice, and allowed his mask to slip a little, "Most of the evening, huh?"

"Yep!"

"And what if the owner needs our table once we've eaten?" Victor challenged in his turn.

"Then I'll just keep ordering desserts!" Meg answered with a grin.

"Dammit! Are you are trying to turn me into a lard-ass?" Victor grumbled.

"I didn't say we had to eat them," Meg pointed out in a reasonable voice.

"No… you didn't did you…?" Victor mused and then fell silent as he sliced into his pizza.

Meg, between bites of her own pizza, watched Victor carefully. He was trying to be as he normally was, but to the Texan blonde, the lines at the corners of his mouth and between his eyes spoke of his past pain and discomfort. At least she hoped it was past.

Blotting her mouth with a paper napkin, she said, "Victor?"

Victor looked up, "H'mm?"

"I know plan A is that you stay in the Corps… but have you given any thought to a plan B?"

"You mean have I given any thought to what I'm going to do if I have to leave the Corps?"

Meg nodded, "Just that."

"Well, as somebody recently pointed out all I really know is the military and law enforcement. With half a liver and only three quarters of one lung, I reckon that both those careers are closed to me. So, if the medicos force me out, about the only thing I've made my mind up about is marrying you just as soon as I can. That is, of course, if you'll have me?"

"In a New York second!" Meg smiled even as she fought back a sudden rush of tears, and then giving an in elegant sniffle, she continued, "Victor, when you think back over the last couple of years, you've been doing a mostly desk job in a military office that is mostly concerned with law enforcement…"

"That's a bit of a stretch, Meg."

"Maybe, but you've done a lot of behind-the-scenes investigation and research. So you might be able to turn that experience to good use and get a similar job.

"Like where?"

"One of the federal agencies, maybe? And if you did, it would all add to your government pension…"

Victor shook his head, "I don't know… What you said makes a lot of sense, but even though I'm behind the desk at JAG there was always a possibility of being sent on a field investigation, or even getting orders sending me back to a line unit. If I end up driving a desk for the FBI or someone, that's it. Victor Galindez, desk jockey."

"But you'll think about it, right?"

Victor nodded glumly, "Okay, I'll think about it, but I can tell you that right now I don't like it!"

Meg sighed, her eyes full of sympathy and she reached out to cover one of Victor's hands with her own, "I know it wouldn't be your druthers, but you can't always get what you want."

Victor gave a snort, "Sounds like the title some sappy song!"

**Saturday May 26****th****, 2001, 1955hrs EDT, Restaurant, The Boars Head Inn, Ednam Drive, Charlottesville, VA (2623550ZMay01)**

A smiling Marie met Harm and Loren as they stepped through the restaurant doorway, "Good evening Mister Rabb, Miss Singer, your table is ready for you." Marie gave Harm an apologetic look, "and I'm sure that you know your way, but…" The brunette allowed her sentence to trail off into silence then turned to the hovering Sandy.

The waitress stepped forward with a smile that was the mirror image of Marie's, "Good evening, if you'd like to follow me?"

Harm and Loren exchanged bemusedly resigned glances and turned to follow the blonde towards the usual table, where they quickly seated themselves and with a nod of thanks from each, accepted the menus from Sandy, who said, "There have been some changes, so I'll leave you for a few minutes, but I'll be right back!"

"That'll be fine, thank you, Sandy."

Loren watched the blonde as she almost bounced away from the table, "Does… Does she seem…? Oh, I don't know… Maybe a little excited this evening?"

Harm turned his head to watch the retreating waitress, "No… Not especially, why?"

Loren shook her head slightly, two faint frown-lines appearing between her eyebrows, "Well, she's usually pretty bubbly, but this evening she seemed a little more so than usual… But maybe I'm just imagining it."

"Maybe," Harm agreed. But his tone was so non-committal that it drew a suspicious glance with Loren.

"Are you listening to me?"

Harm nodded "Of course I am, but I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, so I can't really comment." He dropped his eyes to the menu, and after a moment or two Loren gave a mental shrug and followed suit.

"I have your special order, Mister Rabb," a now broadly grinning Sandy, taking advantage of the couple's immersion in the menus, had soundlessly reappeared, bearing a tray holding a silver ice bucket and two champagne flutes.

Loren looked up in surprise, "Harm… What?"

"Thank you, Sandy, I'll take it from here, but if you can give us five minutes and then I think we'll be ready to order."

Sandy carefully placed the ice bucket and flutes on the table, "You got it, Mister Rabb!" With one more flash of her grin she once again bounced away across the restaurant."

"Okay…" Loren said, and although she had a fair idea what was happening she asked, "Just what is going on?"

Harm finished easing the cork from the half-bottle of Moët et Chandon, and Loren, having identified the bottle by its famous label half ducked, expecting a loud pop and a flying cork. But to her pleased surprise, both of those tell-tales of an inexpertly opened bottle of champagne failed to occur.

"You've done this before!" she said in a half accusing accent.

"Guilty!" Harm admitted as he poured two glasses of the wine, and then passed one across the table to Loren.

Loren accepted the glass, but then with a cocked eyebrow reverted to her previous question, "This is all very well… but why the champagne?"

Harm grinned, "You didn't think that I'd let your qualifying as a pilot just pass by, did you? And in the absence of a winging ceremony and a wet-down, I figured that a congratulatory drink would make a substitute. A pretty poor substitute, I grant you, but seriously and sincerely meant: Loren Singer, a newly fledged FAA qualified pilot, congratulations!" Harm raised his glass and took a sip of champagne.

Loren's eyes prickled with unshed tears, but she managed a smile and raised her own glass in answer, "I couldn't have done it, especially in such a short time, if I hadn't had an excellent – no, make that a first-class – instructor. Thank you, Harm."

Harm smiled across the table, and unconsciously their hands reached for each other and they sat for a minute or so in silence, each reading the love in the other's eyes. They were brought back to the here and now by a slight cough from Sandy, who had again materialised and was standing by Harm's elbow, "Are you ready to order, Mister Rabb? If not, I can come back…"

"Oh… no… I think we're ready… Loren?"

"Oh… yes… I'll start with the apple, cheese and toasted walnut salad with the house dressing, followed by the garlic chicken in the white wine and mushroom sauce, with the jasmine rice, please."

"Got it," Sandy smiled, "Mister Rabb?"

"I'll have the same salad please, but I think I'll try the grilled swordfish steak, with a baked potato and sour cream

"Anything else from the cellar?" Sandy asked with a quick glance at the now half-empty champagne bottle.

"Uh… yes… If you don't mind a late start tomorrow, Loren?"

"No… go ahead…"

"Okay… in that case…" Harm passed the entrée orders under swift mental review, "Then we'll have a bottle of the Muscadet Sèvre et Maine sur lie."

"And a bottle of our usual sparkling mineral water, please," Loren added.

"Certainly!" Sandy agreed, "It's on its way!"

Harm and Loren spent their time at the table discussing the forthcoming move to Gainesville and how they were going to fit in the closing day and the move with their workload. Loren's workload was, of course, totally unknown, as her first day at ONI would be the coming Monday, and wore was concerned that Harm looked like being tied up in court for the foreseeable future with the Sebring court-martial, and might find it impossible to get away from duty to attend personal matters.

Harm took a mouthful of his salad, and nodded his acknowledgement of Loren's worries. Swallowing, he took advantage of the moment to Marshal his thoughts, "the prosecution list of witnesses includes Jennifer Wilson. Once she is on the stand, I believe I can crack her story wide open, so my plan is to let the prosecution take all the time they need to lay out their case, but my cross of their witnesses will be a short as I can make it until I get to Jennifer Wilson, and I really think that I can wrap up this case this week!"

Loren's anxious expression lightened slightly, "You really think so?"

Harm nodded, "I really do. I am convinced that Captain Sebring is innocent of the charges, and I aim to get him acquitted, despite his objections."

"But you can't tell me what those are, can you?" Loren asked.

Harm shook his head, "Not without breaking confidentiality."

Loren smiled gently, "Then I'll just have to do what your clients do, and that's trust you."

"I'll do my damnedest to make sure that trust isn't misplaced!"

"So… And completely changing the subject, have you given any thought to the mechanics of our move out to Gainesville?"

Harm nodded, "Yep. Gonna hire a U-Haul type trailer and try to rope in some help from the office, maybe Pete and young Barlow and maybe get Gunny Waters to organise a few hands for the heavy lifting to move the furniture from the apartment. If we've any time at the end of the day we can also move a load of boxes from the storage facility once we get the furniture in, and you bookshelves set up. What we can't move that day, I can pick up a couple of boxes at a time in the Lexus on my way home from Falls Church…"

"Home… M'mm… I like the sound of that!" Loren murmured.

"Well, if those plans work out, you might be busy on moving day… We're asking people to give up a Saturday, so we're probably going to have to feed them, and lay in some beers of course!"

"Don't forget soft drinks!" Loren cautioned him, "And maybe we could just order in Pizza or Chinese, or something?"

"It's a thought," Harm agreed, "but we'd have to find somewhere in Gainesville that will deliver."

"There must be some!" Loren protested.

"Of course, but we won't know any of them, so it'll be strictly pot luck," Harm pointed out.

"I'm willing to risk that – especially if it stops me slaving over a hot stove!" Loren quipped

"H'mm you've got a point there!" Harm laughingly agreed, as he laid his knife and fork down on his empty salad plate.

The entrees arrived within minutes of Loren finishing her salad and the enticing aromas rising from their plates sharpened their appetites, and apart from murmurs of appreciation Harm and Loren fell into almost complete silence while they ate and drank. Loren particularly appreciated the tartness of the wine which helped cut through the rather heavily cream-based mushroom sauce on her plate.

"Can I get you any dessert?" Sandy asked as he cleared the wreckage from the table.

"Loren?" Harm asked.

Loren's immediate smile rang a warning bell in Harm's mind, and he just about managed to stifle a groan when Loren replied, "Yes, please, Sandy. A wedge of lemon meringue pie – and two forks please!"

Sandy threw a glance at Harm and then looked back at Loren, "I'll be right back with your pie, Miss Singer!"

"You're going to send yourself into a sugar-shock!" Harm protested once Sandy was out of earshot.

Loren giggled, "That's why I ordered two forks, a wedge of that pie is too much for almost any single person, but we have managed to share it in the past without too many ill effects!"

"So you're trying to send me to sugar shock too?" Harm complained.

"Oh, I reckon you'll survive until I get you upstairs!" Loren said with a naughty grin.

"Promises, promises, promises," Harm scoffed.

Loren nodded with immense satisfaction, "Yep, and if there is one thing I learned from you, that is promises are to be kept!"

Harm read the challenge in Loren's eyes and gave a mock groan, "In that case, I'll just have to hope I make it through the night!"

"H'mm… In that case I may just have to take it easy on you…" Loren smirked.

"Oh yeah? In that case, bring it on!" Harm snorted.

"I will, just as soon as we've finished our pie and coffee!" Loren retorted.

**Saturday May 27****th****, 2001, 2312hrs EDT, Outside Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez's Apartment, Belmont Apartments, 4201, 7th Street, SE, Washington DC, 20032, (280312ZMay01)**

Meg indicated right and pulled out of the stream of traffic, braking the Mustang to a gentle halt at the kerbside. Checking her wing mirror for any danger from cars coming up from behind them, she opened the door, slid out of her seat and walked around to the passenger side, to give Victor a helping hand up from the low-slung car.

Not wanting to risk temptation once Victor was on his feet Meg asked anxiously, "Are you going to be okay from here, Victor?"

Victor managed a wry grin, "I'm not a complete invalid, Meg. I can manage just fine from here!"

"Okay," Meg folded her arms in front of her, leaned back against the front wing of her car and watched while Victor made as light work as he could manage of the half a dozen steps to the building door.

Lance Corporal Julia Somers felt at peace with the world. She and Raoul had eaten an excellent dinner in what was fast becoming their favourite DC restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue, and now they were headed back to the barracks at Eighth and I. To pass the time Julia was idly looking out of the side window of Raoul's Honda Accord, observing the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalks.

"Oh God!"

Raoul was nearly distracted from driving by Julia's exclamation, "¿Que pasa, querida?"

"That's Commander Austin… and Gunny Galindez!" Julia gasped, craning her neck to keep the two in sight.

Raoul checked his rear-view mirror, but the increasing distance made identification impossible. "Are you sure?" he demanded.

"Yes! I'm sure!"

"One hundred per cent?" he asked in a troubled voice.

"Yes… I'm one hundred per cent certain," Julia answered as she turned to face him.

"Damn!" Raoul thumped the side of his fist onto the steering wheel. "Listen to me, querida mia, we didn't see anything, nothing at all and most of all, we didn't see anyone we know this evening!"

"Raoul we're MPs…"

"So we don't go making waves until we have concrete evidence… and besides… Think about it… we're in pretty much the same sort of situation, so we're not really in a position to cast the first stone.

"You really think that it's best we pretend we never saw them?" Julia asked.

"Saw who?" Raoul asked.

Julia smiled and nodded, "Okay… we'll play it your way!"

"That's my girl!" Raul grinned and dropped a hand to rest gently on Julia's jean-clad thigh.

"Oh… I do like it when you call me that!" Julia smiled.

**Sunday May 27****th****, 2001, 1140hrs EDT, Grace Aviation Hangar, Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, Charlottesville, VA (271540ZMay01)**

Loren turned her head slightly as if to look out of the Lexus's side window and, her face hidden from Harm's view, allowed herself a small, secret smile. This morning's late start hadn't been entirely due to the extra alcohol she and Harm had consumed at dinner last night. 'No, the extended post-dinner activities, were equally to blame,' she thought smugly.

Of course, they hadn't really overslept, well, not by weekend standards but a leisurely breakfast and then a stop in Charlottesville to buy sandwiches for lunch had added to the delay, Harm having recalled that Alison Johnson had warned them that the supply of tuna and Mayo sandwiches that had been such a feature of Pop's tenure of the hangar had come to an end

Harm took a quick glance to his right, but was unable to see the expression on Loren's face. Nevertheless he had a feeling that she was smiling smugly about something - so it was about time that he rattled the bars of her cage, just a little.

"So…" Harm asked with a smile, "Just what do you know about Doolittle?"

Loren blinked, and then grinned. She hadn't given the subject any thought since they'd left Grace Aviation's Hangar behind them yesterday, but no matter… she had the perfect answer, "Doolittle? Quite a lot. For a start, I know he talked to the animals!"

"Loren!" Harm howled in protest while his completely unrepentant fiancée giggled in unashamed triumph.

Harm was still throwing Loren dirty looks fifteen minutes later, as he dismounted from the Lexus. However, the only response each look earned was another burst of giggles, and despite his exasperation with what Harm was positive was Loren's deliberate obtuseness – he was certain that she knew, perfectly well, the difference between the two Doolittle's – her giggles were so infectious that he couldn't prevent a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

So by the time they step from the sunlight into the comparatively cool darkness of the hangar, Harm's arm was around Loren's waist, his hand resting comfortably on her hip while Loren's head rested equally comfortably against his upper arm.

The office, when they got there was occupied only by Mattie, who as usual have her nose buried in an aviation magazine. She looked up, however as the door opened and a sunny smile lit up her face, "Hi, 'Mander, Miss Singer."

"Morning, Mattie," Harm grinned at the youngster as Loren moved towards the coffee pot, "Where's your mom and dad?" he continued nodding at Alison's vacant desk."

"Dad's head down and butt up in number three Agcat's engine, and mom is taking a possible new pupil on an evaluation ride in the Cessna. So I guess that leaves me in charge the office!" Mattie finished with a grin.

Harm answered the youngster's grin with one of his own, "Is it okay if I use the phone, just to call the tower?"

"Sure, knock yourself out," Mattie invited him.

By the time Harm had finished his call to the tower, which was just to get a weather update, Loren had finished making the coffee. She slid one mug towards him and then cocked an inquiring eye at Mattie, who indicated a mug near her right hand, shook her head and said, "Still got just about half a mug left here, thanks."

Harm replaced the phone on the hook, took a sip of his coffee and turning to Loren said, "The weather's is fine, so the flight to Lynchburg is on."

"Lynchburg?" Mattie repeated, an undertone of disappointment in her voice that was not lost on either Harm or Loren.

"'Fraid so, Squirt," Harm grinned in sympathy. "This is kind of a celebration flight for Loren… You did know that she got her licence yesterday, right?"

Mattie's eyebrows shot up her forehead, "No, I didn't! Wow that is so cool! Congratulations!"

Loren smiled, "Thank you, Mattie."

Mattie seemed genuinely pleased that Loren's achievement, but at the same time Harm thought he saw the gleam of calculation in the girl's eyes but before he even had time to make a silent bet with himself Mattie added, "Um… Now that Loren's qualified, does that mean that you will have time for another wannabe pilot?"

"Well, I don't know, Mattie. Yeah, Loren has passed the basic qualification, but she still needs a lot of help to get through the IFR endorsement, then she needs experience on tricycle carriage airplanes, also there's a question about her gaining multi-engine qualifications, so there's a lot for both of us to think about, and even that doesn't answer the question of whether your Mom and Dad would give us a green light."

"But you promised!" Mattie protested.

"I don't know that I actually promised," Harm said gently, "but I do recall saying that if I did agree to teach you that it probably wouldn't be until next year."

Mattie opened her mouth as if to protest was silenced by Harm uplifted hand. "That's not to say I don't want to teach you, or that I won't be able to take you up for occasional flights like we did last week, but seriously, Mattie, I don't think that either of us are in a place right now where we could seriously consider a programme of formal lessons."

Mattie slumped back into her chair, the very epitome of juvenile disappointment, "That sucks!" she complained bitterly.

"It may do," Loren said, not unsympathetically, "but that's the way the cookie crumbles sometimes, and besides, what would your Mom say if she heard you use language like that?"

"Yeah… she wouldn't be best pleased," the youngster admitted grudgingly.

"Okay… look, Mattie, we all have to put up with disappointments in our lives, that doesn't mean we have to like them, but it does mean that we have to accept them. So… let me finish working with Loren and then, next spring, provided your parents agree, I'll start with your lessons. In the meantime, I will take you up for familiarisation flights, as and when and if your parents agree. Okay?"

Mattie nodded glumly, "Yeah, I s'pose…"

"Good girl! And in the meantime, you can help yourself along by studying the FAA manuals so you can get the theory and radio procedures off pat. That'll save you a lot of brain sweat later on!" Harm added encouragingly.

Mattie nodded again, "Yeah… I s'pose…"

"Anyway, we've got to get going… we are flying down to Lynchburg, but we hope to be back by about sixteen hundred. Is it okay if we get a couple of the guys to wheel the Stearman out onto the apron and make sure she's fully gassed up?"

Mattie hauled herself to her feet, "I'll see to it," she said and headed for the office door.

Loren shook her head as the door closed behind the young red-head, "That was a little tricky," she decided in a relieved voice.

"Gee… ya think?" Harm quipped.

Loren glowered at him for a couple of seconds before she relaxed and gave a wry grin, "Yeah, I do… and I'll tell you what else I think…"

"Oh… what's that?" Harm sked, draining his mug.

"I think we ought to go and get suited up, otherwise we won't have enough time for our flight!"

"H'mm… Good thinking!"

"Yeah, I know…" Loren smirked as she headed for the refurbished ladies locker room.

"Oh, and yeah, I cry dibs on the outward leg!" Harm called out triumphantly, laughing as Loren scowled over her shoulder at him.

By the time they changed into flying gear, the Stearman had been refuelled, they had carried out a joint pre-flight check, warmed up the engine and obtained clearance from the tower for the taxi and take-off, nearly thirty-five minutes had passed before the yellow biplanes wheels finally lifted off the asphalt of the runway.

Harm levelled off at three thousand feet before making a tight, banking turn around to starboard to settle on a south-westerly course towards Lynchburg, enjoying the sensation of flying from somewhere to somewhere with a definite purpose behind the flight, rather than just spending the day over Charlottesville's WMA. Not, of course, that he'd mentioned to Loren that he had an ulterior motive in heading down to Lynchburg!

Loren in the forward cockpit, her face invisible to Harm, frowned. There was something that felt not quite right about this flight. Harm had never before shown the slightest interest in flying to Lynchburg. So why now the sudden urgency? And what was more, he didn't seem to have checked the charts for a course…

"Harm?"

"Yeah?"

"You been to Lynchburg before?"

"Nope, not for years, at any rate," Harm replied cheerfully, "Why?"

"Well… I didn't see you plot a course, and we've been pretty steady on this heading ever since we left Charlottesville…"

Harm laughed, "Look over the side, to port… You see that highway? That's the US-29, the same road we take from Gainesville to Charlottesville, I'm just following the road, but a bit quicker than if we were driving. So, why don't you quit worrying, and just sit back and enjoy the ride?"

**Sunday May 27****th****, 2001, 1312hrs EDT, Lynchburg Regional Airport, Lynchburg, VA (271812ZMay01)**

Harm nodded in satisfaction as he made out the distinctive shape of the airport up ahead and keyed his radio mic, "Hello Lynchburg Control this Stearman November Three Three Seven Eight Six, incoming on course two, two, zero, ex Charlottesville, range eight miles, flight level three, requesting instructions for joining the circuit and landing, over."

Loren nodded, realising that because Lynchburg wasn't the Stearman's home airport, that Harm had to formally identify the airplane for the initial call, rather than using the informal 'November Six' which was usual at Charlottesville.

"Lynchburg Control, good afternoon November Seven Eight Six, we have you on visual. Descend to flight level one point five and vector two seven zero"

"November Seven Eight Six, flight level one point five and vector two seven zero."

Harm banked to port and started his descent, calling Lynchburg Control once he had reached the required altitude.

"November Seven Eight Six, this is Lynchburg control, now vector one eight zero, maintaining present altitude."

"November Seven Eight Six, Roger."

Harm continued to follow the tower's instructions, listening carefully for his call sign amongst instructions issued to other airplanes in the vicinity, until he received the final message. "November Seven Eight Six, this is Lynchburg control, you are cleared to land on Runway one seven. Wind is nine knots, direction one eight five. Once landed turn to starboard at second exit to taxi-way for general aviation area."

"November Seven Eight Six, roger."

As Harm turned off the runway he easily spotted his destination, there were only two hangars to choose from and one of them had a "Virginia Aviation" sign above the door, so taxiing the Stearman past that hangar, he braked to a gentle halt on one the marked spots on the apron in front of the second hangar, where conscious of a small crows of curious on-lookers, he blipped the engine, clearing each cylinder in turn, before switching off the ignition.

"We're here," he announced unnecessarily to Loren.

Loren had unfastened her harness, and turned in her seat, "Okay… I know we're here, but what I don't know is why we're here? So give!"

Harm grinned as he levered himself out of the aft cockpit, "Wow, suspicious much!" and dropped lightly to the ground, where he waited for Loren to step down from the trailing edge of the lower plane, when as usual he caught her by the hips and pulled her towards him for their customary kiss.

Loren, nothing loth, twined her fingers in the short hair at the back of his neck and enthusiastically returned the kiss to find when they broke apart they were the object of several friendly, and maybe one or two envious, grins.

"Nice landing!" Loren quipped, "And nice try at a diversion! But you ain't answered me! Why are we here?"

Harm kept his hands on her hips and smiled down into her eyes, "Patience, grasshopper! All shall be revealed shortly!"

"Dammit! You know I hate it when you go all Yoda on me!"

"Yeah… but it's just so much fun," an entirely unrepentant Harm replied, quickly adding as he saw the mounting danger signals, "Besides, it would spoil the surprise!"

"Dammit! You know I hate surprises!" Loren complained unconvincingly, "So… give!"

"No… you don't hate surprises, you love 'em! No… don't try to say otherwise! Experts have tried to bullshit me and failed, and you're far too honest and easily read to even try!"

With that Harm kept one hand on Loren's hip and turned her so that they were both facing the hangar, and with a little pressure he coaxed her to walk with him to the door to one side of the hangar main doors, and above which was a sign that read "Office".

Harm confidently pushed the door open, immediately attracting the attention of the plump, middle-aged, henna-haired woman sat behind a desk the other side of a counter that ran the width of the office. A professional smile on her face, she quit her chair and crossed the few feet to the counter, "Good afternoon, folks, how may I help you?" she asked with an accent that shouted she came from somewhere far to the south of Virginia.

"Hi, my name is Harmon Rabb… I have an appointment with Danni Holloway…"

"Of course, Mister Rabb, Danni's expecting you. Take a seat for a few moments and I'll let her know that y'all are here," and with a pleasant nod of her head the woman almost scurried out of the office through a door in the rear wall.

"Danni Holloway?" Loren queried, "Who she? And why do you have an appointment with her?"

"Just a couple of more minutes, sweetheart, and I promise we'll come clean!"

"We?" Loren asked, her eyebrow arching delicately.

Harm was saved from having to make a reply by the advent on the scene of a dark-haired woman, who appeared to be about the same age as Harm, and whom she greeted with a beaming smile, throwing open the flap in the counter. Harm stood, just in time to be squeezed almost breathless by a fierce hug from the brunette.

"Hammer!" she laughed, "It is so good to see you after all this time!"

"Harm drew a breath to replenish his lungs before he grinned, "Hey there, Pickles, good to see you too!"

Loren bristled and stood when the brunette had thrown her arms around Harm, but the exchange of call signs reassured her as did the glimpse of gold on Danni's finger. Harm turned to face her, one hand extended as if to draw her forward, "Pickles, I'd like you to meet Loren Singer, my fiancée. Loren, this is Danni Holloway. Danni used to fly with me with the Raptors, where she was more usually known as…"

"Pickles?" Loren inquired with mock-innocence.

"Just so!" Danni laughed, her eyes taking Loren while she swiftly evaluated her, and gave a small unconscious nod as she mentally approved the blonde as Harm's future wife.

Harm indicated the row of seats in an unspoken suggestion that they should all sit. Danni carefully taking a seat at Loren's side, leaving the blonde between her and Harm. "Pickles," he explained to Loren "runs a flying school down here, Mike put me on to her. Primarily because Pickles operates suitable airplanes and I trust her to teach you up to IFR and over water ratings…"

"Harm," Loren protested, "What about the fees… we are moving house, if you recall!"

"I know we are, sweetheart, but the fees are taken care of. They're Frank's wedding present to you. Between us, we've got most of everything that we need, so we can afford to get your endorsements!"

"Yeah, 'bout that," Pickles interrupted. "You said that your Stearman is looked after by Grace Aviation up at Charlottesville… Now I know that they have a Cessna 172…"

"182," Harm corrected her gently.

"Whatever! And I know they have a CFI on their books, so wouldn't it make more sense for Loren to take lessons up there?"

"It would if we trusted their CFI. Tom Johnson, the CFI, is the owner's husband, and I… we're…" he shot a look at Loren and gently gripped her hand, "_We're_ pretty sure he's an alcoholic. I wouldn't trust him to drive his truck safely from the hangar to the airport exit, let alone fly safely."

Loren nodded in confirmation, "There's just too many mornings when he hasn't shown for work, because he's… what was it Mattie said? Oh, yeah, 'at home asleep', which we're pretty sure is code for stale drunk, and on most mornings when he does show, he stinks of stale alcohol and shows signs of a hangover. I don't think he's ever heard of twelve hours between bottle and throttle!"

Danni frowned, "Those are pretty harsh accusations, Hammer. Have you mentioned them to anyone else?"

Harm shook his head, "No… we've got no proof, just our own observations, and certainly not enough to end someone's career. But if I ever see him getting into an airplane while he's drunk then all bets are off and I will throw a flag on the play!"

Danni nodded, and having received an answer to her question, she put it behind her, "Okay… now Loren… you qualified as a pilot, with VFR when?"

"Yesterday, in the Stearman," Loren smiled, "With tail wheel and 200 horse power endorsements. Which is why, in addition to IFR and over water endorsements, I need endorsements for tricycle undercarriage and maybe, eventually, multi engine endorsements."

"Well we use the American Grumman AG-5B, which has a smaller engine, but is a little heavier than the Stearman. The advantage in that is that it can fly in windier conditions than the Cessnas. So… who flew here today?"

"I flew down," Harm replied, "But Loren will be flying back."

Danni cocked an eyebrow, "Oh? You didn't trust her to get here?"

"Not at all," Harm grinned, "I just had to show her the route."

Danni gave a shout of laughter, "Bullshit! If I know you, you just followed the 29 down from Charlottesville."

"Damn! Busted!" Harm admitted, "But I still had to show her which road to follow!"

Harm's protest drew a further shout of disbelieving laughter, this time from both blonde and brunette, and when she had finished wiping the tears from her eyes, Danni shook her head once more and then asked, "How are you fixing to work this out?"

"Well… as Loren said, we're moving house next week, that is if God's willing and the creek don't rise, and the closing goes according to plan. Plus we need to wait for Loren's licence to come back from the FAA office at Leesburg, and that could take a couple of weeks. So shall we plan to kick off in three weeks' time? Bearing in mind that Loren is only available at weekends."

"Okay…"Danni got to her feet and called put to the red-head, "Ruth, check the calendar for a mid-day slot three weeks from today, please?"

"You got!" There was a minute's delay and then Ruth looked up over the counter, "Thirteen to fourteen hundred hours, is that okay?"

Harm exchanged a look with Loren and they both then turned and in chorus said, "Yeah, that's great!"

"So… we'll see you then!" Danni smiled, "But in the meantime, why don't you show me around your Stearman. I seem to recall hearing some time back in the day, that you restored it from a heap of metal, wood and canvas…"

"Yep, that would be about right," Harm said with a touch of pride in his achievement.

"And she's back in original condition?" Danni asked as she opened the office door.

"Not quite," Harm replied as he followed the brunette out onto the apron, "I upgraded her safety features and some of the instrumentation. I installed modern brakes, five point harnesses as well as an artificial horizon and gyro repeater compass…"

**Sunday May 27****th****, 2001, 2123hrs EDT, Loren Singer and Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (280023ZMay01)**

Loren sighed as she straightened and stretched her back before she took her skirt off the ironing board and carefully hooked the waist loops over the hangar, which she then hung on one of the pegs on the apartment door.

Harm looked around from the kitchen area where he was busying himself preparing a fresh pot of coffee. "All done?" He asked.

Loren nodded, "All done," she agreed.

Something in her voice caught Harm's attention. "Nervous?"

Loren nodded, "A little, kinda like the first day at a new school."

Harm put the coffee down and crossed the floor, coming up behind Loren he wrapped her in his arms, and asked softly, "And they weren't the best days of your life, were they?"

Loren covered Harm's forearms with her own against the solid comfort of his broad chest, "No, no they weren't. But there is one important difference between then and now."

"And that is?" Harm prompted.

"The difference," Loren said, equally softly, "is that back then I didn't have you support me, or to come home to. And that, as far as I'm concerned, makes all the difference in the world!"

"Good, and don't you forget that," Harm said quietly, even while his heart swelled with pride. "And now, we have fresh coffee, and especially for you, a slice of the Boars Head's lemon meringue pie!"

Loren shook her head slightly and chuckled, "And that's in aid of?"

"Why, just celebrating your success!"

"Still?" Loren giggled.

Harm nodded in agreement "Still, and always and forever!"


	82. Chapter 82

**Enough Is Enough**

**Chapter 82**

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 0730EDT, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (281130ZMay01)**

Harm dropped his cover onto the credenza that stood just inside his office door and slid his briefcase into its accustomed place in the knee hole of his desk, before he glanced at his watch and decided just about had time for a cup of coffee before he needed to start work.

As much as he tried to put it out of his mind, he couldn't help but remember that it was Loren's first day of duty at her new assignment, and although he was confident of her ability to look after herself, he couldn't help but worry, given the nature of recent interactions with the ONI, as to the reception she might receive from her new co-workers.

Giving his head a rather savage shake, Harm firmly resolved to push Loren and any complications pertaining to her onto his mental back-burner, while he concentrated on today, and his imminent case.

Today Harm's handling of that case would be crucial, the court martial of captain Owen Sebring was scheduled to begin at zero nine hundred hours, and not only had Harm to deliver his own opening statement, but he had to be prepared to compose on the spot arguments to counter points that the prosecution would bound to make in their opening statement.

He was lucky in one way, he reflected, as he made his way back to his office from the galley, he had pretty much trained Meg when she was a JG, so he had a pretty good idea of how her mind worked, and what sort of tricks she was liable to play as a prosecutor. That train of thought led to a mirthless grin as he sat down behind his desk. The converse was also true, Meg, if she remembered – and he wasn't going to bet against that – would also have a pretty good idea of how his own thought processes worked.

It wouldn't be fair to claim that Harm brooded while he drank his coffee but he was certainly sunk deep in thought as he wrestled with his conscience. His duty was clear enough. And he would stand by that duty. He now had on his possession the means to clear Owen Sebring of the charge against him, or at least it was pretty sure that he had, but in order to use it, he was probably going to have to destroy, on the witness stand, a young woman who was already suffering and was also grieving for her dead infant.

Lost deep in thought, Harm failed to notice the passage of time, and was startled out of his ponderings by a sharp rap on his doorframe. The frown on his face he lifted his head to glare at the unfortunate individual who had dared disturb him.

Now that she had his attention, but slightly taken aback by the ferocious scowl on his face, Carolyn Imes ventured a smile, "Harm, it's time for the Monday morning briefing, or has the Admiral let you slide on it today?"

"Damn!" Harm snatched a look at his watch and bounded to his feet, "Thanks, Carolyn!"

"You're welcome!" Carolyn smiled as she stood back to allow Harm through the door.

With a quick smile, he squeezed past her and then, the smile widening into a grin he threw over his shoulder, "Well come on! You don't want to be late, do you?"

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 0755EDT, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A J Chegwidden's Office, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (281155ZMay01)**

A J Chegwidden looked across his desk at the semi-circle formed by his four team leaders, "Right people, first things first…" He glared at Harm as if what he was about to say was that all, former aviator's fault.

"As we're all well aware, judiciary's schedule has turned into a disaster, but hopefully today sees the start of a resolution the situation. Commanders Rabb and Austin, you are both ready to go?"

"Ready, aye, sir!" Harm replied crisply.

"Yes, sir!" Meg confirmed.

Chegwidden nodded, "I'm pretty sure you don't need telling, but just in case you do need reminding, despite the fact that Captain Sebring is one of our own, and probably because of that, this trial needs to be tackled just as if he was Seaman Smith of no place in particular. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," and this time the response was a chorus of two.

"Good! And moving on, Commander Rabb, Major Lasley, the defendant in the shipboard special court martial has decided that he wants a civilian attorney. As a result judge Helfman has directed that Commander Morrison sit second chair and guide this… this…" Chegwidden looked down at the signal flimsy on his desk, "Kaliski person through court martial procedures. As a result, Lieutenant Barlow is even now en route from the Pacific to Falls Church, so as soon as he is wheels down, he's available to you once again. I'm sure that you and Lieutenant Arnold will be relieved to hear that!"

"Yes, sir!" Harm agreed once again even as he did a rapid mental review of his team's outstanding cases that could be passed on to the junior officer.

"Now…" Chegwidden reached the stack of files in his in tray, "Commanders Mattoni and Imes, I realise that with TADs Commander Mattoni's team is as short-handed as Commander Rabb's, but with Commanders Rabb and Austin tied up with the Sebring case for the foreseeable future I regret that your teams are necessarily going to have to shoulder most of the burden." He gave Alan and Caroline a not unsympathetic glance before he divided the stack of case files in front of him into two separate piles.

"Commander Imes, your team to prosecute, a Marine recruit who assaulted his DI and broke his jaw with a rifle butt. Commander Mattoni you get the defence on this one. You also get to prosecute Lieutenant Commander Davies, he's a psychiatrist with the Medical Corps… he wrote an article for his state's medical board journal that was severely critical of the way the Navy treats sailors with psychiatric disorders. Admiral Jennings, the head of the Medical Corps' Psychiatric Division has charged him with contemptuous words. Commander Austin, I know you're busy, but you do have a full team…Is it up to handling the defence in this case?"

"Yes, sir" Meg rapped out. It sounded like 'of course'.

"Very well…Commander Imes your team to prosecute Lieutenant Commander Newton and CTI One Locklear, both of the _USS Shenandoah, _CG74, for fraternisation. Commander Austin your team to defend."

Chegwidden removed his glasses from his nose and looked around at the faces opposite, "Now… the question of Chief of Staff… I have, during the course of the weekend, considered each and every one of you for the position, but I have decided for different reasons, not to offer any of you the post. Instead I have arranged for Commander Adrienne Scott to PCS to here from Jacksonville. She is scheduled to arrive a week today. In the meantime, I shall endeavour to operate as my own Chief of Staff."

Harm exchanged a fleeting look with Alan Mattoni, both understanding that with the Admiral assuming a second hat, even if only for a week, then it would behove his officers to tread even more warily around an Admiral who was likely to become ever more irritable due to his increased work load.

Chegwidden saw that fleeting glance and glowered at Harm and Alan, "is there something you wished to say, Commander? Either of you? Anyone else? No? Good! Dismissed!"

The four officers rose to their feet and assumed a brace and then in an almost perfect synchronisation about faced and filed out of the office.

"Nice going fellers," Carolyn observed to Alan and Harm, once they were all safely out of Tiner's ante-chamber.

"What? We didn't say anything?" Alan protested.

"No, you didn't have to!" Carolyn retorted.

"Never mind that!" Megan interrupted a trifle impatiently, "Alan, you got hammered in there, and it's left me feeling guilty. I don't think the Admiral remembered that Tracy is working with me on the Sebring court-martial, and with your Lieutenant Warren TAD to the_ Peleliu_, you are distinctly short-handed! Would it help if I made Martin Heywood available to you?"

Alan Mattoni's forehead, which had been creased in a frown as he left the Admiral's office smoothed as if by magic, "Thanks Meg, it's certainly would help!"

Meg glanced up at the array of clocks on the bullpen wall, "Harm, Tracy and I are due in court in about ten minutes, and so if I send Martin along to see you, you can explain what's needed?"

"That's just dandy. Thanks again Meg!"

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 0900EDT, Courtroom Three, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (281300ZMay01)**

"Are we ready, Commander?" Captain Sebring asked as he and Harm took their seats at the defence table.

"As ready as we'll ever be, sir!" Harm declared in what he hoped was an encouraging voice.

"Well we had…"

Whatever Owen Sebring was about to say was lost as the Court Bailiff, Staff Sergeant Mayhew, called the court to order as the door leading to the judge's chambers opened and the presiding judge strode into the court room.

Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Stiles Morris took his seat on the bench and rasped out "Please be seated!" and then stared unhappily at the crowded courtroom.

In addition to the occupants of the prosecution and defence tables, as well as the usual scattering of Navy and Marine spectators, the room was packed, almost to overflowing, with members of the always scandal hungry Washington DC press corps, and a case involving road rage, a dead baby and a senior Naval Officer, a Captain and a Navy Judge, no less, was grist to their ever turning mill wheels.. Composing himself Admiral Morris unconsciously straightened his shoulders and once more scanned the expectant faces in the public gallery.

Clearing his throat, the Admiral decided on the best way to approach what could become a problem. "Before we start this case, I wish to make a couple of points. Firstly, the court recognises that due to its nature, and the fact that the alleged victim is a civilian, that there is a great deal of public interest in its outcome. To that end, I welcome the presence of so many representatives of the Fourth Estate, which can only add to the transparency of the forthcoming proceedings. Secondly, however, as much as the court appreciates the interest of the press corps, I can assure you all that in the event of any outbreaks of unruly behaviour, noise, or interjections then I will have absolutely no compunction in the use of any measures in clearing the court including the employment of USMC security personnel. That being said, prosecution, are you ready to make your opening statement?"

Meg rose to her feet, "We are, Your Honour."

"Very well, Commander, proceed."

Meg half-turned to address the panel, "On the evening of Monday May twenty-first, Miss Jennifer Wilson, with her six month old baby, Ruby was driving home on Fairfax County Road 644, the Old Keene Mill Road when she was involved in a moving vehicle collision with the car following her. In short, she was rear ended. As in any rear-end collision it is the driver of the second vehicle that is held responsible for the collision. But this was no ordinary collision, as a result of the impact, Miss Wilson lost control and swerved off the road, ending up at the bottom of an embankment. Miss Wilson survived the incident. Her six month old daughter did not."

Meg fell silent fort a few moment to let the pane; absorb what she had just said before she took another breath and continued. "The car following Miss Wilson's ca was the car owned and driven by the defendant, Captain Owen Sebring. But ladies and gentlemen his was no accident. The prosecution will show, beyond reasonable doubt, that Captain Owen Sebring in a fit of road rage, brought on by God knows what, deliberately ran Miss Wilson's car off the road, causing the death of Ruby Wilson. Those are the facts of the case, and you will have no option when they are proven than to find Captain Owen Sebring guilty of the vehicular homicide of Ruby Wilson"

Meg sat down and turned expectantly towards Harm, who looked up at the bench just as Judge Morris also looked at Harm and said "Counsellor?"

Harm stood, and answered, "Ready, Your Honour,"

Judge Morris nodded, "Proceed."

Harm faced the panel, "Members of the panel… we have a sad case before us today. No-one can failed to be moved to sympathy for a young mother who has just lost a child, especially so young a child, in such circumstances. It has been said that no parent should have to bury a child. If only that were true. But as tragic as this case is, trial counsel will not be able to provide, despite their trumpeting facts that are not yet, as we say, in evidence, proof that Captain Owen Sebring, an officer whose behaviour, morals, ethics and integrity are unimpeachable was involved in any way in Miss Wilson losing control of her car on that dreadful evening. I would normally remind a panel at this stage that should there be any reasonable doubt in their minds as to the defendant's guilt, then they must acquit. I do not do so now, because the defence will show beyond any doubt whatsoever that Captain Sebring is entirely innocent of the charges laid against him."

Without a further word, Harm abruptly turned and returned to his seat to meet an anxiously raised eyebrow from Captain Sebring.

Harm nodded and whispered, "Sometimes, sir, less is more."

Meg, in some surprise at the shortness of Harm's opening addressed, let her gaze, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, follow Harm as he returned to his seat.

"He's up to something!" Tracy whispered, jerking Meg's attention back to her co-counsel.

"Yes, of course he is!" she whispered back.

Judge Morris looked inquisitively at the prosecution team and asked politely, "If you have finished your conference, Counsel, perhaps you'd like to call your first witness?"

Meg flushed, "Yes, of course, Your Honour. The prosecution calls Miss Jennifer Wilson…"

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 0900EDT, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) George A Thomas' Office, Office of Naval Intelligence, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA (281300ZMay01)**

It had taken nearly an hour Loren orders to be checked and validated at the USMC-man security desk at the south entrance

Loren halted with drill-field precision and froze into a brace, "Lieutenant Singer, reporting as ordered, sir!" she snapped.

Admiral Thomas, a short, fit-looking man in his mid-fifties with a shock of grey hair, looked across the expanse of his highly polished dark oak desk and with a nod acknowledged the newest member of his staff.

"You have your orders, Lieutenant?" He asked in his surprisingly deep baritone voice, as he dipped hi head to indicate the buff file under Loren's left arm.

"Sir! Yes, sir!" she responded, taking the file and laying it on the admiral's desk.

"I'm sure it's all in order, so tell me a bit about yourself…"

"Not much to tell, Sir. Born and raised in rural Ohio, got my bachelor's degree at Ohio State, where I went through NROTC, commissioned Ensign, law school at Harvard, graduated as Lieutenant (JG), then NJS, first tour at LSO Pearl Harbour, second tour as ship's JAG aboard the _Eisenhowe_r, then LSO at Falls Church, transferred to the trials office, and now here."

Admiral Thomas nodded approvingly, "Succinct, and to the point. If you can keep all your briefings as… brief… Then I'm sure that we will get along just fine. Now in light of recent events –in which you played a part, I understand – this office must be absolutely certain no future operation crosses the line into illegality and that's where you come in. Your watchwords must be 'need to know' and 'national security'. Bearing in mind just how quickly things can get goat roped in our own work I can promise you, I can't promise you a full docket every day, and much of your work will be… pretty much mundane… but I can promise you more often than not that when you need to make a decision you will need to make it quickly. I have a feeling that you attorneys regard careful research and quick decisions as antithetical, but I have also been informed that you are highly adaptable if that is the case then you and I will not have a problem, otherwise you'll be looking for a new assignment in pretty short order."

Loren gulped silently, but managed to sound confident as she replied "Aye, aye, sir!"

"Very well. Commander Coleman leaves us at secure on Friday. I suggest that you and she start your handover/takeover ASAP! And to that end, I'll get someone to conduct you to her office!" He leaned forward and toggled the switch on his desk top intercom, "Master Chief!"

"Sir!"

"Have someone conduct Lieutenant Singer to Commander Coleman's office space!"

"_Aye, aye, sir_!"

The Admiral sat back, lacing his fingers over his stomach, "Relax, Lieutenant. Admiral Chegwidden enclosed a note with your personnel file. In it he notes that you are engaged to one of his officers, Commander Rabb, and that your impending marriage is the reason for this change of assignment and that the marriage is due to take place on June thirtieth."

"Yes, sir," Loren agreed.

"H'mph! And I suppose you'll be wanting leave? One week? Two weeks?"

"Two weeks, sir. Starting the thirtieth. I', quite happy to work right up to secure on the twenty-ninth!"

"I should think so too!" the Admiral grumped, but Loren was startled by detecting what seemed to be a glint of amusement in his blue eyes, "Well, you have forty-four days on the books, and it is your wedding, so I suppose I can't really deny you your leave. Although, it would have been better if your PCS could have been arranged for a little earlier!"

"The mills of the gods of personnel, sir…" Loren offered.

Thomas nodded, true, all too true. Well, Chegwidden will just have to come up with a warm body to fill your post while you are on leave! Yes! What is it?" he snapped into the intercom, where a voice rendered tinny by the device had just claimed his attention.

"_Yeoman Two Morrison is here to conduct Lieutenant Singer to her office_, sir," the voice of Master Chief Patterson informed him.

"Thank you, Master Chief! Well, Lieutenant, to your duties, dismissed!"

Loren snapped back to attention, "Aye, aye, sir!"

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 0958EDT, Courtroom Three, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (281358ZMay01)**

Harm listened carefully, making the occasional note, as Meg gently took Jennifer Wilson through her testimony. The young woman still showed the visible signs of her own, albeit, comparatively minor injuries, and from the frequent breaks in her voice, and the rapid blinking back of tears, she was obviously having a tough time trying to remain stoic as she went through the events of the night of the accident. He glanced occasionally at the panel in an attempt to evaluate the emotional impact of the distraught mother's evidence. He was pretty certain that on one occasion he saw the eyes one of the female members of the panel glistening with tears. 'That's not good,' he told himself with masterly understatement.

"… and then the crying stopped…" Jennifer Wilson's voice faded into silence, seemingly leaving her last, sad words hanging in the air.

Meg had asked her last question and said quietly, "Thank you, Miss Wilson," and then turning to Harm said nonchalantly, "Your witness."

Harm stood and approached the witness box, "Are you alright, Miss Wilson? Can we get you anything?"

Jennifer Wilson took a sip of water and shook her head, "No thanks," she replied in a flat voice.

"I want you to know that nobody here can imagine your pain," Harm said gently, "but we appreciate your helping us to discover what really happened."

The answering "Okay" was barely audible.

"It can't have been easy, supporting a baby on your own," Harm suggested, the rising inflection in his voice turning the suggestion into a question.

For the first time Jennifer Wilson raised her eyes to look into Harm's, "We managed," she said with pathetic dignity, "Ruby always had enough food to eat and a warm place to sleep."

"You must have been on a strict budget."

"You learn to cut corners, find out what's on sale…"

"I know you went a considerable distance out of your way the night of the accident to buy baby food at the Pick It Stop. 'Nature's Child,' wasn't it?

"Yes."

"You know, that same brand is much cheaper at the store around the corner from your house?"

Meg looked up sharply at that. 'Was Harm about to pull one of his famous magic rabbits out of the hat?' she wondered, and then her heart sank as she saw that if she was concerned, Jennifer Wilson was looking at Harm like a petrified rabbit looks at a rattlesnake.

"Is it?" Jennifer faltered, and gave a half-shrug, "I forgot…"

Harm nodded; but although the feeling a great degree of sympathy for Ms Wilson, he pressed on. He had a job to do, and that was to prove Captain Sebring innocent of the charges brought against him, which he firmly believed to be the case. "Is it possible, Ms Wilson, that you will also forgotten other things about that night?"

Jennifer Wilson merely bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

Meg winced and shared a concerned glance with Tracy, both prosecution attorneys fully expecting Harm to ask Admiral Morris to direct the witness to answer the question. Instead and to their joint surprise, Harm kept his voice low and warm as he continued, "You know, when faced with a tragedy such as this, we need an explanation, a reason, someone or something to blame…"

Meg, who had been waiting for Harm's next question to the witness, shot to her feet, "Objection!"

Admiral Morris, who had been waiting for the same thing, obviously agreed with Meg, "If you have a question, counsellor, ask it. Or move on!"

Harm apparently failed to acknowledge the judge's instruction but his next words showed that he had heard and taken it on board.

"Is it possible, Ms Wilson, in that accusing Captain Sebring you are simply trying to make sense of a terrible accident?"

Jennifer, who had been biting a knuckle, and failing to meet Harm's eyes as he asked his question nearly sobbed her reply, "He kept pushing me to go faster… Honking his horn, flashing his lights… He forced me off the road I don't know why he did it, but because of him my Ruby is dead!" And as she finished the repetition of her accusation her emotion got the better of her and she dissolved into tears.

Harm smiled sympathetically, but by no means dissatisfied with the way his cross examination had gone, and he turned to Admiral Morris, "Your Honour, I ask the court that Ms Wilson be excused for the moment, so that she may compose herself, but I would also like to be able to recall her at a later date."

Judge Morris looked at the softly weeping young woman in the witness box and then at Meg, "Does trial counsel have any objections?"

Meg shared a quick look with Tracy and then stood, "No objections Your Honour!"

"Very well. Miss Williams, you may step down now, but you may be recalled to testify further later in the trial, do you understand that? And that you are not yet permitted to leave this building?"

A red-eyed Jennifer Williams, nodded and gulped, her "Yes, Your Honour, was barely above a whisper.

There was almost dead silence in the courtroom, the only audible noise being the sound of Jennifer Wilson's soft soled shoes and she walked towards the courtroom door.

Meg stood, biting her lip for a few seconds before she spoke to Judge Morris, "May we have a five minute recess, please, Your Honour? I need to…" she looked helplessly at the Judge and then over her shoulder towards the door.

Admiral Morris looked at Harm, "Commander?"

"No objection, Your Honour!"

The five minutes passed all too quickly for Meg to completely calm Jennifer Wilson and the Texas blonde slipped back into her seat a bare few seconds before the bailiff called the court back to order and Admiral Morris reappeared through the door leading to the Judges' Chambers, leaving just enough time for her to nod an answer to Tracy's "How is she?"

Both attorneys however, had to turn their attention back to the proceedings as Admiral Morris asked, "Is the prosecution ready to proceed?"

"Yes, Your Honour," Tracy Manetti replied.

Morris quirked an eyebrow but gravely inclined his head, "Call your next witness, please."

"The prosecution calls Mister Brian Nicholson," Tracy announced in her light Virginia accent.

Brian Nicholson turned out to be a slim, neatly dressed, but almost entirely bald figure in his forties. He walked down the courtroom's centre aisle, stepped into the witness box and repeated the oath to tell the truth with the air of someone who had carried out the same procedure innumerable times.

Tracy stepped forward, one her most charming smiles on her face, "Could you please, for the record, tell the court your name and occupation?"

"Certainly, my name is Brian C Nichols and I am employed by the Fairfax County Police Department as a motor vehicle accident inspector."

"And how long have you been employed by Fairfax County Police?"

"Just over fifteen years, ma'am."

"Thank you. Your Honour, based on Mister Nichols's qualifications and experience, we have called him in the character of an expert witness. We have a notarised copy of his record if it should be needed…"

Harm rose, "You Honour, the defence is happy to stipulate as to Mister Nichols's expertise. We see no need to delay these proceedings while that expertise is evaluated."

"Very well, Commander, so noted. Counsellor, you may proceed," the Admiral instructed Tracy.

"Thank you Your Honour…" the rest of whatever Tracy said, and the first question that she asked Brian Nichols went unheard by Harm because as soon as he had sat down, Captain Sebring thrust a hastily scribbled note along the table to him.

"_What the hell are you playing at? No objection to an unnecessary recess, now no challenge to a so-called expert witness!_"

Harm bit back his annoyance. He knew exactly what he was doing. Just as hastily he scribbled a reply.

"_We need to show that we are sympathetic to the prosecution's case. Look at the panel. After J W's testimony they're about ready to convict! We need them on our side_!"

Sebring grunted quietly, but enough to let Harm know his displeasure, but then settled back in his chair, his arms folded in front of him and a scowl on his face.

Harm gave himself a mental shake, and turned his attention back to Tracy Manetti, just in time to hear her ask the key questions up to which she had been leading.

"So… Mister Nichols, you examined both vehicles involved in the incident?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what did you find?"

"There was damage to the near side front fender of the Chrysler, and corresponding damage to the rear end of the Ford."

"I see… Can there be any doubt that the damage you observed came from that incident."

Nicholson shook his head, "No ma'am, there was enough paint transfer, just enough, to confirm the collision between those two vehicles. Neither vehicle showed any other signs of damage."

"But despite the minimal amount of paint transfer, you are quite certain that there was a collision between the car driven by Ms Williams and the car driven by Captain Sebring? That it was, in fact, that impact that forced the victim's car off the road?"

"Yes, ma'am, quite certain. Given the road conditions and the trajectory, then yes, it was the impact that forced the Ford off the road."

"Thank you!" Tracy said to Nicholson and then "Your witness," she added to Harm as she turned back towards trial counsel's table.

Harm walked around the end of the defence table, "Mister Nichols, you've testified that a collision occurred between two vehicles by measuring the dents, comparing the paint and analysing the trajectory?"

Nichols nodded, "That's right," he agreed.

"Can you also tell us whether the contact was intentional or accidental, or assign fault?"

Nichols made an effort to control a grin at what he saw as the absurdity of Harm's question, and managed to keep a straight face as he replied, "I'd have to be psychic."

Harm nodded, a pleasant smile on his face, "Thank you." He turned to face Admiral Morris, "I have no further questions!"

Judge Morris nodded and looked at Meg, "You have further witnesses, Counsellor?"

"We do Your Honour; the prosecution calls James Brierley."

James Brierley turned out to be the Fairfax PD Officer who had answered the 911 call, and had arrived on the scene before the ambulance and the EMTs. Harm listened carefully as Metcalfe responded to Meg's questions, again making an occasional note, but his interest peaked as Meg asked, "And you treated the baby first?"

"Yes ma'am. The mother was conscious, but the baby was lying still and wasn't making a sound. We're trained to attend to the silent victims first."

"And in this case?"

"I examined the baby, and tried to resuscitate her."

"What did you do, and to what effect?

Metcalfe's voice remained steady as he replied, "I tried CPR but the baby had stopped breathing."

"What about the mother?" Meg asked.

"She was stable, but in pain."

"Was the Captain injured?" Meg queried, half turning to look at Captain Sebring, an act calculated, Harm knew, to reinforce the identity of 'the Captain' in her question.

"No, ma'am, not that I could tell."

"Did he follow the ambulance to the hospital to see how the mother was doing?"

"No ma'am, I let him go once I'd got his story, he seemed pretty anxious to take off."

Meg gave a slight nod of her head and turned away towards the prosecution table, throwing a "Your witness," over her shoulder to Harm as she walked away from the witness box.

Harm asked his first question even as he approached the box, "Officer, wasn't it Captain Sebring who called the police in the first place?"

"Yes, sir."

"How would you describe his attitude when you arrived on the scene?"

"Concerned, but professional; relaying the pertinent details of the incident."

"Was he in any way resistant to answering your questions?"

"No, sir."

"Prior to your arrival, had Captain Sebring done anything to aid the victims?"

"Yes, he pulled both the mother and the child from the wreckage and attempted to give aid."

"Is this the kind of behaviour you would expect from someone guilty of road rage?" Harm asked.

Metcalfe's "No, sir, it is not," was accompanied by a slight but definite head-shake.

"Thank you! I have no further questions" Harm ended his cross-examination, backed up a couple of steps and then turned and walked back to his chair.

Meg almost jumped to her feet, the word portrait of Owen Sebring that Harm had just elicited from_ her_ witness was not at all to her liking, and any effect it might have had on the panel needed to be scotched immediately. "Redirect, Your Honour?"

"Go ahead, Commander," Judge Morris agreed with a dip of his head.

"Officer Brierley, after the Captain 'took off' as you put it, what happened next? Did Miss Wilson say anything?"

"Yes, just before she lost consciousness, she asked me where 'he' was, 'the man who was just here, the one who ran me off the road…'"

"Thank you, Officer Brierley." Meg dismissed the officer with a slight smile and then looked up at Judge Morris, "The government rests your honour."

Admiral Morris nodded, checked his watch and picked up his gavel, "This court is in recess until fourteen hundred hours. The defence may present its case this afternoon."

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 1000hrs EDT, Lieutenant Commander Faith Coleman's Office, Office of Naval Intelligence, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA (281400ZMay01)**

Loren looked across the desk at the freckle-faced brunette Lieutenant Commander, "And that's it?" she asked in some surprise.

Faith Coleman allowed herself a tight smile, "Yes, that's it. What did you expect? File cabinets crammed to overflowing, and an Everest of files on my desk? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I can't … I don't work like that."

Loren look around the office that was shortly to be hers and discovered that she believed every word that the other officer had just spoken. Not a hair was out of place, there were no pictures or posters on the walls, and no sign that there ever had been any. There were no photographs on the desk and no clutter anywhere. Everything was in the most literal sense of the phrase, squared away, even the blotter on the desk was carefully aligned with the desk edge, and the two water tumblers of pencils stood at equal distances from opposite corners of the blotter and the rotary pencil sharpener was, she strongly suspected exactly half-way between the two glasses, and most unusually the three trays on the desk were all completely empty, an occurrence that could never happen at the hard-pressed JAG offices.

But that wasn't all, the officer on the other side of the desk sat still and bolt upright, and Loren was almost prepared to wager that her thighs were at exactly ninety degrees to her spine and her lower legs at exactly ninety degrees to her thighs. Faith Coleman, Loren decided was in for one hell of a shock when she reported to her new billet at LSO Norfolk.

Loren was jerked out of her ruminations as Faith Coleman stood, twitching her skirt into place as she did so. "So, having briefed you on what's going on in this office, I had best give you a tour of the Department. Follow me, please."

Unseen by Faith Coleman as she left the office, Loren quirked an eyebrow at the other woman's pedantic formality, but rose to her feet and followed in the other's wake, hurrying a little to catch up and to hear what Coleman was saying.

"Despite rumours and some activity to the contrary, this department is not a collection of James Bond wannabes. There are differences between the intelligence activities carried out by the ONI and the CIA for example. The work here is mostly what is known as Operational Intelligence, receiving reports on unfriendly, or potentially unfriendly naval assets… A North Korean cruiser, for example, suddenly sprouting a new radar dish, or a new weapons platform, or maybe Iranian military aircraft suddenly staring to operate in areas in which there has never previously been any trace of them. And of course the routine reporting of any and all naval assets encountered anywhere in the world…"

"And where do all these reports come from?" Loren asked.

"Oh… our own vessels and aircraft, whether patrol or strike, any aircrew sighting a foreign naval vessel or military aircraft are under orders to report the sighting. And not so much these days, but there is a long-standing practice of a certain foreign power's 'deep sea trawlers' just happening to be in the vicinity of our ships – trawlers equipped with an array of various antennae, all quite capable of picking up electronic information. As a result, many of even our routine communications are encrypted, so we have a pretty heavily staffed Crypto department, run by Captain Kemper, but most of your contact with Crypto will be either through Commander Carey or Lieutenant Commander Wallace. Of course, we have our own covert assets in place, some of these you don't have a need to know about, but others are officers on the staff of various naval attaches in US embassies around the world. Their activities are co-ordinated by Captain Hard – Oh, no, not Captain Harding any more, that slot is temporarily occupied by Commander Carmichael…" Faith Coleman broke off in apparent confusion.

The almost slip, and not quite accidental reference to Captain Harding did not go unnoticed by Loren who also noted that while not turning to face Loren, the blonde couldn't help wondering if Coleman hadn't sent a surreptitious glance her way just to gauge her reaction to Harding's name. There didn't seem to be any change in the other officer's demeanour and Loren wondered if she was not being just a little paranoid.

"Of course, it's the covert operations that you will be mostly involved with. Making sure that their activities don't cross the line into illegality, so there's a lot of constitutional and international law involved. You'll also have to prepare warrants, subpoenas, appeals and the rest of the paper that goes with con-law and criminal law." Coleman continued, seemingly blithely unaware of Loren's ruminations "We also have the monitoring section, that's where we listen in to foreign navy electronic communications, we have teams of monitors, translators and cryptologists working there full time, around the clock, seven days a week. A lot of their work is routine, mundane stuff, but I'm told that occasionally amongst all the dross they find a gem."

Loren nodded thoughtfully. Apart from her involvement in the recent Sedgwick case she had had very few cases dealing with constitutional law, and in fact had hardly touched on it since leaving law school behind her. It looked like there were going to be more than just a few nights in her not so distant future, when burning the midnight oil would be required. Fortunately, she had, she smiled to herself, a resident expert in international and maritime law, and she was free to pick his brains at almost any time of the day – or night! Hard on the heels of that thought came a grin that threatened to mature into a chuckle as the realisation dawned of just what Harm's likely response would be at zero four hundred hours if she were to wake him just to answer a legal question!

For the rest if the morning Loren followed Faith Coleman on her tour of the whole of the ONI, mee4ting a plethora of individuals, most of whose names she didn't catch and wouldn't remember, but consoled herself with the thought that she would soon get to know her new team-mates. The one face and name however, that she would not soon or easily forget belonged to a Lieutenant Michael Redman, who on being introduced to her, looked Loren up and down on a disparaging way and sneered, "I thought Annie Oakley would somehow look more the part…" and then without any other acknowledgement of her presence had turned his back on her and resumed his conversation with another officer.

Loren looked around to see of anybody had noticed the rather less than courteous treatment she had just received, to find that no-one would meet her gaze and that everyone in the room seemed totally absorbed either in the display on their computer monitors or in the contents of the files in front of them. For a moment she was tempted to raise the issue of his bad manners with Redman, but decided that any confrontation between them could wait until they had a degree of privacy.

At last Faith Coleman stopped and looked up at the clock on the office wall and nodded with satisfaction, "Lunch time," she said decisively.

"Where do we eat?" Loren asked, as she too looked at the clock. It was midday precisely.

"You can eat in the cafeteria, that's on the first floor between corridors ten and one, or there are some fast food outlets in the central courtyard."

Loren nodded, "And where do you eat?" she asked.

"I eat in my office. I bring my own food," Faith Coleman answered in what Loren felt was a patronising way, and re-entering her office, closed the door, leaving Loren standing outside. Now… why am I not surprised at that?' Loren asked herself, but not really sure if she meant Coleman bringing her own food in, or the way she had just been shut out of the office. Loren shrugged, 'Either way, that woman is weird!' and then with a shake of her head, she turned towards the hallway, looking for stairs or an elevator that would take her down to the first floor.

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 1356hrs EDT, Courtroom Three, JAG Headquarters Building, Falls Church, VA (281756ZMay01)**

"Please be seated!" Judge Morris ordered as he took his own seat on the bench and waited until the disturbance had died down. He looked around the courtroom, noting that it was just as packed this afternoon as it had been for the morning session. He looked across the room, directly at Harm, "Is the defence ready?"

Harm stood, "Yes Your Honour. The defence calls Rear Admiral Chegwidden."

A slight gasp rippling through the courtroom, causing Morris to narrow his eyes, quickly subsided, although Harm, taking a quick glance across at trial counsel's table noticed that Meg looked a little sick while a frown etched itself on Tracy's forehead, not that he had much time to observe the prosecution table as Admiral Chegwidden marched down the central aisle and took his place in the witness box.

"Admiral Chegwidden," Harm began once his CO had been sworn in, "How long have you known Captain Sebring, sir?"

"A long time. I recommended his promotion to Captain."

"Would you consider him an even tempered individual, sir?"

"I've seen Owen Sebring in circumstances that would try the patience of a saint; he's always exhibited exemplary self-control."

"In your opinion, sir, would he be capable of a rage that would force another motorist off the road?"

"No, that would be out of character."

Harm nodded, "Thank you," and with a slight smirk on his face turned to Meg, "Your witness…" and returned to the defence table.

Meg rose slowly, and Harm thought, with the air of a Christian about to face a starving lion. Nevertheless, she took a breath and moved in, "Admiral, do you remember an incident several years ago when you visited Captain Sebring's house, involving an argument between the Captain and his son, Alan?"

Harm shot to his feet, "Your Honour! May we approach?"

Admiral Morris nodded, "Please do."

Meg and Harm walked side by side to stand directly in front of the judge who covered his microphone with a hand.

Harm shot a level glance at Mac before he turned his eyes back to the judge, "Sir, an argument between a father and his son has no bearing on an alleged case of road rage. According to Article Four Oh Two it would not be probative and would risk unfair prejudice."

Meg immediately countered, and with a sideways glance at Harm replied, "According to rule four oh five when you bring a person's reputation into play an inquiry is allowed into relevant specific instances of conduct. It goes to character, Your Honour."

"At best it's ten per cent probative and ninety per cent prejudicial," Harm renewed his objection.

Meg again countered with, "Let the members decide that!"

"You seem to have made up your mind, Commander!" Harm riposted.

"It's my mind that matters here!" Admiral Morris snapped with a hint of irritation both in his voice as he spoke and in the look he directed at Harm. The Judge then took a breath before he spoke again, "An exploration of a personal matter is likely to prove only marginally probative. But I agree. It's for the Members to decide. I'll allow it."

Meg had enough control not to let any hint of a smirk cross her face, or to allow her voice to be anything other than neutral, "Thank you, Your Honour."

"Admiral, you may answer the question," Judge Morris turned to Admiral Chegwidden.

Chegwidden took a breath and looked Meg, "I remember an argument between father and son."

"Where the Captain became so enraged he physically threw his son out of the house?" Meg asked.

"Words were exchanged. The father may have laid a hand on the son." Admiral Chegwidden conceded.

Meg took a breath and moved for what she hoped would be the clinching question, "Sir, you testified to the accused's even-tempered nature the 'patience of a saint.' That's not true in this case, is it?"

Harm remained seated, but raised his head, "Objection! Argumentative!"

Morris had no hesitation, "Sustained!"

Meg silently swore, but switched to her back up plan, "Admiral I've spoken with the Captain's son. He said that during the altercation you restrained Captain Sebring. Was that because you were afraid he might lose control?"

"I was afraid he might do something that he'd regret later. It was a family argument, nothing more."

Meg glanced at the defence table and saw that Captain Sebring was beginning to show signs of agitation, "Thank you, Admiral. Nothing further."

Harm spoke even as he was about to rise, "Redirect, Your Honour…" but then felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Leave it alone!" Captain Sebring whispered fiercely.

"One moment, please, Your Honour," Harm said turning a puzzled frown on his client, "Captain, there are extenuating circumstances…" he replied also on a whisper.

"I want this line of questioning stopped." Captain Sebring insisted, no longer whispering and jabbing a finger for emphasis.

"Commander Rabb!" Judge Morris said irritably.

"Yes, Your Honour…" Harm turned to face the witness box, "Admiral Chegwidden, what were the circumstances surrounding this quarrel, sir?"

But before he could answer Captain Sebring interjected in a clearly audible voice, "I told you, Commander, sit down!"

"Captain Sebring, you are out of order!" Judge Morris snapped.

Harm waited until the judge had spoken and then gently prompted his CO, "Admiral?"

Chegwidden sent a half apologetic look at Captain Sebring, "His son had run away from a rehab centre. He had a drug problem."

Sebring slammed a hand on the table top, "That is nobody's damn business!"

"Captain Sebring!" Judge Morris barked out in reprimand.

"This court has no right…" Sebring leapt to his feet and yelled over the sound of Admiral Morris pounding his gavel on the bench, "to delve into my…!"

"Captain Sebring!" Admiral Morris raised his voice to override the Captain, "If you cannot control your behaviour then you will be tried in absentia!" Judge Morris warned him.

Sebring looked around and took in the shocked expressions on the faces of those he could easily see, Meg, Tracy, Harm, Admiral Chegwidden and Admiral Morris and subsided like a deflated balloon back into his seat.

Admiral Morris sent a stern look around the courtroom before he turned back to the witness stand, "Admiral, you are excused! This court is adjourned until zero nine hundred tomorrow morning!"

**Monday, May 28****th****, 2001, 1816hrs EDT, Lieutenant Loren Singer and Commander Harmon Rabb's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington DC (282216ZMay01)**

Loren let herself into the apartment and immediately hung her cover on the peg next to Harm's, and dropped her briefcase on the floor next to the table by the door. Her hands were already busy with the buttons on her blouse as she crossed the lounge on her way to the bedroom, finding when she got there that it was already occupied by Harm, evidently not long out of the shower as witnessed by his still wet hair and his bare torso.

Loren licked her lips, taking in the sight of his flat, taut abdomen and broad chest, a sight that she swore to herself that she would never get tired of.

"Hey, mister lawyer man, how's your world today?" she asked brightly.

"I've known better!" Harm grunted.

Loren let her hands drop away from her blouse buttons and crossed to the bed, where she sat down, "Wow, grumpy much! A bad one?"

Harm, to Loren's disappointment, pulled a t-shirt on over his head before he answered, "Only a client who seems determined to sabotage his own case, and who, if he isn't careful is going to end up doing time in Leavenworth and being dismissed the service!"

"Captain Sebring?" Loren asked quietly.

"None other!" Harm confirmed as he dragged a comb through his hair.

"What did he do?" Loren asked as she leaned forward to slip her shoes off her feet.

"What didn't he do?" Harm countered, and then meeting a minatory stare from Loren, he sat on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands dangling in mid-air and then related Meg's disastrous cross-examination of Admiral Chegwidden and its fall-out.

Loren heard him out in silence, realising that Harm needed to vent his frustration, and she at least could act as a sympathetic ear to his woes, trials and tribulations. Then as Harm finished his rant against "one of the most pig-headed, stubborn, unreasonable… officers I have ever met!" she looked at him wisely and then nodded.

"Still, it could have been worse," she commiserated with him.

"It could? How?" Harm demanded.

"Well… it could have been raining," Loren said with a straight face.

Harm looked at her in disbelief, "I don't believe you just said that!" he complained.

"And I can't believe you fell for it!" she chuckled.

Despite his mood, Harm's sense of humour was tickled and a reluctant half-grin appeared at the corners of his mouth, "What would I do without you?" he asked, "And how did I ever manage before you came into my life?"

"Ah… that," Loren answered with a smug grin as she stood, her hands going to the zipper on her skirt, "Is one of life's greater mysteries!"

Harm leaned back on his elbows, and silently observed, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes, as Loren stripped off and grabbed her bathrobe from the back of the bedroom door. "And how was your first day?" he asked as she knotted the tie.

"Oh… pretty good… Admiral Thomas confirmed my two weeks' leave for the wedding and honeymoon, and Lieutenant Commander Coleman gave me a cook's tour of the department. Oh, there's more goes on there than I'd thought, and there are a lot more people than I thought!"

Harm noticed the tiny vertical creases between Loren's eyes that were the precursor to a full-blown frown. "Something go wrong today?" he asked.

For a second Loren considered telling him about the 'Annie Oakley' crack made by Lieutenant Redman, but almost instantly dismissed it. The way Harm was acting it this evening, it wouldn't take much for him to jump into his car and tear down to the Pentagon and take some of his frustrations out on Redman. Instead she grinned, "No, not really… it's just that Coleman is a bit… strange… well… weird…"

"In what way?" Harm asked.

Loren dropped onto the chair in front of her vanity, "Well… if a person's office is a reflection of their personality, Lieutenant Commander Coleman hasn't got one!"

"What? No office?" Harm asked, not having properly followed Loren's line of thought.

"No!" Loren laughed, "I mean she's got no personality!"

"What?"

"No, seriously, she's got quirks… and I don't know how long she's been in post there, but her office was totally featureless. A desk, a couple of chairs, ditto filing cabinets and that was that. And even her desk was empty except for a blotter and two glasses full of pencils… oh… and a pencil sharpener."

"That was it?" Harm asked in amazement.

"Yep, no potted plants, no photographs, nothing on the walls, and no sign that there had ever been any pictures or posters or anything… and then there's the way she carries herself… totally rigid. Even when she's sitting down her knees are bent at ninety degrees – exactly, and her upper legs at ninety degrees to her body." Loren saw the dawning disbelief in Harm's eye and protested, "Honestly, Harm, I swear. The woman's weird!"

Harm shook his head, still not convinced that Loren wasn't, at the least, exaggerating, but he heaved himself to his feet and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Okay… okay… if you say she's weird, then she's weird. So… why don't you go take your shower, and I'll make a start on dinner?"

Loren eyed him narrowly, suspecting that he was perhaps patronising her, but saw only sincerity in his eyes, "Sounds good to me," she agreed with a smile, also standing. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well… there's that vegetable curry in the freezer… I could defrost that while I make a couple of nan breads, and then with saffron rice, and maybe some chutney or pickle…"

"Sounds very good!" Loren enthused.

"But before I start on that, there is just one thing…"Harm said.

"Oh? What's that?"

Loren asked.

"This!" Harm declared as he took two swift steps across the room to catch her in his arms and capture her lips in a passionate kiss.

Loren had risen on her toes to return the kiss, and when they finally broke apart she gazed up at him with darkened eyes and puffed lips, "Wow… what was that for?"

"Well… because I hadn't seen you since this morning, and I was too grumpy to remember to do that when you got in… oh… yeah… and because I love you..."

"You almost forgot that bit, didn't you?" Loren challenged him with a naughty smile.

"Nope… just saving the best 'til last!" Harm grinned in return, and then turning her towards the bathroom he gently patted her butt, "Go… get clean…"

"Aw, shucks," Loren said over her shoulder as she swayed towards the bathroom, "I thought you liked me when I was dirty!"

"Oh, I do, I do!" Harm growled, "So just hold that thought 'til later!"

Later, but not that later, when Loren emerged from the bedroom, still in her bathrobe, her bare feet shoved into her mules the kitchen was redolent with the aroma of the curry and of the saffron Harm had sprinkled into the rice while it was cooking. Underlying the spices Loren could smell the fresh nan breads baking in the oven and Harm had even had time while everything was cooking to set the table with plates and flatware along with side dishes of chutneys, pickles, onion relish, raita and even Bombay duck, a side dish which he detested but that Loren had come to love.

"M'mm…" Loren smiled inhaling appreciatively, and then as her eye fell on the Bombay duck, her smile widened into a grin, "And greater love hath no man…"

"You'd better believe it!" Harm agreed affably as he opened the fridge and retrieved two beers and popped the tops off before passing one to Loren, who took it with a nod of thanks and slid into her accustomed chair at the table.

"How much longer?" she asked.

"Impatient are we?" Harm grinned as he checked on the rice.

"No… well, yeah… I want to eat, get the kitchen cleared up and then get to bed," Loren said in an innuendo laden voice.

"Oh… I wish I could, sweetheart, but I need to work," Harm said regretfully. "I've got to try and come up with some way of cancelling out Captain Sebring's outburst!"

Loren fixed him with a fulminating eye as he started to serve up the food, "Well, you'll just have to explain that Captain Sebring was upset at having his family – who had nothing to do with his alleged offence – having them and their secrets unnecessarily dragged through the court, and felt doubly betrayed when you pursued that line of questioning. I know, I know…. You were trying to do your best for your client, but against his wishes."

"His all too audible wishes|!" Harm stated firmly as he carried the two steaming plates to the table and then turned back to the oven to bring out the bread.

"Not quite the clay tandoor taste, I'm afraid, but I don't think they're too bad," he excused the bread.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Loren said sincerely, but then switched back to the Sebring case, "I', sure that's all it will take. I mean the panel is of fairly senior officers isn't it?"!

Harm nodded, "Commanders for the most part, but two Captains as well."

"Well, then, some of them must be parents and should be inclined to sympathise with Captain Sebring trying to keep his son's drug problem from becoming public knowledge."

Harm smiled, as much at the encouraging note in Loren's voice, as to what she had actually said, which did make sense. "Just when did you get so smart?" he teased her.

"Oh… I've always been smart… "

Harm winced and waited for the zinger that he just knew was coming. Loren didn't disappoint him, "It's just that you've never been smart enough to have noticed before!"

"Ouch!" Harm clutched at his chest in pretended pain.

Loren dug her fork into her curry, "So… did you want to play some more? No? No, I didn't think so!"


End file.
